The Asshole App (Expanded Version) ✅ Wattys2023

𝟢𝟣 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒𝗇

Evelyn Simmons stepped inside the diamond-shaped lift and regretted it immediately. She had hated her adventurous Sky Walk Tour of the Grand Canyon last summer and had to be rescued from the glass bridge like a deer frozen in headlights. Now she was about to hurtle up thirty corporate floors inside a transparent cube?

What am I? A glutton for punishment?

The glass doors closed behind her, and the elevator ascended above a canopy of lush treetops with a smooth whoosh. When she looked down, CENTIEN's forested atrium shrank below her at an alarming rate. She stumbled in the lift, and her smoky-quartz sunglasses flew off of her head. They skidded into the elevator's invisible corner with a faint clatter as she struggled to balance two cups of coffee that wobbled precariously in a cardboard takeout carrier.

Damn this Wonkavator contraption. Who wants to see the ground drop out from under them and lose their breakfast to boot?

Most of CENTIEN's employees avoided the futuristic elevator like the plague, but the modern tower-of-terror was the fastest route to the thirtieth-floor conference hall. The silk lining of her crisp, toffee-colored skirt brushed her thighs as she bent down to retrieve her Gucci sunglasses. A wave of dizziness assaulted her, and she closed her dark brown, amber-flecked eyes.

The things I endure for this job. I hope this internship pays off.

The vertigo-inducing momentum ended and her body lightened. Her heels lifted and then settled on the clear polycarbonate flooring. As she waited for the elevator's glass panels to slide open, she tugged at the lace thong she had on.

Hearing a rumor that her boss's stormy relationship with Satoshi Nakamoto had gone down in flames, she'd splurged on the minuscule piece of fabric that was now riding up her ass. A stunning Agent Provocateur sales girl had convinced her to buy the matching lipstick-red bra.

Maxing out my credit card might have been a mistake, but but if a billionaire boss is on the market, I need to up my game of seduction.

A straight line formed between her brows as she remembered the lingerie investment would make her late with this month's car payment.

Stabilizing the coffee carrier with both hands, she exited the heart-stopping transport and then paused on the diamond-patterned tiles to dig into her purse as she felt a text vibrate her phone. A text from Charlotte Grayson, one of the senior interns raised her eyebrows.

𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖱 𝖴? 𝖧𝖳𝖥𝖴! 𝖬𝖮𝖥𝖮 𝖭𝖤𝖤𝖣𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖲 ☕️

"Shit." Her heart fluttered as she gripped the compostable tray and took off at a trot. Being the gopher for CENTIEN's demanding CEO had its perks, but it also had a downside. Picking up his favorite coffee from the corporate canteen had thrown her behind schedule. The takeout counter had been overrun this morning and she had waited in line for fifteen minutes. The reason none of the other interns had volunteered for the task.

Pink spots blossomed on her porcelain cheeks as she raced down the tech company's sweeping corridors. Her Valentino cream-colored flats echoed a staccato beat on the marble tile flooring. She couldn't be late—this was the most important meeting of her life. CENTIEN's powerful CEO would go gaga once he learned about the colossal senior market she had unearthed.

This report will open his eyes. I'm not the idiot coffee girl.

Anticipation quickened her pace. She arrived at the thirtieth-floor conference room at 7:59 am. Her sleek, shoulder-length ponytail bounced wildly as she rushed through a set of burnished glass-steel doors. A swarm of competitive interns, vicenarians in their early twenties, gossiped amongst themselves in a quiet buzz as they waited for the weekly marketing meeting to begin. Catching her breath, she scanned the rows for a place to sit. If she was left standing, she would be branded a loser in their hokey game of musical chairs—ridiculed worse than an idiot coffee girl. None of the waspish interns acknowledged her arrival as she searched their animated faces.

Throw me a frickin bone, people.

Of course, no one would help. They were vying for the same marketing assistant position as her. The opening would place the lucky candidate within a heartbeat of the company's cutting-edge, brilliant CEO.

Criminally rich, Raymond Sinclair.

Noting her anxious gaze, a middle-aged, female executive with intense blue eyes and a razor-sharp buzz-cut waved her over. The woman's makeup-free appearance was softened by a haze-blue cowl-neck blouse under a sleek navy pant suit. "Over here, Evie." Lori Jacobs, the Senior Vice President of Research and Development pulled her messenger bag off one of the brown ribbed pleather chairs. "I saved you a seat."

Evelyn walked over and placed the cardboard carrier on the chair's side table. She sat down with a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Lori."

The Senior Executive leaned forward and whispered in the intern's delicate, shell-shaped ear. "Don't make yourself a target. Sinclair's been tearing everyone a new one since his Tokyo affair imploded last week." Despite her mannish build, the large-boned woman handled herself gracefully.

Evelyn's coral lips parted in surprise. The high-powered executive knew every crumb of gossip circulating in the company, but the coding savant seldom engaged in discussing even the juiciest tidbits. Jacobs had the reputation of being gruff, but Evelyn found her surprisingly personable for a software engineer. Intelligent and insightful, the more experienced woman had taken Evelyn under her wing when she arrived at the company.

Her heart leapt. The rumor was true.

This could be the lighted runway to land a ring on her finger. Lowering her voice, she suppressed a smile. "I can't believe his love life's in worse shape than mine." She kept her voice low and scanned the room. She tensed as the subject of their discussion, billionaire Raymond Sinclair, arrived. Her pulse quickened. Was the air around him charged with electricity? Or anger? Glimpsing his hawkish profile, she noted dark smudges under his charismatic green eyes. Her heart thumped in her chest.

His breakup must have been brutal.

Maddeningly aloof, the thirty-two-year-old tech genius exuded the IT factor perfected by Hollywood royalty. Six foot two, lean and muscular with a graceful swimmer's build, the dark-haired CEO wore a slate-gray button-down shirt and a burgundy power tie. His face was a study in controlled focus as he strolled to a lectern and positioned himself under the room's key lighting.

His piercing gaze scanned the group of hungry, dog-eat-dog competitors. "All right, people." He placed both hands on the sides of the podium and leaned forward. "I need volunteers. Who wants to blow me?"