Burning Violet
A.P. Watson
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Playlist for Burning Violet
Acknowledgments
Other Titles by A.P. Watson
Coming Soon
About the Author
Burning Violet
Copyright © 2018 by A.P. Watson. All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9888019-2-9
ISBN-10: 0-9888019-2-2
No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without express permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the
products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edited by Tamara Beard of Wrapped Up Writing
Cover design by Ben Ellis of Be Designs
Formatted by A.P. Watson
Created with Vellum
Thank you for loving these characters as much as I do.
Chapter One
As I did a final scan of the office to make sure everything was in order, I took a moment to allow the memories of the last four years to wash over me. Frank Tomlinson had been a good boss overall—a bit old school and super by-the-book, but we’d always gotten along well. Sure, it had pissed me off to no end that he expected me to be his personal food ferret, but I was still a little sad he had retired.
While I wasn’t ecstatic to start working for the new young gun they just hired to replace Mr. Tomlinson, he’s way better than my other options. Mr. Martin liked to run his secretaries like an army drill sergeant and Mr. Bartlett’s sleaziness knew no bounds. And that was saying something, considering I worked as a cocktail waitress in a Vegas strip club for five years. Satan would have been preferred over that dirty mother fucker.
It was obvious the new guy was my best option. Looking around his soon-to-be office, I could admit he certainly had impeccable taste. The office had been recently renovated; in fact, the entire floor was in the process of being renovated. And he hadn’t put the new design to waste. The desk he selected was masculine yet modern, and it sat dead center in a waterfall of windows showcasing the breathtaking view of the harbor. I even found myself drooling over the plush armchairs the moving company arranged on the left side of the space. These renovations were done to the specifications of Hunter Desmond, not Frank Tomlinson. Mr. Tomlinson certainly wasn’t one for extravagance, but this office had just the right balance of simplicity and luxury.
On paper, my new boss was perfect. Hunter Desmond had some experience working at a firm in Chicago before he decided to relocate to Boston. He graduated top of his class from Harvard Law, his father was a prestigious lawyer working in the city, and his mother was a law professor. Basically, he had the credentials of a thoroughbred racing horse set to sweep the Kentucky Derby. It’s the kind of horse my father enjoyed throwing his money away on. Well, whenever he wasn’t wasting in on booze.
Off paper, the rumors surrounding Hunter Desmond abounded. I didn’t usually pay any attention to office gossip. Sure, I took everything with a grain of salt, but that didn’t mean my ears don’t work. Hunter Desmond had a reputation with the ladies—those he worked with and the wives of those he worked under. For an average person like me, such a thing meant certain doors would be closed forever. But a good name could get you a lot in this line of work. And Desmond was one of the best according to Mr. Beakman. As one of the managing partners at Beakman, Bartlett, and Bridges, one of Boston’s most prestigious law firms, he was the one who decided to keep the door open for the Desmond name.
The prospect of my new boss being remotely similar to Bartlett, caused the feeling of unease to churn inside my stomach like an agitator in a washing machine. With a heavy sigh, I turned off the lights and closed the door behind me.
“There you are!” I spun on my heel at the sound of Rhonda’s voice. “I’ve been searching for you!”
“What?” I took the pins out of my hair, letting my blond waves fall around my face. “Why?”
“For drinks,” she replied, slightly agitated.
“Oh, I completely forgot! I was just doing a final inspection of the office to make sure everything was set for tomorrow.” Rhonda readjusted the strap of her purse and began tapping her toe at me. She may have been old enough to be my mother, but the woman was a spitfire. She’d been working as Mr. Beakman’s secretary for the last twenty years, and if you wanted to make it at this firm, getting on her good side was a must. Thankfully, she loved me. “I’m hurrying, you old wench!”
She touched her hand to the flesh above her heart and sighed dramatically, like a live clone of Scarlet O’Hara. “You do love me.”
My eyes rolled in a perfect circle. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, powering off my computer before we left. Tuesday night meant drinks with the girls. And by drinks I meant cheap margaritas at a dive bar not too far from the office, and by girls I meant Rhonda and two other middle-aged secretaries that worked at the firm. Yep, I was a hardcore party animal.
I grabbed my purse and began to follow behind her. We only made it three steps when Rhonda suddenly spun around. “Wait, you didn’t happen to bring another shirt, did you?”
I groaned in exasperation. We went through this shit every time we went out. Undoing my button-up shirt, I pulled it off and shoved it in my purse. Now, I was wearing a black, high-waisted pencil skirt with a red tank top. To finish my look, I kicked off my nude pumps, pulled out a pair of black heels, and shoved my work shoes in my purse. I stepped into the kitten pumps, or fuck me heels, as Rhonda so lovingly referred to them. “Happy, Mother?”
