After embellishing her resume, Valerie-a single mom-lands a job as an administrative assistant to the hottest, most entitled and obnoxious man she's ever met: Preston Cartwright, the CFO of the prestigious Cartwright & Sons Enterprises.
Several yea...
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"Please, please, please," I beg my car as if it will make a difference if I ask it nicely to keep running as opposed to yelling at it. Surprise, it doesn't. The car sputters and smokes and makes some awful kind of grinding sound. I slow for a red light and the screeching gets so loud I know it can't be good. In fact, I suspect it's pretty damn bad. I know almost nothing about cars, but even I understand that the way my old clunker is acting up is not a good thing. And it couldn't be happening at a worse time.
I cannot afford for the car to die on me now. Everything rides on me getting to Cartwright & Sons Enterprises on time.
"Come on, come on, come on," I urge and tug a little extra on the steering wheel as the traffic light changes back to green and the cars ahead of me move forward. Mine lets out a vast cloud of dark smoke and stalls.
"Damn it," I say and slam my hand against the steering wheel. Clearly, the begging and tugging did not work.
I move my foot from the gas pedal to the brake pedal and reach for the key—because there is no push start in this old thing—when I'm startled by a blaring horn behind me. A young man wearing Ray-Ban aviators in a shiny new car is stopped behind me. If it wasn't for him honking his horn like it would make my car go faster, I would have been taken aback by how startlingly attractive he is.
My heart is already beating hard inside my chest, but now I feel the pressure behind my eyes. The one that means the tears are about to come.
I don't have time for this.
I'm already stressed the fuck out from the possibility of being late to the first day of my new job. I can't handle any more nonsense. Especially not a temper tantrum from an entitled snot-nosed kid in his daddy's car.
"Give me a minute," I yell. I'm trying to get the car to move. And I'm pretty sure I need it to function a hell of a lot more than the self-entitled jerk behind me.
He blares his horn again, and I clench my teeth. This bullshit could not come at a worse time. Normally I'd be able to shake this off, but I'm desperate.
I watch the guy in the rearview mirror. There's a sour expression on his stupidly handsome face, and somehow the way he flips his hands up in the air, like it's the end of the world to be stopped for a few seconds too long, annoys me.
As soon as he finds an opening in the lane next to us, he guns his car and flies past me, while glaring at me like I'm making my car stall on purpose, just to annoy him.
"Asshole," I shout. It's not like he hears me, but he might see the bird I flip him, and that makes me feel a tiny bit better.
Petty. I know. But I'm stressed and flustered and in need of coffee.
I turn the key again and beg the car again with "pretty, pretty please start." It takes three tries, but it finally cranks over and starts back up. It's just in time for me to go, before the light turns red all over again.
