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Pierced (Dirty, Dark, and Deadly #2)
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She can wear her hot, thigh-high latex boots. She can crack that whip all she wants. Hell, I’ll even let her leave marks.
But I’m about to school Ms. Rothschild in the art of who’s the boss.
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CHAPTER ONE – MYRTLE
October in Colorado is spectacular. You don’t get all the colors like you do back east. We just don’t have trees like that here. You know, the kind that turn red and orange. We mostly have pine trees and they just stay green. But the air is crisp, and when you look west and notice that the mountains are now capped with snow, you can’t help it. You sigh. You say, Finally. You say, Missed you, snow. And I’m gonna come visit this weekend for sure. See all those golden aspens and get giddy over the snowflakes falling as I holiday-shop in Vail Village.
But of course, that almost never happens. Getting up to the mountains on the weekends once summer is over is a freaking nightmare. Because the tourists pour in for skiing and they all have the same romantic idea.
I’m not really a romantic woman. I gave up on the idea of romance a long time ago. But I can appreciate the natural beauty of something and I have a nice view of the snowcaps from my office, so I find myself looking at them often these days.
Oh, did I mention I have an office now?
It’s right next to my boss.
Pierce Chevalier. Owner of Le Man magazine, self-proclaimed king, and currently on my shit list.
Which is the whole reason I have the office.
After he wrongly accused me of being the Sexpert, publicly humiliated me in front of the entire world, and then came crawling back—begging my forgiveness and offering me a fat raise if I didn’t quit—well, I decided to stay and make the most of things.
The office came a couple weeks later. After he hired Eden and Zoey to be his marketing consultants. I’m their liaison at the company, which was the justification for giving me the executive office that used to belong to Josh Washburn.
He took it well. Josh, I mean. Pierce… that’s another story. He’s still getting used to Valerie, his new executive assistant, who sits at my old desk manning the phones, and the appointments, and all the other shit I used to do, but don’t anymore.
He even offered to share her with me.
So. Yeah. I came out ahead. I’m actually VP of social media. Pierce said he had to change my title because the raise he gave me put my salary a good twenty thousand dollars above Josh Washburn, who is the VP of advertising, and the accountants started asking questions about secret scandals.
I reminded him the scandal wasn’t secret. It was very, very public.
So he said I could get a new desk, and did I need a new chair to go with it?
I sigh, spin my new two-thousand-dollar chair back to my computer, and begin scanning emails. I only have two new ones. One, a corporate reminder about the office Halloween party. And two, a mass email from the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Community Center saying they’re looking for people to teach new classes and all ideas are welcome.
I hate this job now. Which really sucks because I used to love it. I used to love dominating Pierce’s schedule and making people feel uncomfortable with my understated sexual innuendo. I mean, I eat my banana every morning like I used to, but Josh is all the way over by the printer room now. He can’t even see me.
And I wear the thigh-high stockings and pretend to pull them up. Just like always. But now I’m stuck in this office, not blocking Pierce’s door. So no one sees that either.
I can’t even raise eyebrows by seductively sucking on my Starbucks straw.
Plus I have like… no work. VP of social media? Even if I did want to share an assistant with Pierce—and I don’t. I’m not a girl who shares—there’s nothing for her to do. Like… there’s not even a social media department because Eden is gone. I mean, she comes in every Monday for a meeting. She’s my only appointment today, so I’m gonna see her in like twenty minutes. But still, there are no donuts. There’s no smiles. No daily greetings.
It’s all… different.
I guess I could make Eden’s old boss miserable. That would be fun. But Gretchen works down on forty-nine, so intimidating her is a production.
So I usually close my door and read erotic novels all day. Which, hey, I’m not really complaining about that part, but I’m all caught up on my TBR list. And Scarlett Savannah, my favorite dirty author, won’t have another book out for six more weeks.
Six weeks is a long time to sit in an office and pretend you’re busy.
I think I need another work-day hobby. Knitting is nice and quiet. Or I could buy one of those black velvet paint-by-number kits from Michael’s and be artistic. Oh, I know. Scrapbooking! I wonder if the TDH Community Center has a scrapbooking class? I could get lost in twelve-by-twelve square paper and cute, die-cut thingamajigs. Or maybe I could—