Chapter 23

Charlotte was still staring at the sheet of paper. "Is this for real?"

I took another swig of my wine. "Apparently."

"What do you mean, apparently? On the phone, you said you accepted."

I'd called her an hour ago, after I'd first gotten home. Based on the timing, Charlotte had obviously left my parent's house the moment I'd told her the news.

I knew why. She thought I was losing my mind.

She was right, of course.

I blew out a long, shaky breath. "Yup."

"Shouldn't you be, like, happy or something?" Again, she looked to the paper. "I mean, holy crap."

I blew out another breath. "Yup."

"That's a lot of money."

I took another drink. "Yup."

She eyed my half-empty glass, and then, the half-empty bottle. "I thought you hated merlot."

"Yup."

"So why'd you buy it?"

"I didn't. It's Paisley's."

Charlotte gave a snort of laughter. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

I wasn't a big drinker, but I liked to keep a bottle of wine on-hand, just in case. Sometimes, it was just in case company showed up. Other times, it was just in case you accepted a job offer from the biggest prick on the planet and wanted to drown your anxiety in a bottle of cabernet.

Unfortunately, Paisley had swiped my emergency bottle weeks ago, and I'd been too broke to buy a replacement. So here I was, drowning my worries in cheap merlot.

Or heck, it might be expensive merlot. It's not like I could taste the difference.

Charlotte picked up the bottle and took a closer look. "But where'd you find it? I mean, the way you talk, she never stocks the pantry."

"Got that right," I muttered.

"So where was it?"

I glanced toward the back hallway. "In her bedroom."

Charlotte was grinning now. "No way! You went through her bedroom?" She leaned forward. "So, did you ransack it or what?"

I hadn't been looking for the wine. In truth, I didn't even realize she had wine. No. What I'd been looking for was the cordless telephone.

Eventually, I'd found the phone under her pillow, but only after I'd found the bottle of merlot, hidden under her bed, where I'd also found three cans of soup, a box of saltines, and an unopened bag of corn chips.

I looked to the bag, which was now sitting, half-empty, on the kitchen table. I pushed the bag in Charlotte's direction. "Corn chip?"

She burst out laughing. "Don't tell me. Are those Paisley's too?"

I reached out and grabbed a handful of chips. I popped them into my mouth and mumbled, "They're mine now."

Charlotte studied my face. "Should I be worried? Because you look like you might be losing it."

"Oh, please." I gave a weak laugh. "I'm not losing it. It's gone."

In fact, I was pretty sure that I'd lost my sanity the moment I'd signed that job offer. But the salary – not to mention the perks – had been impossible to resist. Obviously, none of this was an accident. The way it looked, the paperwork had been drawn up long before I arrived in Zane's office.

I couldn't help but wonder, why me?

Obviously, there was something Zane wasn't telling me. But what?

Charlotte leaned closer and squinted at my face. "I hate to ask, but did something happen to your nose?"

Again, I reached for my glass. "Oh yeah." I took a good, long drink and returned the now-empty glass to the table.

"Well?" Charlotte said. "What happened?"

I sighed. "Rug burn."

"Seriously?"

I reached up to touch the tip of my nose. Oh sure, the carpet in Zane's office had looked all soft and plush, but it was a different story when you smashed your face into it.

I muttered, "Stupid carpet."

The only upside was that the rug-burn had been barely visible at first. In fact, my nose hadn't gotten truly red until that hot bath and, yes, too much merlot.

By Monday, my nose would be as good as new.

Or at least, I sure hoped so. It would, after all, be my first day on the job – a job I'd only taken because the offer had been impossible to resist.

And here, I thought I had integrity.

Turns out, not so much.

But then again, integrity wouldn’t pay the bills. And it wasn't like I'd taken a job beating orphans. The truth was, this would've been my dream job, if only someone else had offered it to me.

Still, it reminded me of that Italian lunch with Tiffany. Apparently, I could be bought with pasta and bread sticks – or in the case of Zane, a six-figure salary and a whole bunch of perks.

I leaned back and closed my eyes. "I’m a job slut."

"What?" Charlotte said. "So, he expects you to—"

My eyes snapped back open, "God no. I didn't mean it that way."

And yet, an image popped into my brain. The image was of me and Zane, sprawled across that giant desk of his. Damn it. It was an image I didn't need, and not only because, inexplicably, I was wearing those stupid red heels and not much else.

Charlotte said, "Then what did you mean?"

As for Zane, in my unwanted fantasy, he'd been wearing that same expensive suit, minus the shirt. Funny though, the tie was still there. And it looked way too good against his bare, muscular chest.

I mumbled, "Huh?"

Charlotte made a sound of frustration. "When you called yourself a job slut, what were you talking about?"

"Oh." I snapped back to reality. "That? I just mean that I hate the guy, and yet, when I saw that offer…" I let my words trail off into something like a sigh.

"Tell me something," Charlotte said. "Do you regret it?"

"Yes." My shoulders slumped. "And no."

"So it can't be all bad," she said. "And by the way, whose car is that?"

"The one in the driveway? It's mine. Sort of."

"Seriously?"

I reached up to rub the back of my neck. "Well, it's not like my name's on the title or anything. It's more like a company car."

"Wow, it looks brand new."

"Uh, yeah. I think it is." It wasn't just brand new. It was sleek and luxurious, with leather seats and an engine that purred like a kitten.

"I knew it!" Charlotte said. "I swear, when I walked by, I could smell how new it was."

I knew what she meant. It did have that new-car smell. As for my old heap, it was somewhere in the depths of the Bennington parking garage, where I'd been allowed to store the thing indefinitely.

It was all such a whirlwind, I still didn't know what to think.

After I'd accepted the offer, I'd been sent down to Human Resources, where I'd been given a choice of cars and a key to the executive suite. And then, in the strangest development of all, I'd been assigned a personal shopper, who'd hustled me from store to store, buying suits, dresses, shoes, and all of the accessories I'd need for the new position.

Even now, my closet was packed with more clothes than I'd ever owned in my whole life.

I honestly didn't get it. Why would Zane go to so much trouble, when he could simply hire someone who already had the wardrobe, not to mention the experience needed for such a high-profile position?

Charlotte said, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Aren't you worried you're gonna get fired?"

"No." I tried to laugh. "I'm worried I won't get fired."

"Oh come on," she said. "I'm serious. I mean, look what happened with the catering thing. You were just there doing your job, and the next thing you know, you're out on your ass."

"I know." I gave a long, sad sigh. "But at least the dogs were happy."

"Dogs? What dogs?"

I eyed my sadly empty wine glass. Would it be so bad if I refilled it? Already, I wasn't feeling so great, but I was awful thirsty.

As if reading something in my expression, Charlotte snatched the bottle out of my reach and set it on the other side of the table. She gave me a no-nonsense look and repeated the question. "What dogs?"

"His dogs," I said. "Flint and Lansing." I gave a little wave of my hands. "There was this incident. Don't ask."

But she did. And of course, I had to tell her.