One Last Summer by Kate Spencer EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Kate Spencer
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.4 MB
- Price: Free
THE TEXT MESSAGES from my assistant, Lydia, came through back-toback at exactly 7:24 p.m., announced by two beeps chirping from my
phone, like baby birds fighting over a worm from their mother.
OMG. Clara!!!
Charles is ENGAGED.
????????? I replied, smashing the question mark key until the tip of my
index finger ached. This was the universal text message bat signal for ExBoyfriend Panic, and I was now deep in it.
Just the sight of Charles’s name sent my sweat glands immediately into
overdrive. It didn’t help that I was already an anxious mess over the disaster
on the computer screen in front of me. If there was ever a moment for my
drugstore antiperspirant to show off its promise of forty-eight-hour
“protection,” this was it.
After waiting through the longest minute of my life, I finally shot up
from my desk with an exasperated huff and rocketed out of my little
corporate cave, plowing straight into a wall of sensible, pale-blue collared
shirts tucked into equally sensible khaki pants. I’d landed behind the sales
team, and right smack in the middle of the Summer Friday happy hour I
was definitely supposed to be attending.
In the center of it all was Amaya Conrad, our company founder and
CEO, dinging the edge of her iPhone against a plastic cup of champagne.
She’d never met a toast she didn’t love to give, especially when it was
about all the money Four Points was raking in. And this quarter, Four
Points’ earnings had “been lit,” according to a recent company-wide email
she’d sent.
Lydia had scrunched her nose in horror when she’d read it. According to
her, forty-somethings using Gen Z slang was “cringy.” Lucky for me I was
only thirty-five, so she cut me some slack when I did the same.
“I’m so thrilled to celebrate our biggest quarter yet!” Amaya shouted
through a cupped hand as she simultaneously kicked off her Valentino rockstud pumps with the gusto only a buzzed person could muster.
She practically tossed her drink to her assistant, Abe, who had taken up
his usual spot, hovering dutifully just a few inches off to her side. Then,
with a grunt, she pushed herself up to stand on a chair. Stepping onto his
pristine white desk, she steadied herself with the edge of his computer
screen before grabbing her cup back, chugging whatever was left, and
pumping her fists in the air.
Oh, yeah. Definitely drunk.
I glanced down at my text messages—still nothing—and then back at
Amaya, who was pontificating about the many ways in which Four Points
was “the freaking G.O.A.T. of creative marketing here in Boston. We are
the Tom Brady of branding. You could literally call us Tom Branding!” Oh,
man. Someone was going to be chasing ibuprofen with Gatorade tomorrow
morning.
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