Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,17
darting around like it’s the first time she’s heard of it.
Dear Lord. How does she live in this house and not notice these things?
I point to the corner.
She follows my finger with her eyes. “Gosh, you’re right! We’ll have to get that fixed before winter comes.”
“Dammit!” Dad yells from the living room.
“Hmm, it’s halftime. It shouldn’t be the game getting under his skin...” Mom frowns and pushes her chair back. “I better go check on him.”
I follow Mom back to the living room.
There, Dad wads up a letter in his hand, shaking his head with a savage frown.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” I ask, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. He’s so tense it feels like he’s about to pop.
“Damn heart medication went up—again! Damn insurance won’t cover the difference. I don’t even know why we pay for this crap.”
Because I can’t possibly buy enough books to cover the heart drug without it? That’s why, but of course I keep it to myself.
My own heart sinks into my chest. I swallow a sticky lump lodged in my throat. Just because Friday the Thirteenth ended doesn’t mean I’m in the clear.
Bad things come in threes. What else is about to go wrong?
I wonder if Paige can drive me up to Wisconsin to see if any farms need help. If I could fix my parents’ mess, I’d even be willing to take my chances with a hot Marine and a serial killer rodeo clown.
Then my mind goes to that damn email I got from HeronComm. Gulp.
Sad to say, I think it might be my best chance to hold back the flood.
No, let’s be real—my only chance.
I stand outside a skyscraper in downtown Chicago wearing a business suit and heels I swiped from Paige. I suck down air, my pride, and any pesky dignity I have left.
Then I march right in and take the elevator to the eighty-ninth floor.
Like Paige says, if nothing else, it’s good practice for interviews at places I’d actually want to work.
The doors open to a wall of windows and a view that’s just breathtaking.
Dang. I’m looking down on Millennium Park in all its gleaming wonder. The massive Bean glints like this otherworldly oracle, reflecting the entire cityscape back at me.
I take a deep breath, relax my shoulders, and walk up to the desk where a uniformed security guard sits.
“I’m here for an interview with Miss Hunting,” I say.
She picks up a walkie-talkie. “Hunting, you have an arrival. Over.”
I’m so out of place here.
This has to be a vicious joke. My stomach twinges, imagining all the wicked surprises Heron might have planned for payback. What if I open the door and he’s armed with a garden hose that shoots lukewarm latte?
Crud.
I should probably leave now. Before I find out what kind of sick revenge scheme a man who’s arrogance and ego personified cooks up.
I’m actually turning to head back the way I came when a voice behind me says, “Miss Bristol! Welcome. I’m thrilled you could make it. Please come back and talk to me.”
She doesn’t sound thrilled. Not exactly, but her voice is warm and calm enough to risk it. I spin around to face her.
A tall woman with auburn curls in a black dress with split sleeves holds her hand out. “I’m Ruby Hunting, HR Director for HeronComm.”
“Sabrina Bristol.” I shake her hand. “But everybody calls me Brina.”
“Right this way.” She motions for me to follow, and I do, trying not to trip over my own feet.
We go behind the security desk to a door she uses her badge to open. We walk down a long hall in silence until we finally come to a conference room with tall leather chairs like someone attached rollers to medieval furniture and a long glass table fit for King Arthur, if his knights were a band of corporate cutthroats.
Okay.
Breathe.
My stomach is in stitches. I know I’m t-minus sixty seconds from getting punked.
I know it.
And I had Paige lend me her four-hundred-dollar black pumps, too. Another huge mistake if Heron decides to have a billionaire ragey man-trum with my shoes.
The room is dark.
“Lights.” No sooner does Ruby say it than the lights come on. She points at the table. “Wherever you’re comfortable.”
Um—that would be down the street somewhere. Not in this building where I could probably disappear forever and he’d get away with it.
Still, I take a seat at the very end of the table, folding my hands together tightly so I don’t start fidgeting.