Page 8 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

I grit my teeth and nod, because I have to keep this job. “Absolutely.”

“Of course,” Sasha says. “I’ll help her figure it out.”

We get out of there quickly. Sasha is silent all the way down the hall and into the elevator. Then the doors close. “You were a disaster,” she says. “The way you contradicted him on everything. I had to pull it out of the fire for you.”

I bite my lip.Wait out the clock,I tell myself.Outplay. Outlast.“Well,” I say, “we have a strong new direction to work with. So that’s good.”

“Those images. I told you…”

“Consider them pulled,” I say.

“And your outfit. It was highly distracting to Mr. Drummond. The employee handbook forbids revealing outfits.”

My hand goes to my collar. All my buttons are done up except the neck-choking one, but who does the neck-choking button?

“It’s distractingly formfitting as well,” she says. “This is a workplace, not a fashion show.”

I quickly button the neck-choking button. But it’s not the outfit. She didn’t like that Mr. Drummond was so focused on me. I want to reassure her that what passed between us was disdain only, but I did find him attractive in an annoying way.

And hewaslooking at me a lot.

This is bad.

Nothing will get me fired faster than if she thinks Mr. Drummond likes me.

“I’ll keep it appropriate,” I say. Right then and there, I resolve that whatever spark there was, I’ll douse it. Stomp it. Kill it.

I’ll become utterly invisible and unattractive to him. Mentally I scan through my closet, trying to think of the ugliest, most shapeless outfit possible.

“Even so, I’m going to have to write you up for inappropriate workplace attire,” she says.

“What?” My pulse races. Three write-ups and I’m out. With trembling hands I check the rest of the buttons. “I didn’t think…”

“Now you will,” she snaps.

Two

Lizzie

Mia,my roommate and best friend in the world, pulls a shapeless gray dress off the rack at the Salvation Army on West Forty-sixth.

“No way,” I say. “I’m trying to appease her, not mock her.”

“Come on. She’ll see you’re trying,” she says. “This is what she wants. She wants for you to become invisible.”

I groan and take the dress.

Mia gives me a really serious look. “This is a code red alarm. We need serious ugly firepower to hide your hotness.”

I snort. Did I say she was my best friend in the world? Then she holds out Crocs and a fanny pack.

“I’m going for invisible, not, ‘Look at me! I’m having a psychotic break!’”

“Do you want to keep the job or not? Go try it on.”

I grab the stuff and head into the dressing room. I catch one last glimpse of her before I close the door. She has her phone out. “I better not see this on Instagram,” I say.

“Are you kidding? This is why they invented Instagram.”

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