Page 6 of #Bossholes

Fucker. It’s not like I said there was a beautiful legal secretary two floors down who would be perfect to work up here with us. Nope. I was as professional as possible. Unless this is a jab at my extracurricular activities. I may go on moredatesthan him and Wyatt combined, but I don’t mix business with pleasure. He knows that.

Good riddance.

I don’t need all that negativity in my life. Not when my mouth has gotten me in enough trouble. I just hope that Miss Rhodes is a top notch secretary, not some girl with an appetite for cookies.

FOUR

Kinsley

As soon asI walk into my apartment, I toss my purse on the kitchen table and help myself to a large spoonful of chocolate ice cream. Anything to help me forget the garbage that spewed out of my mouth during lunch today.

I can’t believe I said that tohim.

Mr. Fucking Wallace.

Of course the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen had to be one of the three senior managing partners. And I called him an emotional vampire. Who does that?

These guys don’t fuck around. Some of the interns have a running joke about them crawling out of the pits of hell in three piece suits, ready to practice law. They’re ruthless, cutthroat, and according to Margo, there was an incident where they made an opposing counsel cry. Yep, you heard me. They made a grown man cry like a toddler in the middle of court.

There’s no way I’m not going to be fired tomorrow. In fact, I don’t know how I’m not fired already. I spent the entire afternoon mindlessly staring at my computer, ignoring the mountain of work piling up on my desk. I couldn’t concentrate; I could barely reply to an email without my attention shifting tothe elevator. I knew someone was going to show up, and I didn’t want to be taken off guard.

But no one showed up. Not HR or security. And definitely not a single senior partner in sight. Not that I’d know what the other two looked like, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Trust me, after the lunch incident, I googled the shit out of them this afternoon and nothing. I mean, there were articles about them and the practice they’ve built but not a single picture. Unless the other two look like the cryptkeeper, I’m not sure how three millionaires managed to stay off the internet.

At least all this made me forget about being dumped.

Screw the spoonful; I need the entire tub of frozen deliciousness. Then maybe I won’t care when human resources calls me into their office, tells me to pack up my desk—which really only consists of a few pens and my cactus llama—and hit the road.

Ugh.

There’s no way I’m not going to be up, thinking about this all night. I blame Brian. If he’d waited until tonight to break things off, I wouldn’t have needed to go for the cookies like they were my salvation. I wouldn’t have been caught double fisting the culinary confections, and I sure as heck wouldn’t be on Maverick Wallace’s radar.

But no, dickhead Brian couldn’t wait a measly twelve hours to get rid of me and now here I am, on the verge of losing everything.

I grab my phone, my fingers hovering over my Kindle app when a voicemail notification pops up. They wouldn’t call me to fire me, would they? Or maybe it’s Brian wanting to swing by and pick up the acoustic guitar he left here last week. My stomach sinks as I drop the spoon in the ice cream tub and play the message.

Good afternoon, Miss Rhodes. This is Cindy from Dr. Wagner’s office. It unfortunately looks like your insurance will not cover your brother’s surgery or his cochlear implants. There might be assistance programs you can look into to help with the overall cost, but our estimate to cover everything including his CT, MRI, and external speech processor will be around fifty-nine thousand dollars and then, of course, there’s his rehabilitation after the procedure. If he needs to go to the hospital, which I don’t see happening, the cost will increase significantly. I’m sending a breakdown of everything to your email for you to look over. If you decide to proceed, call me back and I will get him on the schedule, but we will require a fifty percent down payment before the day of surgery. Please let me know if you have any questions. Have a great day.

Fifty-nine thousand dollars? Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t have that kind of money sitting in my bank account or stuffed between the cushions of the lumpy couch I sleep on.

My parents certainly didn’t leave us a single goddamn cent. They spent it all on alcohol. No wonder Colin didn’t get his implants when he was a toddler. Mom told me he wasn’t a candidate, that there was nothing the doctors could do for him when he lost most of his hearing after a string of middle ear infections. It wasn’t true. The specialist I spoke to said he was a perfect candidate, that getting them early is preferred. They lied to me, to Colin, and then wrapped their car around a telephone pole, leaving me here to pick up the pieces.

How am I supposed to look at my brother and tell him that he may never be able to hear? That I might be losing my job, the apartment, all the stability I’ve worked so hard to give us.

A swell of emotion catches in my throat, making it hard to breathe, and I force it back down, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. First Brian, then my job, and now this. Panic claws at my chest, sinking its nails into me, threatening to dragme into a pit of despair, but I manage to hold on. I manage to stay in the present.

Bad news always comes in threes, and I can only hope it’ll stop here.

It’s going to be okay. I’ll figure it out. If I have to work two jobs or sell pictures of my feet, I will.

Bad day at work?Colin's hands move quickly as he signs to me, sitting down on the other side of the kitchen counter. His head tilts to the side, his brows draw together, and he studies me.

Just a long day. Nothing to worry about.I force a smile, licking the rest of the ice cream from the spoon and dropping it in the sink.

The kid has an uncanny ability to read me like a book, and I’d rather it remain closed until I figure out how I’m going to get through this. He’s only thirteen, but he worries about being a burden—another thing I blame my parents for. It’s been a constant battle between us in the four years since our parents died and I gained custody. He thinks he’s preventing me from living my life, from doing what I want. He also thinks that if he could hear like a normal kid, it would make things easier.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

A ghost of a smile spreads across his face.You’re going to ruin your dinner.

---