The shower cranks off. I scrub my face, heart pounding.

If I miss the flight, there’s no way Mr Coltrane will wait for me. He’ll swan onto the plane without a care in the world, his dark blond hair artfully tousled, then fire me via text before setting his phone on airplane mode. And I’ll be left here, making a new life for myself among the acrobats and Elvis impersonators.

Do fake Elvises need personal assistants? Doesn’t matter. There’s no way my boss will give me a reference after today.

“Okay, this is it. Rock bottom.”

I wait, face buried in my hands, for whoever that is to get out of my shower. I desperately need to bathe too, what with the alcohol fumes seeping out of my pores, my personal smog cloud so strong it burns my eyes, but do I even have time? When and where was I supposed to meet Mr Coltrane? And shit, why can’t I think straight? Everything is so fuzzy. When I reach for them, all memories of last night slither away.

Slow footsteps in the bathroom. The faint rustle of a towel.

Okay. Okay, this is nearly over. I drop my hands, brushing a feather off my forearm before fixing a polite smile on my face and staring at the en suite door.

I can do this.

I can.

The door swings open, billowing clouds of scented steam into the room, and a man steps through, a towel wrapped around his trim waist, his muscled chest glistening and damp. His green eyes go wide with shock.

“Oh,” I mumble, raising a shaky hand. “Hey, boss.”

* * *

Check out Woke Up Wed here!

xxx

About the Author

Cassie writes outrageous, OTT instalove with tons of sugar and spice. She loves cookie dough, summer barbecues, and her gorgeous cat Missy.

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