Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,9

order to pull off what I needed to today.

So really acting like I didn’t give a shit was just practice, I thought as I punched the button to summon the elevator and raced inside. As I went to sip my lukewarm coffee from my to-go mug I used to help save the environment, the brown liquid leaked from between the cup and the lid and drippled onto my pale pink top.

When I went to dab at it with my napkin, more coffee sloshed out and splattered my leg, the top of my foot, and the floor of the elevator.

“Sorry,” I said toward the ceiling in case some security guard was watching the disaster that was my life on one of his myriad of computer screens. Then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to say sorry anymore.

I squatted as demurely as possible—while I felt bad, I didn’t feel badly enough to flash the security guard to make up for it—and then set my cup on the floor of the elevator. I used my one tiny napkin to soak up what I could, crossing my fingers that karma wouldn’t punish me for prioritizing my leg and foot. “I really need to clarify if there are any incidents that deserve apologies,” I muttered. Surely there were instances that required expressing regrets.

The elevator doors opened with a bing, and I popped up as quickly as possible. Then I had to quickly squat, retrieve my coffee mug, and rush it to the kitchen and drop it in the sink.

“So far, so not good. Monday, I tried to give you a chance, but I now declare you the herpes of the business world.” One misstep and the grumpiness spread and took way too much effort to get rid of.

I checked the time, pleased to find I had twenty minutes before our Monday morning meeting started. Which gave me ten minutes to readjust my attitude, so I wouldn’t end up shooting myself in the foot.

Cat did once accuse me of making bulletproof coffee…

Another silver lining? My ex-boyfriend now had his own office on the tippy top floor where he worked with his own team of people, fulfilling the contract I’d helped him land, so at least I wouldn’t have to face him today.

I tapped my meditation app on my phone, planning on listening to the guided session on success that would remind me I was I strong, capable woman with great ideas.

Then I’d slide into the conference room to prepare the presentation that’d prove to my boss that I was the woman to lead this project, and all by my lonesome at that.

“As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, the San Diego Pythons and city planning committee picked our firm for the design of the new downtown stadium. I’ve been courting them for two months, and it’s a huge project that affords a lot of opportuni—”

The door to the conference room swung open, and I automatically glanced toward it. I did a double take, my throat tightening to the painful point, and if I had the capability of blinking, I’d try that, but my lids remained pried open in panic.

It must be the stress of finally presenting the spiel I’d practiced countless times yesterday making me see things. Our latecomer was tall with sandy brown hair, and that description fit thousands upon thousands of dudes, right?

But he also wore the hell out of a suit and raked his hand through his hair in the exact same way…

“Everyone,” Mr. Bishop said, getting to his feet and beaming at the guy, and the reality of what was about to happen slammed into my chest like back in elementary school when my classmates picked me out of the dodgeball lineup. “I’d like to introduce you to Archer York.”

When it came to fight or flight, my instincts chose to freeze, and just like the timid girl I used to be back then, I grimaced as it hit me, telling myself the pain would eventually recede.

“He’ll be drawing up plans alongside of Penelope.” Mr. Bishop clapped him on the back like they were old chums, and that was the moment Archer York seemed to register my presence. Whereas my mouth hung open like a fish that’d been yanked from the water, his features remained all calm and preposterously collected.

This couldn’t be happening. Karma, why me? I made it clear I was sorry about spilling my coffee for someone else to clean.

“Talk about blowing a hole right through my condom,” I muttered, and