Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I said wanly. “But even the smallest speck of pet dandruff gets my allergies going. Bartender, can I get the check please?” I signaled.
The guy working that night shot me a sympathetic look because he’d probably heard everything we’d said, and it was clear I wasn’t interested in being Marie Krondike’s next victim. As a result, I signed the check while leaving a hefty tip and took myself home all alone.
As a result, life here has been pretty dull the last year. I go out; I meet people; and I work, mostly. It’s fine because this is my family’s company, and I want Lancaster Industries to do well. However, living in this tiny town is beginning to wear on me, and I wonder when my family will give me the go-ahead to move elsewhere. I’m thinking Paris this time around. Perhaps the City of Lights will help me find love, and French girls certainly are very stylish and beautiful.
Exiting the men’s room, I stroll down the hallway. There’s a commotion coming from a conference room in the corner, but when the door opens for someone to step in, realization hits. Right, today is Take Your Daughter To Work Day, and they’ve decorated the room with streamers and balloons. It’s fine. I support women’s lib, and gave the okay for the party, even if I’m not too interested in it myself.
Ambling down the hall, I swing by the supply closet on the way back to my office. Lancaster Industries provides free supplies for its employees, including all the usual: pens, pencils, staplers, and whatnot. I need to pick up some new notebooks, although it’d be just as easy to have my secretary order them for me.
The closet is a decent size, and I step inside while turning on the light. All three walls are lined with metal shelves offering any type of office supply you might imagine, including colorful Post-It notes, desk calendars and mouse pads. I take a few steps to the back, where the notebooks are stacked. Perfect. The yellow-lined old-fashioned ones are in stock, and I take three. I like to take notes by hand the old way because taking notes on a laptop always seems borderline rude, since you’re looking at your screen and not the speaker.
But as I turn to open the door again, it’s stuck. That’s odd. Am I going to have to call maintenance to rescue me? I put down my notebooks and yank it hard, and that’s when the door flies open and a young woman comes tumbling in on her hands and knees, brown curls flying. My mouth goes dry because she’s absolutely gorgeous. She’s curvy and lush in her sweater and corduroy skirt, with shapely legs and an angelic face. Her pretty pink lips open into a surprised “O” as she lands on the floor in a heap.
But even more shocking is the fact that her purse goes flying onto the ground, its contents spilling onto the supply closet floor. There are the usual things: her wallet, a phone, keys, as well as some tissue paper and a tube of lip balm. But then my eyes see what’s made this mystery woman so anxious: there’s a huge, pink toy lying on the floor which is clearly a dildo. It’s at least ten inches and curved for her pleasure with a fat base. As we both stand there, staring at each other, the toy comes to life. It begins buzzing loudly before us, and the girl grabs for it.
“Oh my god!” she shrieks while scrabbling on the floor on her hands and knees. “Oh shit!”
I appreciate the sight because she’s faced away from me and that huge rump is in the air, wiggling and swaying.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“No. NO!” she pants, breaking into a flush in her panic. It’s bewitching, come to think of it. Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes go wide even as she tries to catch the motorized toy.
“Oh no!”
I step forward smoothly and bend down, sweeping up the toy in one gesture.
“Is this yours?” I ask with a sly smile.
She merely snatches it from my hands and then slips it into her purse while stuffing everything else into the leather bag rapidly.
“Thanks,” she mutters, looking down without meeting my eye. “I have to go. Thanks again.”
But as the curvy girl reaches for the doorknob, I push it shut and then lock the door with a firm click.
“Where are you going?” is my low drawl, blue eyes sparkling. “Because we haven’t even met yet. I’m Patrick. And you are …?”
4
Penny
Holy cow. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I was so bored in the conference room that I figured I’d explore a little. After all, my dad completely misjudged Take Your Daughter To Work Day. If anything, this was more of a Valentine’s Day party for grade school girls, as opposed to a career-development event. And no, I was not interested in getting my face painted or in watching the professional clown perform antics.