Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I sighed. “I can’t because I’d be lying.”
“Seriously? It’s Sunday. You haven’t had a day off in what? Six weeks? It’s not like you get overtime.”
“Preaching to the choir,” I muttered as I kept my hands moving on the mouse and keyboard to program the visual effect with the new look they’d asked for. My monitor was huge and took up my entire desk. The lights were off. I had no exterior windows. My space was a digital cave.
“You need to quit.”
She’d been telling me this for about a year, and she wasn’t wrong. At first, I’d resisted her advice because I had a job. A job in the field that I wanted. A job that paid the bills, even if I didn’t have any time to spend any of my earnings. Heck, I was barely in the apartment I paid rent on.
Where did being the “good girl” get me?
Absolutely nowhere. That was where.
Having her call in the middle of my little pity party only made it worse. Reminded me what I could have if I hadn’t been the responsible twin. I’d spent my entire life being just that. The boring twin. The quiet twin. The dowdy twin. The mousy twin. The nerdy twin. Insert whatever staid adjective before twin, and that was me.
Meanwhile, Lyssa, living her erratic, wild, and crazy life, had always pulled in luxury, ease, and fun. She bounced from job to job but had never made less than six figures. She didn’t pull eighty-hour work weeks either.
“Emma, are you on the phone?” Stan called across the office. “You don’t have time to be on the phone.”
“Oh my God, is he yelling at you right now? It’s like… ten o’clock!” Lyssa was pissed on my behalf. “Quit! Emma, seriously. Quit. Just get up and walk out. Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise.”
Lyssa knew I was a worrier. That I overthought everything. That if I wasn’t cautious and careful something bad was going to happen. My twin was the opposite. She didn’t worry about anything. I had a planner and every second of my day was allocated while she literally winged life. I questioned everything, knowing something terrible could happen if I made the wrong choice. Maybe that was why she said nothing bad will happen. She knew that was exactly what I was imagining if I did what she said and quit.
I bit my lip, never before so tempted. I should quit. I really should. I was absolutely miserable. My only joys in life besides talking to Lyssa were hitting my bed at night and taking a hot shower in the morning, and that was depressing as hell.
This work was killing me.
“I’m still working, Stan. I can work and talk,” I called out. I wasn’t usually sassy. It must have been Lyssa’s influence.
Or the fact that I was one inch from a nervous breakdown. I grabbed my favorite coffee mug, and saw that it was empty. Shit. I needed more coffee.
“I’m serious about quitting,” Lyssa said in her take-no-prisoners tone. “You could come to Montana and just decompress from all that bullshit.”
“Hmm.”
It was tempting. Very tempting.
“My boss isn’t ever here,” she continued. “I mean, I’ve met him. He did the interview. But he comes and goes. The last time I saw him was two weeks ago, and he said he wouldn’t be back this month.” Her latest gig was working as a ranch caretaker to some billionaire who owned a huge piece of property in Montana. Since it was his second or seventh home, the guy, like she said, was rarely there.
What a job. Manage house cleaners for a place that never got dirty. Filled the pantries of a bunkhouse full of hot–Lyssa’s word–cowboys. She knew nothing about horses. Nothing about…running a dang ranch, except she was doing it. Without a boss breathing down her neck. Or, from what it sounded, even in the same state.
“I’m actually headed to Ibiza with the Sultan of Arunai.”
What? My brain stalled. Sultan of Arunai? SULTAN?
I couldn’t even get a date with the security desk guy downstairs, and she bagged a sultan? And where the hell was Arunai? Was she making it up? Had the guy lied to her about being a sultan? How did someone even become a sultan? Did she mean Aruba?
God, I was thinking all of the possible dangers, Lyssa was like, cool. Let’s do it. I don’t care if you’re lying, you fuck well, and I want a free trip.
“What?” I asked. “Ibiza?”
“I know!” she laughed. “Crazy, right?”
Yes, batshit crazy.
“When were you going to tell me this?” I asked.
“Emma!” Stan yelled. “Are you still on the phone?”
“That’s why I called,” Lyssa said.
I shook my head, losing my shit over two different people talking to me.
“To tell you the crazy story,” she continued. “You see, he was in Montana to check out a prize bull he sponsored, and we bumped into each other at the only restaurant in town.”