Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1) - Page 46

The car drove off, and we said nothing. She burrowed her head into my neck with my arms around her shoulders. Her soft sniffs ended long before we got to her place, but not once did she move away.

When we pulled up, she carefully extracted herself, acting like the last fifteen minutes never happened.

“Do you need me to walk you up?”

Her hand on the handle, she looked over her shoulder with a soft smile and eyes that showed none of the turmoil she’d been in moments before. Back again was the strong Verana in pearls and a cardigan, made all the more attractive because I got to see all the layers beneath.

“I’m good, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Despite the lies I swam in, I let another truth slip-free. “I look forward to it.”SixteenVeraI gladly took the back corner of the elevator behind the crowd, just as eager as me to get home after a long day.

It’d been two days since Nico’s grand show, and I was exhausted. There was always some level of scrutiny when you started a job, but now, everyone really watched. I hated it.

Their gazes like the sun through a microscope, a burning reminder to be on my best behavior. God forbid I showed any emotion other than happiness because I was sure it would get the rumor mill going about what happened behind the scenes between the boss and me.

However, when a group of friends piled on at one of the stops, my attempts to stem the rumor mill proved fruitless.

“I still can’t believe he’s marrying someone within the company,” one of the girls whispered.

It was obvious they were trying to keep the conversation private, but when you’re crammed into an elevator with seven other people, nothing was private. And with me shoved in the back corner, they obviously didn’t recognize my presence.

“If I’d known I had a chance, I’d have pushed for a job on his floor.”

The door opened, and a large group piled off, leaving only a few of us. I still stood unnoticed while the two others had headphones on. The pseudo privacy boosted their honesty, making me long for a pair of headphones myself.

“I think it’s pretty obvious how she got a job on his floor.”

“No,” one tried to defend. “She’s a project organizer. They all work on his floor. I’m sure that’s it.”

“There are project organizers everywhere.”

I rolled my eyes. They weren’t everywhere, and I clamped my jaw shut so tight my molars ached.

“She probably slept her way there. Can’t blame her either. If I knew it was an option, I’d let him do anything he wanted.”

Their giggles raked across my already raw nerves.

Be nice. Be nice. Be nice.

“Honestly, she’s not even that pretty. I mean, her boobs are kind of on the small side, and Mr. Rush seems like a boob man.”

The doors slid open, and I took my chance to escape this hell. With each step toward freedom, I reminded myself to hold my head high and be the lady my parents raised me to be. But then my phone vibrated for the seventh time that day with another call from my father. I declined the call, but it was too late. As if the small vibration slid up my arm and loosened my jaw, I thought fuck it and turned. I slapped my hand against the closing doors and met each woman’s eyes, enjoying the way they widened in shock.

“I assure you, I didn’t sleep my way into a job where I work on a single pie chart on the least important tab of the least important spreadsheet of the least important project.”

Their jaws dropped, and I let my hand fall. Before the doors could close completely, my lips moved again without remorse.

“And my tits are awesome.”

Once their shocked faces disappeared, so had my energy, and I slouched forward, breathing through the flood of adrenaline that left me exhausted. Looking up, I saw I’d gotten off on the fifth floor. Not wanting to risk another elevator encounter, I took the stairs.

As luck would have it, I wasn’t safe there either. The door just closed behind me when a deep voice greeted me two flights up.

“Hello, future wife.”

Rolling my eyes, I huffed a breath and leveled him with the most annoyed glare I could muster. Raelynn would be proud.

“Don’t look so happy to see me.”

Still on edge, I shook my head and proceeded to make my way down. If I could get home, I’d be fine. A bottle of wine, a comedy show, a chat with the girls, and maybe a bath could cure this day.

Nico missed my cues and followed behind, pushing my buttons even more.

“You avoid me at work and give short replies to my messages, and now you’re ignoring me completely. Will this be our marriage? Do you plan to not talk for five years?”

Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance
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