Love Sincerely Yours by Meghan Quinn EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Meghan Quinn
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
ROME
why the fuck is she staring at me like that?
She hasn’t said a goddamn word in—I check my
watch—three minutes.
Allowing the seconds to tick by despite her discomfort, or
possibly because of it, I let the silence stretch in front of us
unpleasantly long. Uncomfortable and challenging situations
are what I do best, and I thrive on them.
Tic.
Tock.
No worries, my sardonic smile says to her. I have plenty of
time. An entire twenty minutes penciled in just for her, per
her request, to sit here pissing away my precious time.
Waiting for her to open that pretty mouth and speak her
mind.
Instead, she shifts in her seat, the gray skirt she’s unable
to tug down hugging her hips. It’s tight and prim,
complemented by a stark, white button-down shirt. Black
glasses rest primly on the tip of her nose, the dark slash of
eyebrows above their rims, raised in surprise.
She doesn’t look like any marketing coordinator I’ve ever
met, and I certainly had no idea there was someone who
looked like her working for me. Under me.
Four floors down.
She looks like a goddamn accountant. Or secretary. Or the
principal of an East Coast prep school.
I swivel in my leather chair before plucking a pen off my
desk and pinching it between my fingers, studying it with
half-hooded eyes.
Feign boredom.
I’m anything but.
Click the end cap once, twice, watching this woman’s
large brown eyes track my movements from the other side of
my mammoth desk. Her brows pinch, thinly veiled patience
wearing thin.
Peyton.
Shit, when I saw her name in my appointment calendar, I
assumed the person walking through the door would be
male. Imagine my surprise when the delicate wrist gently
knocking on my doorframe belonged to the woman seated at
my conference table this morning.
She was on her cell phone during that meeting. I’ll bet my
right nut sac on it.
I glance at the sheet of paper and stare at each letter of
her name; I’ve never had a sit-down, or meeting, with this
woman since she’s been with my company.
Five years.
Even with a solid track record for results—according to
my secretary’s snooping—she’s never been in my office.
Peyton something-or-other, whose last name I can’t fucking
pronounce and won’t bother to try.
Why bother? She has one prissy foot out the door of the
company I built.
I part my lips and put us both out of our misery. “Does
your supervisor know you’re here?”
“Not yet,” she begins, spine straightening, breasts
straining against the starched shirt. “I wanted . . .” She
pauses, inhaling a nervous breath.
“Why didn’t you go to HR first? That’s protocol.”
I like being direct. Favor bluntness over candy-coated
bullshit, no matter what flavor someone is trying to feed me.
“I wanted to give you my two-weeks’ notice in person. I
thought it would be personable.”
Personable.
Is she fucking serious? Who does that?
“You’re quitting. Do you think I give a shit about being
personable?” Or polite? Or her trying to be considerate?
Those traits have no place in this office.
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