Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Her words flooded free as if she broke the dam and couldn’t stop the rest. “Obviously, I don’t have any claim, and despite his clear statements that he doesn’t do relationships, I can’t deny the attachment I’ve formed with him and hope maybe he’s felt it too. So, I figured I’d ask rather than linger around for bits and pieces of attention to give me hope. You know how us girls can be.” She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Even though a man has told us he is emotionally unavailable, we still gotta try, and end up falling for him anyway. So, why not just be honest about it rather than going home and bitching about it every night when we don’t even know the full story? Do you know what I’m saying?”
I hate her.
I hated her because I wanted to hate her but didn’t.
I hated her for igniting a spark of respect for her.
Dammit.
I’d experienced plenty of those stereotypical women Emily described. I’d been on the receiving end of backhanded compliments and sabotage attempts because another woman believed she had a connection I was interfering with.
If more women were like Emily, we wouldn’t have to worry about being torn down by our own gender.
And I hated her for it.
Because I didn’t.
But I wanted to.
Dammit.
Again.
With a mix of admiration and dread, I answered honestly. “No. We don’t have a relationship.”
Emily smiled and nodded, her eyes bright and sparkly and hopeful.
“Awesome. Thanks for being so cool and open. Even though I shouldn’t, maybe a girl can still hope.” She gave a self-deprecating giggle and eye roll.
I watched her float out of the room on a high while reality anchored around my waist.
With each step back to my office, I sank deeper into the realization that, despite my half-truth answer, it was still true. I didn’t have a relationship with Lucian. I had a flimsy contract that wasn’t real. A piece of paper that I filled out with all the ways I would allow him to control me. All the while, he was probably off fucking someone else. Just because he wasn’t fucking Emily, and she hadn’t seen him at the club, didn’t mean he wasn’t having sex.
Hell, maybe Emily has a right to hold out hope. Maybe next week, she finally convinces him he should be in a relationship with her. Our contract lacked a timeline. He could walk away at any moment and leave me with a craving I didn’t know how to fill.
The thoughts plagued me through the afternoon, inciting waves of irritation. All the questions I’d shoved aside before failed to stay there and coiled my muscles tighter and tighter.
Ping.
A notification reminded me I had ten minutes before I needed to go to Lucian’s office for another stupid interview. I wasted four of those minutes concocting ways to get out of going. I spent another two berating myself for even considering not showing up for a meeting that was so important to my company. I had to be at every interview because whoever replaced my dad was going to be someone I chose.
Unless…
I swallowed the rising bile.
Unless Lucian tried to cut me out by going straight to my father without any of my input. Technically, I didn’t own anything yet. Technically, I had as much power as an Artist & Repertoire manager. Technically, other than being the princess Lucian accused me of being, I had no more power than any other manager in the company.
The sinister thought planted like poison in my mind, spreading rapid doubt. It lingered as I trudged my way to his office with one minute to spare, brushing past him with a cold shoulder, plopping into a chair without a word. It turned sour with each boring, unoriginal, and idiotic response from the applicants. It grew, turning my comments even more short and bitchy than usual.
By the time the last interviewee left, Lucian had delivered at least four hard-eyed glares that asked me what the hell was wrong with me. So, when the door closed, and he whirled back to get an answer, I was ready.
“What is going on with you?” He strode back, sinking into the seat opposite me with a calm that only irritated me more.
“Nothing,” I snapped, focusing my attention on collecting papers rather than meeting the intense gaze I knew bore into me. “You know I hate interviews, and these were exceptionally disappointing.”
“The second woman wasn’t bad…”
“Oh, please,” I exclaimed. “She couldn’t even name the guys from Haunted Obsession.”
“She doesn’t need to,” he argued with more calm, prodding my anger higher. “She had great business ideas and marketing plans that had room to grow with future adaptations and innovations.”
“Of course, that’s all you care about. Generic business ideas and lame marketing plans that everyone learns their first year of college and can apply to any company without any effort. You don’t know any better either, which makes this whole thing fucking ridiculous.”