Page 4 of Innocent Intentions

To be fair, they aren’t entirely wrong.

I don’t put much effort into dating. Another problem with being hybrid is that I don’t leave the house every day. Which is why my coffee runs are so important.As if you’re going to meet someone on a coffee run.

It’s not that I don’t want to have love. I really do. I’ve even tried online dating, but none of the guys on the apps compare to my beloved men-written-by-women.

So, for now, I’m sticking to my books and movies from the comfort of my couch.

Which is where I currently am, staring at my computer, deliberating on how to proceed with the whole Koschei Group situation.

Actually, this is above my pay grade. I’ll let my boss handle it.

I draft an email to Ronald explaining my findings. I attach screenshots of the payment records, dates, and amounts, and tell him I can’t find a public record of the company. I even add that I think something illegal may be going on and offer to report it to the authorities.

After hitting send, I glance at the clock:five p.m.Officially the weekend.

I shut down my laptop. I watch my work phone die, but since it’s Friday, I don’t bother plugging it in. I’ll do that Sunday night.

I have a strict rule of not working outside of work hours. It’s bad for the soul.

I check my audiobook email and smile when I see a new author reaching out about recording her book. I’m excited to read it. I message her back, letting her know I’m interested.

I’m still not making enough money to quit my day job, but every book is getting me closer.

One day, I’ll be able to leave finance behind and narrate full time.I’m sure that’ll be the day you also have a happily ever after with your dream man.

For now, I’ll stick to dreaming.

Chapter 2

Margot

My alarm goes off.For the fifth time.

With a groan, I finally drag myself out of bed. One day, I’ll wake up to a hot man bringing me coffee in bed every morning.

Keep dreaming.

I shuffle through my morning routine. Brush teeth, wash face, fix hair. Then head to the kitchen and set up the coffee maker, desperate for my caffeine fix.

BEEP!

I follow the noise to my desk in confusion. It came from my work phone, which I plugged in last night before bed.

Ronald.

Fuck. Why is my boss texting me?

I open the message. He wants to meet at a coffee shop near the office at nine a.m. I check my watch. Double fuck. It’s eight thirty a.m.

I throw on random clothes, grab my bag, and rush out the door.

***

On my way to the coffee shop, I skim through my work phone and feel my stomach sink. Three emails. Four texts. Seventeen missed calls. All from Ronald.

What the actual fuck?

The first email came minutes after I sent my report on Friday, asking me to call him immediately. Each gets progressively more serious.

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