When the rogue arm of the CIA tries to kill billionaire RAYMOND SINCLAIR after he double crosses the shadowy organization, he discovers the beautiful and spirited intern he fired, EVELYN SIMMONS, holds the key to saving his life and his Silicon Vall...
Evelyn's gummed lashes refused to open. For a moment, she had no idea where she was.
What time is it?
She had a vague memory of hitting the clubs last night with Deedee. Her eyes snapped open and she bolted upright in bed. She was going to be late for work. The room spun as she pressed a clammy hand to her forehead. How many shots of tequila had she done off the hot bartender's navel last night?
She needed coffee. Coffee?
Wait.
Nightmarish details of the marketing meeting and her horrific demotion from CENTIEN came flooding back. "No." She grabbed her mouth as bile rose in her throat.
Groaning, she fell back onto her rumpled sheets. How humiliating. Depression pounced on her chest like a thousand pound tiger, while fear pressed its sharp claws into her shoulders.
How did my life fall apart over flavored liquor?
She rolled over and slammed her fist against the pillow. "Shit." She screamed in fury. Standing up, she made her way to the bathroom and washed two aspirins down with a glass of water. After she used the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and then went to the kitchen. The thought of food made her gag, but she had to eat something. She pulled a glass carafe of orange juice out of the refrigerator.
The clusterfuck at work was my fault.
I fell in love with Sinclair's carefully cultivated image.
An asshole, not a human being.
Sinclair was brilliant, rich and handsome. He was also childish, unpredictable and mean. The hell with it, she thought. Just the hell with all of it. Munching on a cold egg roll, she heard a text ping her phone.
BABY DOLL WHERE R U? 👀
NEED YOU AT THE SHELTER 🫂😘
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Deedee's the fairy god mother from hell. Why isn't she hung over? Wasn't she drinking three shots for every one of mine?
"Rrrr—I'm coming." Her stomach protested as she gulped her orange juice. In the harsh light of day, a new life working at a homeless shelter did not feel like an appealing adventure. She grabbed her phone to respond.
BE THERE IN AN HOUR , D 🏃♀️
She pulled her red thong down off her curvy hips and let it fall down around her ankles. Dangling it on her foot, she kicked it into the laundry basket.
What was I thinking? I'm not a thong-wearing-kind-of gal.
In the shower, she let hot water work the bruising tension out of her body.She had failed and was not going to be CENTIEN's new Marketing Associate. She placed her palms on the blue-tiled walls as her knees nearly buckled out from under her.
Wrapped in a thick white towel, she looked around her tiny apartment with its utilitarian furniture. Most of the pieces in the apartment were second hand finds, like the wooden bureau and the wobbly plastic coffee table. She had never bothered to buy a real kitchen table. Instead, she had put all of her money into her wardrobe and having her hair highlighted.
Getting dressed, her hand hesitated over a cute matching set outfit. She forced herself to ignore her favored Ann Taylor and J. Crew sculpted suits. She wouldn't need these anymore.She stroked the smooth, soft fabric of the designer outfits and tears formed in her eyes.
Damn you to hell, Sinclair.
Determinedly, she shoved the neutral-colored jackets, creased slacks and matching tops aside. She reached past her heels and rifled over the back shelf of her closet for warm socks.
She recalled Lori's advice. Get even with the bastard.
The only way she knew how to do that was to dust off her pride and get a new job. Revenge wasn't in her heart. She pulled out a pair of skinny jeans and a burnt orange sweater, then went to the front closet and grabbed a packable teal jacket. She threw on white sneakers. Wide, oversized sunglasses covered her puffy eyes. Mechanically, she walked to her car.
Pink rays were shooting through the gloomy clouds. Inwardly beaten and bruised, she wanted to go back to bed and curl up in fetal position, but memory muscle kept her limbs moving. She sniffled. She didn't have time to feel sorry for herself. Her phone vibrated and she saw a text from Dennis Lear.
EVELYN, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU. CAN WE MEET TODAY?
Hope leapt in her chest. She would go to the shelter today and then she would talk to the man who had been like a second father to her. Perhaps she could work for him in Finance instead of Marketing with Sinclair. She was good with numbers. Maybe there was a silver lining to this dark day. Wherever Lori had gone, she hoped she would hear from her soon. She wasn't responding to her texts.
It was like she had dropped off the face of the earth.