She gave me a once-over before finally breaking into a smile. “Yes! One of these days, Violet, you’re going to meet a nice man while we’re out!”
“Can’t wait!” I replied, my voice oozing with sarcasm. Her responding glare quickly made me zip my lips. Only people with a death wish pissed off Rhonda. “I mean, yay!”
“Better.”
I shook my head, following her to the elevators and out of the building. Thirty minutes later, Rhonda, Margot, Danielle, and I were seated around our usual table at Eddie’s with the rest of the after-work crowd and the die-hard NFL fans ready to watch the New England Patriots toss around a football.
“So, have you set eyes on your new boss yet?” Margot asked as she flipped her black hair over her shoulder.
“No. They just finished moving in all the furniture and everything today. His first day is supposed to be tomorrow.”
“I’ve heard he’s a hunk!” Danielle cried loudly, her cheeks already flushed.
Damn, the woman was a lightweight. We were still on our first round, and Mitch hadn’t even made them all that strong this time.
“I’m sure he is,” Rhonda added. “If he looks anything like his father, then he has to be a hot little thing.”
“Since when do you use the words hot, little, and thing in the same senten
ce?” I asked with a slight laugh.
“Don’t judge me!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” I gave Rhonda a quick wink. Honestly, it really didn’t matter what the hell Hunter Desmond looked like. All I cared about was whether he was going to be a decent boss.
“I heard Lisa is going on maternity leave next month,” Margot stated. “Apparently, her blood pressure is really high, so the doctor ordered bedrest.”
“Is she going to be okay? What about the baby?” I asked.
“Both should be fine. She just needs to take it easy until she delivers,” Rhonda answered.
“That’s good.” I winked at her again, not at all surprised she was able to steal some of Margot’s thunder. Nothing happed at BB&B without Rhonda hearing about it first.
“So, wait,” Danielle began, “with Lisa on maternity leave, who is going to fill in as Bartlett’s secretary?”
Bile swelled in the back of my throat at the thought. Thank fuck my services were taken by the newest hire. After Bartlett “accidentally” felt me up in the breakroom during the first year I worked at the firm, I had tried to avoid him at all costs. He’s a managing partner, so he’s got plenty of strings to pull. Mr. Beakman isn’t oblivious to his partner’s wrongdoings, but some clause in Bartlett’s contract protects him. So, without hard evidence, the womanizing creep gets to stay at the top of the metaphorical law firm food chain, much to everyone else’s disgust. I had no idea how Lisa could stand to work for him, but according to Rhonda, Lisa wasn’t the jerk’s type.
No, the scumbag preferred young blondes . . . just my luck.
“I guess they’ll hire a temp, unless someone in-house decides to transfer,” Rhonda answered.
I downed the rest of my margarita. “I’m gonna run to the ladies’ room. I’ll pick up the next round on my way back.” Pushing off my seat, I made my way through the ever growing crowd of drunks. Eddie’s was popular every night of the week, and especially so during football season. I sidled up to the bar and waved for Mitch.
“Another round?” Mitch asked.
“Yeah. And make one of them a virgin. Danielle is a fucking lightweight, and I’m not listening to her cackle all night.”
He laughed loudly, the skin crinkling at the corner of his eyes. “I can do that.”
“You’re the best! I’ll pick it up on my way back from the restroom.”
“Got it.” He nodded and shot a smile in my direction before snagging a bottle of tequila. Too bad Mitch was nearly thirty years older than me. He was sweet and easy on the eyes, which always made for a good combination.
I stepped away from the bar, sliding past tables and booths until I reached the back corner of the building. After a pit stop and a quick touch-up to my red lips, I made my way back to the bar. My drinks were already waiting for me by the time I returned, so I grabbed two, spinning on my heel to walk back toward the girls.
“Here, let me help you,” a voice said from beside me.
I glanced up to see a guy who couldn’t have been much older than me. He was cute in a sweet and unassuming way, but he also looked as if he needed to put on twenty pounds of weight.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Where are we headed?” he asked, snagging the remaining two glasses off the bar.
I pointed at the table where Rhonda, Margot, and Danielle were waiting. “Oh, I’m just over there.”
“Awesome. My name’s Garrett by the way.”
“That’s nice.”
“And what about your name?” he asked.
I sighed heavily. Despite the mixed signals my shoes were sending, I just wanted to be left alone. “It’s Violet.”
His eyes raked over my face and settled on my rack. “That’s nice.”
I rolled my eyes hard enough to land me in a parallel universe. Though the compliment was intended for my name, he’d spoken the words to my tits. Figures. If I had a dollar for every time some prick talked to my boobs, I wouldn’t even need to work.
“Aren’t you such a gentleman for helping our Violet?” Rhonda beamed at Garrett as we approached the table, sliding the margaritas out of his hands.
