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"More like tempting men to sin rather than convert," I grin as I press the button for the elevator.
"Sin helps men convert. It shows them they're wrong and how right I am." She winks at me.
We step into the elevator, the fresh scent filling my nose.
"Rich bitch air," I mutter as I bite my lip and look up at my crazy best friend.
"We'll FaceTime; don't worry, you'll cringe and blush over my comments."
She knows exactly how I feel because she feels it, too. We hate saying goodbye because we each have a deep-seated fear that we might be unable to say hello again.
Chapter 19
Poppy
The scent of pumpkin spice fills the air, painting a grin across my face. I gulp down my last sip of coffee as my eyes scan my list. I roll my shoulders back with confidence—I’ve triple-checked the list and have everything I need. Heck, half my bag is filled with items I shouldn’t need but carry in case of an emergency.
If anyone gets a stain, I have a Tide pen, a.k.a. my magic wand. My sanitizer comes in spray, liquid, and wipes. I don’t know which my boss prefers, so I just packed all three types. I’ve got a travel toothbrush and paste, dental floss, my label maker, a notepad, highlighters, and pens. I even have fabric tape in case someone feels the need to go conservatively Amish for the day.
Harper thinks a nun invented fabric tape; she claims, 'Nip slips are the most freeing thing since sliced bread.'
Basically, the entire kitchen sink is stuffed inside my bag, just in case.
If I go by most stereotypes about CEOs, then I can guess my boss will be picky, bitchy, bossy, stubborn, and needy. If any mistake happens, I’ll get the blame; therefore, I over-prepare.
I place my mug in the sink and then grab my keys. Guilt hits my stomach as I eye the can of wasp spray I left on the kitchen island.
“Sorry, Harps, but I can’t look certifiable on my first day,” I whisper to no one. Maybe in a month from now or even a year, I’ll shove the spray into my Mary Poppins bag. Until then, if any creep approaches me, my screams of an STD must keep them at bay.
I glance at my watch as I step out the front door. The bus stop is a ten-minute walk, and it leaves at 7:30. I've planned the time to military precision, ensuring I arrive at the office ten minutes early.
The door behind me opens, making my hands jerk the key in the lock. "Pumpkin," a deep, masculine voice says. The tone is like a loudspeaker calling to my dormant ovaries. The girls are wide awake and singing their hellos.
I pull the keys out and turn to see God's gift to women.
Julian.
Shirtless.
I gulp, and my eyes may or may not breach the edges of my sockets.
"Julian," I reply, making his name ten syllables long.
Look up! Oh my god, Poppy, look up at his eyes and off his abs… is that ten… no, twelve? Are those little side muscles on his ribs and abs, or is he a new species of man yet to be classified?
He’s got a twelve-pack. I didn’t think that was physically possible. What is he, a mutant ninja turtle?
Why is he shirtless?
Not that I’m complaining.
Fortunately, my eyes manage to move; unfortunately, they move lower. I was hoping this was a dream and he’d be fully naked. Instead, he’s got on grey dress pants.
He clears his throat, and that deep, raspy rumble is making my knees want to bow down to him.
I hug my purse tighter to my chest as my eyes flick to his, and he’s grinning.
“You caught me halfway through getting dressed for work.”
