Page 9 of You Again
Chapter 5
Henley~
Ididn’t get it.
I donated.
I recycled.
I even planned on getting a dog from a shelter, one day, instead of buying from a pet store.
So, why in the ever lovin’ hell was the Universe out to get me? Why not someone else who deserved their misery? Someone who cheated at bingo? Or abused the grocery coupon system?
Why me?
Monday after I had calmed down and talked myself out of shoving the remaining Arnold congratulation donuts down his throat, Mr. Peridy had approached me and had told me we’d just hit the jackpot. I had racked my brain to see if I had thrown in a five-dollar bill into an office lottery pool, but he had quickly disabused me of my dream of winning millions when he had informed me that S.A.M. had landed a meeting with Weston Technologies. And that little piece of information had translated into S.A.M. hitting the jackpot, not me.
He, then, further ruined my day (I hadn’t known it at that precise moment, however) when he said he wanted me to be the point person for the account. I had executed the best inner fist bump ever because Arnold’s donuts didn’t look so delicious now if I was being given the Weston account, but that inner fist bump had quickly turned into me wanting to punch myself in the face when I had gone to research Weston Technologies.
The internet was both a wonder, magical place, and the horrific bowels of Hell.
Case in point: It had told me everything I ever wanted to know about Weston Technologies. It told me how the younger brother had made his first millions while still in college because, oh, he was a genius of some sort and had a brain that should be donated to science when he dies. And it also told me about the older brother who was a business wiz and has turned Weston Technologies into a powerhouse in the computer science community. It also told me there were waiting lists-years out-for their next invention and advice on forward innovations.
You know what else the internet was kind enough to rub in my face?
It had their pictures on the About Us page on their goddamn website.
Pictures of Scott Weston, the man behind the business end of things. And Dash Weston, the man behind the creative end of things.
Dash fucking Weston.
Dash Weston, the man who’d had me cumming like a freight train for hours. The man who had the biggest dickIhad ever seen and knew how to use it. The man who had-yes, may God forgive me-had his tongue in places no person with an ounce of good hygiene practices should have had it. Never mind we’d been in the shower at the time, the point was that, even Arnold had never explored that forbidden terrain, and I had been engaged to the bastard.
And why don’t we just forget how I had-very vocally and very shamelessly-let him know how good it had felt and begged him to keep doing it.
To which he had.
And now I was going to have to sit across from him, after sneaking out on him, in a meeting tomorrow, which I was sure was going to go to shit as soon as he saw me. Sure, the meeting was with both men, but that was just details. The second Dash sees me, he’s going to demand someone else to work with, and that someone else could only be Arnold. There was no way S.A.M. would entrust an account this big to just anyone, and as much as I hated to say anything positive about the asshole, Arnold was good at what he did.
I couldn’t lose this account to him.
Iwouldn’tlose this account to him.
The entire week, I had pulled up everything I could find on Weston Technologies and I had a folder put together that would make the CIA want to recruit me. I dug into both men’s business histories and went so far as to look into,both,Scott’s and Dash’s high school G.P.A.s.
I was going to be ready for this meeting like I’ve never been ready for anything else in my life.
With that unbalanced and slightly frightening professional drive, I called Ellie. “Hey-”
“You’re never going to guess what?” I said, interrupting her unhelpful greeting.
“You’re in jail?”
“No, I-” I frowned. “Why would that be your first guess?”
“Because you’re crazy enough to end up in jail, Henley,” she replied. “And don’t bother to deny it because we both know I’m right.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve never been arrested,” I pointed out.
