Page 42 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“Don’t be sorry, just get me the damn details. Are they on your computer?”

“Yes?”

“Come on, then.” She heads toward my desk.

I follow, quietly freaking out even harder. If I was a cartoon, there would be jagged scribbles around my head.

Because obviously there’s no contact information for the wake-up service to show her. What am I going to do?

“It might take a bit to put my hands on it,” I say, taking my chair and inputting my password. “I’ll have to dig around a bit. I’m not sure where I put it…”

“How hard can it be? You got it on Craigslist, right?”

“Uh…that’s what you suggested…”

“At some point you were going to have to pass along the details to billing, were you not? Did you not write it down?”

“I guess I was in a hurry at the time. I know I can put my hands on it, it’s just—”

“That you’re disorganized? And that your disorganization is affecting the people around you?”

One more write-up and I’m fired. And I lose my bonus. I cannot lose my bonus. With shaking hands, I typeHello Morning Wake-up Serviceinto the search bar for my local disk.

“That’s what it’s called? Hello Morning?”

“If I recall.”

“You’re not sure?”

I hit enter. Hello Morning is a Japanese TV show and an inspirational thing for women. “I might have to dig.”

“What about your email history?”

“Oh, good idea,” I say. I navigate to my mail, but there’s nothing there for that day. “Oh, wait,” I say. “I was cleaning my inbox. Maybe I deleted it or…”

“Why on earth would you delete something like that?”

Why indeed.

She waits.

What else can I do? I scroll to my trash. It won’t be there, of course. I’m just trying a lot of things. I can feel the tears prick at my eyes. She’s going to find out now. Either she’ll give me a write-up for not being able to locate the details of the service I hired for Mr. Drummond or she’ll give me a write-up for lying and posing as a wake-up service.

And if she knew what really happened, I’d get nine hundred write-ups.

I close my eyes, trying to think what to do. She’s criticizing my junk-mail filter. I can barely hear her. I’m feeling mortified and a little bit angry—not at Sasha; she’s just doing the best she can, though she could lose some of the Cruella bitch-i-tude.

No, I’m mad at Theo.

What the heck? He couldn’t just leave it alone? What does he want with the company information? Is he planning on ratting me out? I feel so betrayed, like we had a little secret together.

I take a deep breath, getting ready to tell her there is no service, but then her phone sounds. A wind chimes tone, which is sort of perfect for her in a weird way.

“I need to take this. Have it to me in five. You understand?”

I nod.

She walks off. I sit there, heart pounding. That’s when I get the idea. I’ll quickly set up a service. I can do this!

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