I kept my eyes lowered as Audrey made her way toward my desk, while silently praying that she would walk right past me.
I did not like that bitch. Not because she was fucking the boss either (although everyone knew she was only after his money, even if he was working a pretty hot bod and damned easy on the eyes). It wasn't even because she was beautiful. She was definitely that.
Everything worked for her, from her pale, bottle-blonde hair that just brushed the top of her shoulders to her pouty, gel-injected lips (if she got any more gel injections she'd start to look like a pufferfish), and long fake eyelashes that she batted at Garrett Jackson (the boss) so often that I thought she had a tic at first. I'd seen the woman in action. She was definitely on top of her game. I'm pretty sure on her resume she'd marked her life goal as becoming some rich guy's trophy wife.
Did I mention Audrey’s figure? I’m talking hourglass, Kim Kardashian-like curves. Before Kim had whatever it was she had done to her ass, that is. I mean, no matter how many men like a big-ass woman, I would never intentionally add any extra padding to my ass, or anywhere else. They’ll take me as is, or they can fuck off.
But Audrey, who leans a little to the skinny, model-thin size, has every man at the office salivating, but when she turns her frosty gaze on them, they all down their heads and get suddenly busy. It's either that, or turn into human popsicles. They know exactly what she is--vicious. She always goes for the throat. They're scared shitless of her. Everyone knows, since she's sleeping with the boss, she can have them fired if she's so inclined.
And that’s why I don’t like her. Because she’s downright mean.
I looked down at the papers on my desk, willing her to keep walking. Except she stopped and perched her tight little ass right on the corner. Really? I wondered what would happen if I pushed her off and she landed on the floor.
Maybe one of her enhancements would explode.
I sighed. It was the thought that counted. I needed to keep this job, and I liked working here. Still, I wasn't about to take any of her crap.
I raised my gaze and looked at her. She was studying me. "Was there something you wanted, Audrey?" I finally asked.
She studied me for a moment longer before she spoke. "You're quite homely, aren't you?"
As I said, she's a bitch. "Did you walk all the way over here just to tell me that?" And I wasn't homely. There was a reason I wore loose, plain-Jane, clothing, never any makeup, heavy glasses with clear lenses, and my long black hair scraped into a tight bun at the base of my neck.
This was how my last three jobs had gone
Job one: I wore cute outfits. My boss, who was almost seventy and bathed in enough Old Spice that my eyes watered, had cornered me and did the touchy-feely thing until I broke free and slapped the snot out of him.
Job two: Younger boss, but the married man in the next cubicle wouldn’t stop hitting on me. Yes, I complained and got, ‘I’ll talk to him’ from my direct supervisor, but nothing was ever done. I filed a formal complaint with the board of directors, with my number, in case they wanted to personally get in touch with me. Which they did. Married guy was fired, but the workplace became a hostile environment. So, I quit.
Job three: The boss’ wife was celebrating her fifty-second birthday, and even though her husband was super nice and as far as I knew, never strayed, she still made sure I knew I wasn’t welcome at the company.
So, I decided unless I wanted to be in the unemployment line every few months, I had to change something. I’m thrilled to say, I’ve been at my current job for just over a year because I blend in with my surroundings—until apparently, today. But I didn’t appreciate Audrey coming over to tell me I was homely.
"Of course I didn’t come over just to tell you that." She glanced at the papers on my desk.
Damn! I should've stuck the vacation flyers in my desk drawer when I saw her coming. She picked one up and glanced through the brochure, then casually tossed it back on my desk.
"Oh, are you going on vacation? Shannon, right?"
"Yes, it's Shannon." I would give anything to tell her that I was going to an exotic island for two weeks where hot guys would pleasure me in every way possible. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. My vacation consisted of buying a brand new washer and dryer. They had gone out at the same time. Unless I wanted to trudge down to the dark and fucking scary laundry room in the basement of my apartment building—which I didn't, then a vacation was out of the question.
