Chapter 5
Jenna
"Gah!" I down my cocktail in one gulp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and slamming the tumbler back on the bar counter. It burns on the way down, but it's already loosening my muscles, uncoiling some of the tension that has been plaguing me all week. "God, I definitely needed that."
"Yup," Ashley remarks, watching me in amusement. "It looks and sounds like you did." She signals the waiter for another round—Mimosa for me, and Long Island Iced Tea for her. The waiter nods and gets busy with shakers, shot glasses, ice, and all the paraphernalia of his trade.
I sit upright on my stool in the trendy bar, rolling and stretching my neck, turning it from side to side, trying to ease a knot that just won't seem to go away no matter what I do.
God, I need a thorough massage, perhaps followed by a session in the sauna.
Actually, I could do with a proper vacation…
somewhere exotic like Fiji, perhaps. Right now, however, that's a luxury I cannot afford.
The problem is that this damned project for the Wolfe Foundation has taken over my life.
It's literally been the only thing I've focused on — from first thing in the morning as I tumble wearily out of bed to last thing at night as I collapse back onto my mattress, shattered and aching from another day's insanity.
I've had to give up the gym, I've stopped visiting my parents, and I've not had one single moment of personal recreation time — unless, of course, you count the time I was lying across his desk while he speared his cock into me, my juices flowing, heartbeat pounding…
I bite my lip and clench my thighs. No, that's not happening again. It can't happen. I won't let it. It's a good thing I hightailed it out of there when I did. If I'd insisted on talking to him afterwards, we might have ended up at his home. God only knows what would have happened then.
"Ready to talk about it now?" The question from Ashley, my roommate and best friend, jerks me out of my reverie. She sips the Long Island the waiter has just set down in front of her and eyes me judgmentally. "Something's up, sister. I know you well enough to see the signs. Now spill."
Perhaps this bar isn't the best place to unload my tale of woe, especially the more personal parts.
There are people around us, and the music is loud enough that we have to yell to be heard.
But if I don't tell her now, I don't know when I'll get another chance.
I glance around. Fuck it. No one's listening.
I need to unburden myself, and Ashley's my best friend as well as my roomie.
We've known each other since school, and there are no secrets between us.
I'm so lucky to have someone like her to trust when times are tough.
"Okay, okay, I'll tell all." I sigh and reach for my cocktail, taking this one much easier than the first. "You know the project I've been working on, right?"
"For the hunky billionaire, Grayson Wolfe, you lucky girl?" she asks.
I roll my eyes. Of course that's the part she'd focus on. "Yeah, the hunky, irritating-as-shit billionaire Grayson fucking Wolfe, whose team wouldn't know what adequate communication was if it bit them in the ass. That one."
She grins. "He's really that bad?"
"Oh, you have no idea. Working with his company has been the most frustrating thing I've ever had to do in my life, and that's including having to delete all my mom's conspiracy theory posts from her Facebook page.
"Anyway, the first event was this welcome gala that was going to be held at the Ritz Carlton, flying in all these VIPs and dignitaries.
I go above and beyond—and I'm talking above and fucking beyond—to get the venue looking perfect.
I even hired that Brooklyn artist the Met Gala was trying to get for their stage, outbidding them in the process.
I did it all… I set up the stage, spent ages on the décor, selected the catering, made sure the seating was comfortable, got the lighting exactly right…
I did it all. Then, two days before the event, I go there for one last check to make sure it's all ready, and what do you think I find?
" I pause for dramatic effect, locking eyes with her.
"What?"
"Everything I'd put there, all my hard work—the stage, the décor, everything—had been ripped down. All gone."
Ashley gapes, and the shock on her face tells me she gets it.
"Yup. It was all gone—all my hard work and blood, sweat, and tears of the last two months—and that's not even the worst part. I call his secretary to find out what happened, and you know what she said?"
Ashley shakes her head.
"She said her boss ‘didn't like it.' I mean, he could have told me that weeks ago, when I sent over design plans and pictures of the final layout for approval.
They didn't say jack shit to me, so I thought it was fine.
But no. They say nothing. They were just too chickenshit to tell me, and then at the last minute they had it all dismantled and replaced with the dullest, most utilitarian stage and seating imaginable, without even saying a word. "
"Wow. That's pretty insane. They wasted a lot of time."
