Page 2 of Save Me the Trouble
That left Darcy. Darcy was cool. Darcy was my roommate. Darcy was responsible for getting me this job that I needed so desperately, even though I was desperately out of my comfort zone.
My comfort zone was business administration. That was what my bachelor’s degree was in…and half of my MBA.The other half was a casualty of one stupid mistake and systemic chauvinism.
I’d had to leave the program a year ago because I’d slept with the head of the department. One night.One time.I was drunk, and he never said he was married.
The one time I acted on impulse. The. One. Time.
Of course, he only got a slap on the wrist…and then proceeded to tell me that if he didn’t fail me, his wife was going to divorce him. Of course, the self-righteous pig was only bold enough to cheat on her, but he’d never risk losing her trust-fund lifestyle.
Fun fact: Leaving the program didn’t mean I left the student loans along with it.
I had a six-month grace period. Six months to transfer to another program—another school before repayment on my loans was due. So, I appliedeverywhere.And apparently, the lack of recommendation from Professor Pig spoke volumes.
Six months flew by, and my time was up. I needed a new plan—a way to afford rent and loans and living until I could figure out my life.
Thank God for Darcy.
She took me in and got me an interview at Embers—a job I was well overqualified for. Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers. I was drowning, so I latched onto this job to keep me afloat. It may have been a lifesaver. It also may have been a shark. Either way, it was keeping my head above water for right now.
“Earth to Grace.” Lena’s sarcasm stirred me more than her words. Her eyes narrowed on me before turning back to Diane. “No. Totally a bad idea, Ms. D.” Literally the only person I’d met who referred to Diane as anything less than Ms. Close. “I already started my research, and Grace will totally fuck this up—sorry, Grace,” she shot absentmindedly in my direction. “I mean, look at her. Who the hell is going to trust that she knows what she’s doing? Just tell King Dick to take his demands down a notch or he can take a hike and enjoy walking the dog himself every morning, if you know what I mean.”
Lena insisted on using random sexual innuendos—like “walking the dog” instead of just saying “jacking off”—and then highlighting them with an “if you know what I mean.”
Yes. Yes, we did.
My cheeks burned, but I kept my chin high. Just because I didn’t have experience didn’t mean that I couldn’t do this job.
“Grace…” Darcy’s quiet voice reached me first before her brunette bob and mismatched eyes swiveled in my direction. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t know Killian Crown. And trust me, you don’t want to know him.”
“I’m fine, Darcy,” I said softly but firmly, and she shrank back to her seat.I needed this. I needed the bonus that came with securing a client’s match.
“Miss Johnson.” Diane finally spoke, her cold stare going right through me. “What makes you think you’re up for this task?”
Because I had nothing to lose.But I didn’t say that. Instead, a different truth blurted from my lips.
“Because I’m the only person in this company who would never be attracted to Mr. Crown.”
Molly scoffed, but I kept my expression flat. Not only was I on a firm hiatus from men, but I’d learned this lesson the hard way.
“Never?” she interrogated me sharply.
“I’m not interested in men who have the ability to ruin my future or who would be so careless or selfish as to try.”
The look in her eyes changed. Ever so subtly did the tiniest glimmer of admiration sneak through. “Well then, Ms. Johnson, meet me in my office in thirty minutes. We have a lot to discuss.”
Like a power blip, her smile was there and gone before she disappeared from the room, Molly not far behind, complaining that she wasn’t going to get a shot at the infamous Killian Crown.
“Grace…”
“I’ve got this, Darcy. Don’t worry.” I left the room before she could worry some more.
Did I have this? Really?
I’d just insisted on taking Embers’s most difficult, most demanding client. Or, as Lena liked to refer to Mr. Crown, the “douchiest douche that puts all the other self-centered, bimbo-loving, heartless, soulless, brainless, mindless, dickless dickbags” to shame. The man who thought that ruining people could win him an Olympic medal and who slept his way through Seattle like the Tramp-Fairy left money under his pillow every time he fucked someone new.
And I, Grace Johnson, passably pretty, slightly sassy, and a definite pauper, had just volunteered to immerse myself in his life—even if just for a few weeks.
“What’s the plan, Grace?” Darcy levied me with the question as soon as I walked into our apartment.
