Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Layla is having the worst day of her entire life. She’s late to work, she gets fired, and she’s not prepared for the pouring rain. To make matters worse, in her haste, she runs right into a man on the sidewalk so hard that she falls on her back and bonks her head on the concrete.
Theo panics as he leans over the woman lying in a puddle. After he scoops her up and rushes her to a clinic, he isn’t sorry that he needs to take her home to supervise her while she heals. It doesn’t take long for him to realize he never wants to let her go.
Nothing good ever happens to Layla. She struggles to believe this man could actually be hers. Surely it won’t last. Could he really be the answer to her prayers?
The books in this series include elements that might be offensive to some readers. For more information, see my website, paigemichaels.com.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
“Please, please, please, Mr. Langston. I need this job. Please don’t fire me.” I’m not too proud to beg.
“I’m sorry, Layla, but I can’t keep you. This is the third time this month you’ve been late. There are plenty of other people willing to show up on time every morning. When you’re not here to wait tables, it puts a strain on everyone else covering for you during the morning rush.”
“But all three incidents were out of my control. I can’t help it that the city bus had a flat tire this morning.” My voice is frantic, but so am I. “Who ever heard of being stuck on a city bus with a flat tire? I got out and walked the rest of the way, or I wouldn’t even be here now.”
He narrows his gaze at me. “I don’t think walking was your best move, Layla. How could you possibly start working now? You’re soaked to the bone. It’s pouring down rain.”
I glance down at myself. He’s right. I’m drenched. “Doesn’t that at least show you how dedicated I am?”
“No. Unless making up stories is dedication. Why don’t you write a book?”
I gasp, eyes wide. “I’m not making this up.” I’m not. I want to drag Mr. Langston outside and down three city blocks to show him where the bus is still sitting.
“Last week your power went out, and conveniently your alarm didn’t go off because your phone didn’t charge. The week before that a dog got away from its owner and chased you down an alley, causing you to fall in a pile of poop. What will it be next week?”
I purse my lips and stare at him. All of those things happened. I have bad luck. I’m not a lazy employee. “I need this job,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster, trying not to cry.
“And I need reliable waitresses who can be here on time for their shifts.” He holds out an envelope. “Here’s your final check. I paid you up through yesterday. Good luck, Layla.”
I slowly reach out to take the check. “Please, Mr. Langston. It won’t happen again.” Except I can’t even promise that. Weird shit happens to me. I can’t control it. I must have been a very bad person in a previous life because I’m a magnet for trouble.
“Goodbye, Layla.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Mr. Langston turns around, steps back into his office, and closes the door, dismissing me.
I stand there, trembling for several long minutes, dripping on the floor. Every inch of me is soaked because I had the bright idea to get off the bus and run down the street to get to work. It’s pouring. I didn’t bring an umbrella, nor am I wearing a raincoat.
I consider knocking on Mr. Langston’s door and groveling some more, but I decide not to. I shouldn’t have to prove my bad luck. The man should believe me because I’m a trustworthy person.
Granted, I can see how someone would think I made all of that up, but I didn’t. And now I don’t have a job, and I’m going to end up losing my apartment. Even if I found another job today, I probably wouldn’t get paid fast enough to make my rent payment on time.
Somehow I manage to wait until I’m back outside before the tears fall. It’s still raining, because of course it is. The universe hates me.
All I can do is head back to the bus stop and return home. If I change into something dry and grab an umbrella, maybe I can fill out a few job applications before the end of the day.
This is not how I intended to spend my day. On top of everything else, I’m cold from being wet. Goosebumps pop up all over my skin. I’m not dressed for the temperature. Why didn’t I at least grab a jacket when I left?
I’m wearing the required short black skirt, sensible black flats, and a white blouse. The blouse is plastered to my skin, of course, and when I look down, I realize everyone can see my plain white bra. Fabulous.
A few people stare at me as they pass me where I’m still standing on the sidewalk. I’m soaking wet and crying. Why wouldn’t they look?
Frustrated and embarrassed, I duck my head and start jogging toward the bus stop. At least there’s a tiny covered awning. If I’m lucky, no one else will be waiting, and I’ll be able to wait under the small roof alone.
The rain comes down harder and so do my tears because fuck the universe. She’s a bitch.
I’m not paying attention to where I’m going, and there aren’t many people on the sidewalk right now anyway, but suddenly I manage to run right into something, or someone.
I jerk my head up to see the large man I’ve just plowed into. Everything from that moment happens in slow motion as though I’m watching it on TV. This would be the scene where the gal’s feet slip out from under her on the wet pavement. She windmills her arms in huge circles, trying to avoid the inevitable. But she loses—because I’m that girl, and I always lose.