"Damn right. Thank you! That's what I'm saying.
Listen, it's not even that I'm offended they didn't like it, even though I think they have terrible taste because, oh my God, you should have seen what they replaced everything with.
But I get it—personal preference and all that.
Not everyone is going to like everything. "
"So… what did you do?"
"Well, I got angry and went to his office to confront him."
"Wait." Ashley holds up her hand. "What do you mean? Confront him how exactly?"
I shrug, a little bashfully. "Well, I didn't actually throw anything at him, or stab him in the heart or anything. I might have sworn once or twice, and I didn't yell, but okay, yes, I was a little loud. I just told him how I felt."
Her eyebrows fly up. "You did that to Grayson Wolfe? King of the Upper East Side? The most eligible bachelor in New York?"
"I don't care who he is," I say. "No one is going to disrespect my work."
"Damn. I don't know if I admire you or fear for you right now." She takes another sip of her Long Island, though a suspicious smile sits on her lips.
I shrug. "Well, the confrontation was the final nail in the coffin. I got fired…" Right after we'd had hot, furious sex on his table. But she doesn't need to know that little detail. "Well, I guess you could say I quit, but it's the same result."
"Oh no." Ashley's voice drops in genuine dismay. "That sucks."
I shrug again, trying to pretend I don't care and that it didn't sting that my first project of such a large scale has ended in dismal failure. It'll definitely be a black mark on my resumé, and he might be petty enough to try to blacklist me.
Yet I can't bring myself to regret anything.
"It's whatever. We weren't working out anyway.
Here's the worst part, though. After I'm fired, I go back and have our accountant draw up our expense reports so they can refund us for all the money we spent on this stupid project, because the deposit isn't enough to cover it all. "
"Right."
"Well, they reply that they're not refunding all of it, because some of the stuff on the expense report they ‘didn't ask for.' So we'll have to eat the loss."
Once again, Ashley doesn't disappoint with her loud gasp.
"What the fuck?"
"Right? Like, how can a massive company like that be trying to scam little old me?
And yeah, I did get approval for just about everything I did.
I called most of the time because they have a thing against replying to emails, and I went over there in person to show them the progress.
Not once did they say, ‘We don't want that' or ‘That's too much. '"
"Rookie mistake on your end. Always make sure there's a paper trail."
"Yeah, I know." I sigh. "It was a dumb mistake, but I didn't think a company like that would try to pull one over on me."
"Yeah, it's sometimes the most privileged people that are also the stingiest. All that privilege turns them into assholes."
"You got that right. I'm not taking it lying down, though," I tell her. "I'm going to fight it and I'm going to get paid what I'm owed. Whatever it takes."
"Atta girl." Ashley smiles a tad boozily and salutes me with her glass. "Don't let the bastards get you down."
"Hoorah." I clink her glass with mine, and we both drink.
I tell Ash about Grayson's condo and how lifeless it looks from the outside. Just one long grey slab. The type of place only a psychopath would enjoy living in. She's laughing, but I can't tell if it's because the story is funny or if it's just because she's a little drunk.
Speaking of which, after about four or five Mimosas, I'm definitely on the other side of relaxed… and horny. I catch myself staring at the bartender, who winks back. He has a cute smile, and an even cuter ass.
Not as good as Grayson, though.
No. I shake my head. Don't think about him. No one looks as good as Grayson Wolfe, so it's not even a reasonable standard to compare other men with. He's one in a million. But he's also a jackass I never should have fucked in the first place.
"I might be going home with the bartender," I whisper to Ashley, but she doesn't respond. She's looking at someone behind me, frowning quizzically.
"Hey, I don't know if I'm seeing things, but I swear the guy in the hat in the corner over there has been staring at you for some time now.
No… don't turn round, he'll see you." She puts a hand on my arm to stop me.
"Just yawn and stretch and kind of casually take in the room, or something.
Fawn-colored jacket, black baseball cap.
Keeps looking our way. See if you recognize him. "
I do as she says, dramatically yawning and stretching as I look around. I spot him: a large man in casual clothes with a baseball cap shielding most of his features.