دانلود کتاب black ties and white lies

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دانلود کتاب black ties and white lies

, and despite promising myself I wouldn’t, I have vague memories of karaoke and bad dance moves. Emma just chuckles, the kind that suggests she’s enjoying this far too much.

“No, not anymore,” she says, shaking her head with a laugh. “But seriously, your name’s been mentioned quite a bit in the break room.”

Groaning, I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair. “You can’t just come in here and drop a bomb like that without any context,” I complain, crossing my arms. “Spill it already.”

Emma raises an eyebrow, clearly relishing the suspense. “Apparently, you had quite an opinion about the catering choice for tomorrow’s event,” she explains.

Oh. That. My mind races back to earlier when I thought nobody was listening as I voiced my less than favorable thoughts on crustless sandwiches—an unpopular opinion, apparently.

“Great,” I mutter, sinking further into my chair. “That’s exactly how I wanted to start my day.”

But Emma just gives me a pat on the shoulder, her grin refusing to waver. “Don’t worry, Margo. They’ll forget soon enough. Just charm them with that killer presentation of yours,” she assures me.

I can’t help but smile slightly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude toward my friend who always seems to have my back—even when I’m unwittingly causing

to which compartment the water goes. Winnie’s by my side, offering a sympathetic smile as we recount the incident. With only the three of us sharing, there’s no chance Winnie’s still feeling the effects, but it’s the best excuse I could muster.

I hold back from rolling my eyes, knowing Darla could easily find me. I’m always either at my desk or stationed by the coffee maker, hoping the caffeine will keep me alert. Darla’s avoidance is obvious; she knows exactly where I am but chooses to stay away.

All because of a minor mishap—putting water in the wrong compartment isn’t a reason for eternal animosity. Still, Winnie reassures me with her presence, as if to say, “I’ve got your back,” as we navigate the quirky dynamics of our office space.

about a promotion that might be coming your way. Exciting, right?”

I glance at Darla’s empty desk again, her absence unsettling. Despite the chatter around the office, the missing presence looms large.

“I wish she’d just pick up her phone,” I murmur, my thoughts divided between Emma’s news and the concern bubbling inside me for Darla’s sudden disappearance. Emma, ever oblivious to personal space, continues holding court from my desk, animated as she shares gossip from other corners of our floor.

“Well, if you hear anything, let me know. Darla usually has the scoop,” Emma adds, finally pushing off my desk and strutting back to her own cubicle. I exhale, turning to my computer as the office’s familiar rhythm overtakes me once more, still wondering what might have pulled Darla away from her post.

explain, trying to maintain my composure. “At least, nothing I can think of.”

Emma offers me an apologetic look, her eyes still full of curiosity and concern.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” I mutter, straightening my shoulders and heading towards the conference room. The suspense is nerve-wracking, and Darla’s urgency adds to my anxiety. My mind races through possible scenarios as I approach the door, wondering what this unexpected meeting might entail.

I nearly stumble, losing my balance as I navigate my way out of the safety of my cubicle. My friend clicks her tongue in irritation, her expression clearly skeptical. “Of course, I knew there were higher-ups than Marty. They just never make an appearance here. What could be so urgent?” “You’re not being helpful,” I retort. I don’t have time to engage in further banter with my college best friend. Darla stands with her arms folded tightly, signaling that if I don’t hurry across the office and meet her at the door in the next thirty seconds, there will be consequences. I finally halt in front of the petite yet intimidating woman, who unnerves me more than I’d like to confess.

She scowls, her jowls accentuated as she fixes her stare on me. Ignoring her annoyed expression, I respond with a sweet smile, recalling my mother’s advice to always counter hostility with kindness. “Good morning, Darla,” I greet her in my most sugary tone. Her frown only deepens. “I don’t even want to know what you did to bring him here today,” she snaps. I’m just as clueless, Darla.

“Who?” I ask, trying to peer into the conference room behind her, but the door remains firmly closed. Oddly enough, that door is usually open.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” she suggests, pulling the handle to open the door. She partially obstructs the entry, forcing me to squeeze past her to enter.

The mysterious person in question doesn’t bother revealing himself. He stands facing the expansive windows, keeping his identity a secret.

With his hands tucked into the pockets of a flawlessly tailored suit that fits him like a second skin, I haven’t even glimpsed his face, yet every detail radiates affluence. Viewing him only from behind, I can sense the confidence he exudes. It’s evident in his stance—the assured tilt of his shoulders, his feet planted firmly apart as he looks out the window. His entire posture communicates authority and ambition. I’m unsettled by why his business has become intertwined with mine. When they said “boss,” they truly meant it. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?

Even as the door clicks shut behind me, he remains still, giving me the chance to take in his appearance from behind. If I weren’t already anxious about being in trouble for something I can’t even recall, I might have paused to admire the sight.

Honestly, I never realized suit pants could fit so well.

I cautiously take another step into the conference room. A glance around confirms it’s just me and this intriguing stranger with an impressive suit.

I shake my head, trying to push thoughts of how well he wears that navy suit out of my mind. According to what I’ve heard, he’s my boss. Yet the thoughts swirling in my mind are far from professional.

I hesitantly greet the room, my feet coming to an uncertain halt on the opposite side of a sizeable table from him. Uncertain of the protocol in such situations, I question whether to sit or remain standing if I’m about to be dismissed. Should I expect a box for my belongings?

He tenses and gradually rotates his chair to face me.

When his features come into view, I nearly stagger backward with surprise.

The person before me—who appears to be my boss—is none other than the striking elder brother of my former boyfriend.

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تلگرام
فیسبوک
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