He grinned at her, obviously excited to win Rhonda’s approval. The gesture was intended to be charming, but it only reminded me of pictures of Gary Busey. “I was actually going to ask if I could buy her a drink at the bar. You ladies wouldn’t mind if I borrowed Violet for a bit, would you?”
“Not at all!” Rhonda turned to snatch the other margaritas from my hands before practically shoving me in Garrett’s direction.
Could I walk the plank into shark infested waters instead?
I shot her a glare. “The one with the pink straw is for Danielle. It’s virgin,” I muttered.
Admitting defeat and knowing Rhonda would make my life hell for not allowing a guy to buy me a drink, I followed Garrett back to the bar and quickly plopped down on an empty stool.
Let’s get this over with.
In less than a minute, Mitch was standing across from me, ready to take my drink order. “What can I get the two of you?”
“Garrett here wants my special drink,” I answered, giving him a pointed look. “And I’ll have another margarita.”
Mitch’s grin was downright devious. He was my partner in crime. Whenever guys I had no interest in talking to bought me a drink, Mitch made the strongest drink imaginable for my male counterparts. Then, we plied them with alcohol until they could barely stand. For the past couple months, I simply wanted to be left alone. Anything with a penis that wanted to get in my pants needed to keep a one-hundred-foot radius at all times.
“Coming up!”
“I’ve never had a woman order a drink for me before,” Garrett noted. “I really like it.”
Cue another passive-aggressive eye roll.
“What kind of work do you do?” I asked Garrett.
“I’m an accountant.”
“Fascinating.”
“It’s great work. Really keeps me busy.”
I swiped a loose strand of hair from my face, my fingers toying with the long locks. Anything was more interesting than the man sitting in front of me. “I’m sure.”
“So, who were those ladies you were drinking with?”
“Friends from work.”
“They seem a lot older than you.”
“Yeah, they are older, but we’ve all worked together for a long time, so I enjoy spending time with them.”
“I bet when all of you go out, men never leave you alone.”
Oh, the freaking irony, Garrett. Honestly, was he even listening to himself right now?
Mitch picked just that moment to deliver our drinks. Thank God. I leaned over the bar and pecked him on the cheek. “Bring him another round pronto.”
“You got it,” Mitch answered.
Mitch was sympathetic to my plight. No good men were ever attracted to me. Personally, I suspected I had some sort of dysfunctional trait embedded into my DNA. Because after a slew of mediocre dates, I met Ted. And boy did that asshole leave his fucking mark. The scar he left behind was almost comparable to the one my father left . . . almost.
I sighed deeply, pushing back the rush of emotions that always resurfaced when I thought about the past. How long had it actually been since I met a guy who treated me with respect and care?
Way too fucking long.
I pushed Garrett’s drink toward him. “It’s best if you take it like a shot.”
“Really?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“Trust me,” I said sweetly. “I wouldn’t lead you astray.”
He shrugged slightly and downed the drink just as Mitch produced his second round.
“That was a good shot.”
“Mitch already brought you another. He must want you to catch up with me.” I drank half of my watered-down margarita and prayed Garrett was a lightweight. When I waved to Rhonda and the other girls, they beamed at me and each gave me a thumbs-up. God, my life was pathetic. They really wanted me to meet a nic
e guy, but I doubted it would happen at Eddie’s, and I really doubted it would happen tonight.
After the second special drink, Garrett was starting to get a little sloppy. I decided to pin my hair back up. I only wore it down at Rhonda’s request, but I was over Garrett, and the blond waves were aggravating the piss out of me. Crossing my legs, I pulled a few hair pins out of my purse and secured my long locks.
“God, you have an amazing body.” Garrett leaned forward and placed his hand on top of my thigh. His gaze returned to my chest, and he was staring so intently, I thought he’d collapse into my cleavage.
I sucked in a deep breath to center myself. Brushing his hand away, I twisted toward the bar. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch what isn’t yours?” I asked, anger seeping into my tone.
Garrett grinned apologetically and settled back on his barstool. But his attention was quick to return to my chest. It seemed Garrett had an affinity for tits.
The sound of laughter pulled my attention to a man who was standing at the bar behind Garrett. He leaned against the wooden counter, sipping on a beer. He had short, black hair that was combed away from his face, lips that put my own plump ones to shame, and a perfectly groomed beard. When he caught my eye, my jaw dropped. The man looked like sex on two legs. Noticing my attention, he laughed again.
“I’m going to the restroom. You can order me another drink if you want.”
“All right.” I waited until Garrett was out of sight before deciding to approach the stranger who was using my current situation as his evening’s entertainment. I set my purse on the other side of the bar where Mitch was working. Sliding off my stool, I stepped toward the stranger. “Is something amusing?” I asked, not even attempting to tame my acerbic tone.
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