"No, not this year. Maybe next."
She jumped off the corner of my desk, straightening the wrinkles out of her spandex, mold-to-your-body, red dress. "But would you like to go on a vacation?"
For just a moment, my heartbeat sped up. Just as quickly, it slowed to a more normal rate. There had to be a catch to whatever she was about to offer me. Audrey never gave anything away for free. Ha! I almost laughed aloud at my own joke.
"Please, explain," I told her.
"You're going to owe me big time," she cooed. "How would you like to spend two weeks in a multi-million dollar mansion? A fully stocked kitchen, swimming pool, game room, maid service twice a week... I mean, you can have it all."
My heart began to beat faster once again. My imagination ran wild. Two weeks in a mansion! Lounging out by the pool drinking margaritas. My fantasy came to an abrupt halt. I eyed her skeptically. She wasn't nice to anyone, and she had definitely never been nice to me. I didn't think she knew I even existed. Well, until now.
"What's the catch?"
She shrugged one delicate shoulder. "Not much."
I knew it. There was always a catch. My dad once told me that if someone was trying to sell you a diamond really cheap, then it was probably fake.
She continued. "You only have to watch Garrett's nephew during the two weeks. He's the sweetest little boy, no trouble whatsoever, and he’s only eight years old."
"Mr. Jackson's nephew? You want me to stay at his house?" Sure, Garrett Jackson was good looking. No, he was better than good looking. The guy was hot. I mean off the charts, fuckable hot. He was also a stick in the mud. He rarely spoke to anyone. I don’t think he even knew how to smile. Staying two weeks in his home, mansion or not, and babysitting his nephew did not sound like a vacation to me. "I don't think so, Audrey."
She pouted prettily. Yes, she even pouted with a sexy little moue. Well, to be truthful, she always pouted because of her gel-injected lips.
"But they’re fumigating his sister’s house because she saw a mouse. One fucking mouse.” She rolled her eyes. “It upset her so much that she’s going to a spa to recover. Her ex is out of the country. That only leaves Garrett to pick up all the pieces and take care of everything. If you don't babysit his nephew, Garrett and I won't be going to Barbados, and I so want to go to a tropical island and get out of the city."
My ears perked up. "Are you saying Garrett won't be home for the two weeks?"
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course he won't be there. He'll be with me. And, he'll pay you for babysitting his nephew."
My heart began to flutter again. I could go on vacation and get the new washer and dryer for my apartment. "When do I start?"
She smiled. "On Monday. I'll text you all the information."
If anyone saw her expression, they would think she was the cat who'd gotten the cream. It was me who'd gotten the cream, though. Two weeks in a mansion. Oh my God, I was so damned lucky. It didn't even bother me that I would be babysitting Mr. Jackson's nephew. I loved kids. This was going to be the best two weeks of my life!
Yes, I probably shouldn’t have slid down my boss’ banister, but it was a long, hard, and inviting banister. How could I have known that he would come back early from vacation, that I wouldn’t be able to stop, or that I would fly off the end, knock him down, and end up on top of him? And no, people, my you-know-what did not land on his face!
And yes, I was supposed to be there. I was babysitting his sister’s dog while her house was being fumigated. But now he’s here, and I’m having erotic fantasies, but I’m desperate to buy a new washer and dryer, so I need to stop having these naughty thoughts, which I do. That is, until my free-thinking mother sends me brownies from California.
Except there was a slight problem with the shipment.
Women usually want one thing from me—money. But when Shannon slides down my banister, I know I want her. I have a feeling she might actually be different from all the others. She’s funny and smart. And hot. Did I mention hot? I can’t seem to get the image of her sliding down my banister out of my mind.
Then the brownies arrive. The best I’ve ever had.
Yes, Shannon is good. Real good. I should’ve known she was like all the others. How the hell could I have ended up in Vegas, married to the biggest con artist of them all?