Page 5 of Cocky Jerk

Soraya sets me up in the cubicle closest to her office, which used to be hers, and reveals the reason I was hired. Apparently, the famed advice columnist, Ida, has decided to semi-retire. In the wake of the announcement, Soraya was promoted, and they needed someone to filter through the submissions for the column.

Enter me, the new filterer.

However, I can’t start reading through the cries for help until I fill out the necessary new hire paperwork and Penelope sets me up with email access. Until then, I’m to organize the mess Soraya has left behind…and by mess, I mean there is shit everywhere. I can barely see the desk through the stacks of paper and the tower of paperclips that oddly resembles a miniature replica of the Empire State Building. Then there’s the Post-its that wallpaper the cubicle. Some have little quotes, others have doodles, but the majority of them are responses to submissions and full of expletives.

I think I’m going to fit in just fine here.

“Any questions?” Soraya asks, drawing my attention back to her.

“What should I do with all these papers and Post-its?”

“Papers can be filed in the cabinet next to the window. As for the Post-its—well, there’s some great material there…” her voice trails as a sense of nostalgia washes over her features. “Keep them,” she decides, tearing her eyes from the colorful squares. “I have an appointment at noon, and my inbox is overflowing with emails I need to get through, but if you have any questions just holler.”

“Will do.”

She winks at me before turning and heading for her office, but before she goes, I feel compelled to thank her again for not firing me on the spot.

“Soraya?” I call. She stops midstride and glances over her shoulder at me. “Thanks for giving me a shot. I promise I won’t be late tomorrow.”

A warm smile spreads across her lips.

“It’s all good. I’m a firm believer in second chances.

Yeah, I’m totally a fan of my new boss.

* * *

I spentthe first hourorganizing the paperclips and rearranging the Post-its. My cell phone pinged the entire time with calls and texts—all from my father, and all of which I ignored. By this time, I figured the guys had filled him in on my new job and he was likely freaking out. God forbid the princess of the Corrupt Hellraisers does anything without an entourage of bikers following her. I felt guilty for hiding my job from my dad, but I knew that’s exactly what would have happened if I had clued him in. Ruger or Ritmo would be planted outside the office, trying to get a blow job from Penelope, and I’d be toast.

Silencing my phone, I shove it in the top drawer of my desk and glance at the stack of papers still waiting to be filed. I probably should’ve tackled that mess before the paperclips. My attention is drawn away from the dreaded task as Penelope clears her throat. I lift my head as she shoves a folder and an iPad in my direction.

“I see you’re hard at work,” she sneers, sarcastically.

This one is going to be a problem—I can just feel it.

“If you wouldn’t mind putting down the paperclips, we can get you into the system,” she continues, dropping the folder and iPad on top of my desk. “You’ll need to fill out these forms for payroll and I’m going to need to make a copy of your driver’s license.”

The ringing phone interrupts her tirade and she turns to answer it, leaving me with the paperwork. I briefly thumb through the pages before reaching into my jacket for my I.D. My hand closes around the ball of tickets and I throw them on the table. Instead of reaching back into my pocket for my license, I let my gaze linger on the tickets for a moment.

Being a glutton for punishment, my treacherous mind wanders back to the hunky cop with the killer arms. It’s a real shame he was such an asshole. I mean, a clean-cut guy with arms like his. His ass was nothing to sneeze at either and let me not forget those expressive eyes and slicked back hair. He had so much going for him. I could probably even get over his beliefs in ridiculous Italian superstitions, but his profession was a big red flag. Cops and I don’t jive, mainly because of my father and while I’m ready to break ties from the Corrupt Hellraisers, I’m not looking to stick it to my old man for a quick roll in the hay with a man who carries a badge.

That’s a hard pass.

Pushing all thoughts of Officer Pirelli to the back of my head, I pull out my I.D. case, only to discover my driver’s license is missing. Figuring I must’ve shoved it into one of my pockets in a haste to get to work, I pat them down. Penelope reemerges and rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t even touch the forms.”

“I can’t find my license,” I hiss, slightly panicking. I dump the contents of my pockets onto the desk and filter through everything. “Maybe it’s in one of my saddlebags,” I say, more to myself than to Penelope.

“Is that a designer? Like Gucci or Dior.”

I lift my head and my jaw goes slack as I stare at her in disbelief.

She can’t be serious.

Before I can explain what the fuck a saddlebag is or even decide if I want to entertain her with a response at all, the phone rings again at the reception desk and the handbag connoisseur rushes to answer it. I take off toward the elevators. Reaching them, I punch the button and glance over my shoulder at Penelope.

“If Soraya asks, I went to the parking garage to see about my license,” I tell her, but she dismisses me with a wave and continues with her phone conversation. I stare at her for a beat, still trying to process the fact she thought a saddlebag was a designer handbag.

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