Page 7 of Shy Girls write it Better
What.The.Fuck.
When was the last time he’d needed to masturbate?His active sex life made self-satisfaction completely unnecessary.
He grabbed his phone, intending to call Tara at first, but his finger hovered over her name, reluctant.Instead, he fired up his browser and started researching Cassandra Frank.
Her profile picture on Amazon surprised him: it was her – the shot only showed the bottom of her face, her lips painted red, and a tight red silken shirt.It was sexy, provocative, and completely unlike the shy little girl he knew.
The question was, who was the real Cassie Franklin?
And damn her, but he had to find out.
He didn’t have time for her in his life; she was the exclusive, committed-relationship kind of woman, of that, he was a hundred percent certain, and none of those adjectives described the women in his life.He liked those who could date casually, seeing other people; those who didn’t get attached.They had fun, and then went their separate ways.
Even if she had been up for a casual affair, he just couldn’t risk infuriating one of his employees – that was needlessly jeopardizing the company he’d built from the ground up with his sweat.
But she was interesting.She was an author, for crying out loud.How many actual authors did he know?None, that was how many.
That meant he could satisfy his curiosity, and spend some time with her… as long as they remained friendly, strictly platonic.
He could manage that, he wasn’t a horny teenager.
Carter went to sleep satisfied with his reasoning, firmly ignoring the little voice in his mind that said it wasn’t going to work.
Cassie
Cassie had tossed and turned all night, or close to it.The last time she’d clock-watched, it had been five in the morning; then she opened her eyes and it was eight thirty, which meant that she was super-duper late.
Officially, they started at nine, but everyone made it in at least half an hour early.As the commute to the office took at least forty minutes on a good day, she was screwed.
Well, more screwed than she already had been – which admitting was an achievement.
She’d been through various states, ranging from panic to outright despair, since she’d opened the folder supposed to contain her manuscript and discovered a contract instead.
It wasn’t hard to guess how the catastrophic blunder had occurred; there had been two identical folders and she’d picked up the wrong one, which meant that her manuscript was in the hands of Trick or…
She didn’t want to formulate the alternative, even in her own head.Suddenly, the little harmless fantasy she’d imagined in the bath made her sick to her stomach.Carter Harris, the boss’s boss’s boss, might really know that she wrote mommy porn.
She tried to reason; whomever had ended up with her book, there was a good chance that he’d see it wasn’t the right document and dismiss it immediately without checking out what it was about.Hell, he might not even have had the time to open it up yet – the CFO and the CEO of a thriving Fortune 500 ought to be pretty busy guys, right?
No excuse she came up with managed to ease her worry.In the end, she just concluded that her ass probably was fired.
She brushed her teeth as quickly as she could and threw some clothes on before running to the subway; when her heart had stopped beating against her chest, she just stood there in the busy car, dejected.
In all honesty, she wasn’t certain sheneededthe job, her income as a writer was actually higher than her salary, but she hadn’t had any intention of resigning anytime soon.The accounting gig was her security blanket in case her books were just a one hit wonder – a few months of success didn’t translate to financial security…
But if she had no choice, in all honesty, she could probably get by.She’d saved a ton over the last few months – enough to invest in a handful of launches.
That was, if she managed to write her next damn book.
She wasn’t surprised to find Michelle pacing in front of her desk when she made it in at twenty past nine.
“What time do you call this?”the woman shrieked, so loud everyone turned and stared.“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Ms.Too Good For Us.I have asked for the report on last week’s overtime and you don’t even have the decency to...”
“Michelle, I overslept,” she said, cutting off her tirade.She even managed to look into her eyes.“And I’m sorry I’m late.However, it’s the first time in one year, seven months and three weeks.And I sent you that report last night before heading out.Now if you’d excuse me, I’d better get to work.”
On that note, she walked around her and sat at her desk.
Okay, so by that time her eyes were fixed on her tiptoes, but she’d said what she’d meant to, at least.Progress.
