Juice: (An Alpha Male Billionaire Romance - Part 3) (Juice: The Series) by Victoria Starke Page B
Authors: Victoria Starke
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running the blender for an hour
straight!”
“Sorry, Pipes, but the Namaste inspiration has struck
me early this Saturday morning,” I say, trying to cheer up my hungover and
cranky business partner.
“Ready for the secret?” I confide with a brow raised. “It’s
five ounces alkaline water, a fistful of kale, a tablespoon of coconut nectar,
a dash of cayenne, and a squeeze of lemon on top. Blend on high for a full
three minutes. Strain and chill. Absolute perfection! Mwah.” I say, kissing the
glass.
She stares at me at me and blinks. I’m surrounded in the
kitchen by dozens of scraps of scribbles, vegetable produce ends, and nearly
every dish and glass we own.
“Try some,” I say and offer the glass to broker a peace.
She sips and rolls the green liquid around in her mouth.
“Ok, it’s good. Better than last week. But I’m getting
coffee from downstairs,” she says while putting on slippers.
“Get some caffeine, you’ll feel better.”
“You’re pretty chipper this morning,” she says, “Does it
have something to do with seeing your favorite customer again?”
“He is something else,” I say and begin cleaning up. I can
feel her studying me. My face is burning and I turn away.
“Is anything going on with you guys? Most of our orders
don’t specify a delivery person,” she implores.
“No,” I say, trying not to sound defensive, “Maybe he just
likes me.”
I can’t keep up this charade much longer. I have to tell
Piper everything at some point, but I’m not sure how. Hiding the relationship
from my business partner is getting more and more complicated every time I see
Everett. She wouldn’t understand how I got in this mess to begin with.
“Ok, I think it’s great he’s interested in our company, but
if you’re discussing business, I want to be involved,” she says.
“I understand,” I say and we look at each other a moment
before she walks out.
Chapter Four
It’s Monday again, 8am Dunbar Standard Time and my inbox is pummeled
with 121 unread messages. I rub my eyes and blink hard at the screen. I don’t
want to be here.
I feel the floor bouncing again and count down in my head: 3,
2, 1…
Barry only pokes his head in this time. “Denise, Bronwyn.
Get in here.” We look at each other then follow this short, comb-over cursed
man to his office.
It’s a fucking disaster.
Stacks of papers on the desk, folders on the ground, and a
stack of boxes in the corner. Sean is sitting on the carpet like a five year
old. He looks up at us and forces a smile, “Hey, guys, join the party.”
“Shut up, Sean,” Barry snaps, “Bronwyn, get on the floor
with your buddy Sean and help him. Denise, grab a box and start scanning
everything into an OCR format.” Barry storms out to a conference room and slams
the door.
I’m clueless. “Ok, what in holy hell is going on this
morning?” I ask.
“Barry has had all this evidence in storage the past three
months and we need to start preparing for the Schwartz deposition. It’s on
Thursday and we’re just starting now. We’re so screwed.”
I get on my knees with Sean who looks worse than I do.
“Put the folders marked ‘Schwartz D2’ in one pile and
‘Schwartz D3’ in another. They’re out of order, like they were sliding around
in the back of Barry’s Porsche for the past month.” Sean snarks.
We muscle through the filing task in about an hour and a
half and start to feel some relief. Denise is scanning and converting at turbo
speed. The team works in a tense, quiet efficiency.
“Did he really forget all these items until today? We could
have had everything ready weeks ago,” I whine.
“He’s had us only working on the Thomas trial. Probably
because there’s a ton of press coverage. Barry hasn’t found a camera he didn’t
like.” Sean says.
“I should have reminded him about this, it’s my fault. I’m
the only other person with access to the locked storage,” Denise says,
defending him.
Sean and I
straight!”
“Sorry, Pipes, but the Namaste inspiration has struck
me early this Saturday morning,” I say, trying to cheer up my hungover and
cranky business partner.
“Ready for the secret?” I confide with a brow raised. “It’s
five ounces alkaline water, a fistful of kale, a tablespoon of coconut nectar,
a dash of cayenne, and a squeeze of lemon on top. Blend on high for a full
three minutes. Strain and chill. Absolute perfection! Mwah.” I say, kissing the
glass.
She stares at me at me and blinks. I’m surrounded in the
kitchen by dozens of scraps of scribbles, vegetable produce ends, and nearly
every dish and glass we own.
“Try some,” I say and offer the glass to broker a peace.
She sips and rolls the green liquid around in her mouth.
“Ok, it’s good. Better than last week. But I’m getting
coffee from downstairs,” she says while putting on slippers.
“Get some caffeine, you’ll feel better.”
“You’re pretty chipper this morning,” she says, “Does it
have something to do with seeing your favorite customer again?”
“He is something else,” I say and begin cleaning up. I can
feel her studying me. My face is burning and I turn away.
“Is anything going on with you guys? Most of our orders
don’t specify a delivery person,” she implores.
“No,” I say, trying not to sound defensive, “Maybe he just
likes me.”
I can’t keep up this charade much longer. I have to tell
Piper everything at some point, but I’m not sure how. Hiding the relationship
from my business partner is getting more and more complicated every time I see
Everett. She wouldn’t understand how I got in this mess to begin with.
“Ok, I think it’s great he’s interested in our company, but
if you’re discussing business, I want to be involved,” she says.
“I understand,” I say and we look at each other a moment
before she walks out.
Chapter Four
It’s Monday again, 8am Dunbar Standard Time and my inbox is pummeled
with 121 unread messages. I rub my eyes and blink hard at the screen. I don’t
want to be here.
I feel the floor bouncing again and count down in my head: 3,
2, 1…
Barry only pokes his head in this time. “Denise, Bronwyn.
Get in here.” We look at each other then follow this short, comb-over cursed
man to his office.
It’s a fucking disaster.
Stacks of papers on the desk, folders on the ground, and a
stack of boxes in the corner. Sean is sitting on the carpet like a five year
old. He looks up at us and forces a smile, “Hey, guys, join the party.”
“Shut up, Sean,” Barry snaps, “Bronwyn, get on the floor
with your buddy Sean and help him. Denise, grab a box and start scanning
everything into an OCR format.” Barry storms out to a conference room and slams
the door.
I’m clueless. “Ok, what in holy hell is going on this
morning?” I ask.
“Barry has had all this evidence in storage the past three
months and we need to start preparing for the Schwartz deposition. It’s on
Thursday and we’re just starting now. We’re so screwed.”
I get on my knees with Sean who looks worse than I do.
“Put the folders marked ‘Schwartz D2’ in one pile and
‘Schwartz D3’ in another. They’re out of order, like they were sliding around
in the back of Barry’s Porsche for the past month.” Sean snarks.
We muscle through the filing task in about an hour and a
half and start to feel some relief. Denise is scanning and converting at turbo
speed. The team works in a tense, quiet efficiency.
“Did he really forget all these items until today? We could
have had everything ready weeks ago,” I whine.
“He’s had us only working on the Thomas trial. Probably
because there’s a ton of press coverage. Barry hasn’t found a camera he didn’t
like.” Sean says.
“I should have reminded him about this, it’s my fault. I’m
the only other person with access to the locked storage,” Denise says,
defending him.
Sean and I
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