Stuck-Up Suit

By: Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

Ben: Of course. I’m sure she will appreciate that.

If I was too nice, I thought he might have suspected something.

Graham: I appreciate not getting sued. What she appreciates isn’t my concern.

I figured I had pushed far enough, so I tossed the phone into my purse before I could do any more damage. Tomorrow I would return it. And I was looking forward to meeting the jerk in person.



MORGAN FINANCIAL HOLDINGS occupied the entire twentieth floor according to the sign in the lobby. My stomach growled as I waited for an elevator. Seeing as though I’d just had my breakfast, I knew it was nerves, and that pissed me off.

Why was the thought of coming face to face with this jackass making me nervous?

His looks.

Deep down, I knew it was his looks, and that was ridiculous. I wasn’t a superficial person, but a part of me couldn’t help swooning over this jerk. That part of me really needed to shut up right now.

The elevator made a dinging sound and opened up, allowing myself and an older businessman to enter. It was just the two of us as the doors shut. When the man scratched his balls, I looked down at the feather tattoo on my foot to distract myself from it. Why was I a magnet for men who scratched their junk? Thankfully, the car arrived at the twentieth floor soon enough. I exited the elevator, allowing the man free reign to go to town on himself in private.

A black sign with gold lettering that read Morgan Financial Holdings hung atop two clear glass doors. Taking a deep breath in and adjusting my little red dress, I made my way through the entrance. Yes, I’d gotten dolled up for this shit. Don’t judge.

A young, redheaded receptionist smiled at me. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Graham Morgan.”

She looked like she was about to laugh at me. “Is he expecting you?”


“Mr. Morgan doesn’t see anyone who doesn’t have an appointment.”

“Well, I have something very important of his, so I really need to see him.”

“What is your name?”

“Soraya Venedetta.”

“Can you spell your last name for me? Vendetta? Like a vendetta against someone?”

“No, it’s Ven-E-detta. There’s an E in the middle. V-E-N-E-D-E-T-T-A.” If I had a nickel for every time someone screwed up my last name…well, I’d be richer than Graham J. Morgan.

“Okay. Miss Venedetta. Well, if you like, you can take a seat right there. When Mr. Morgan arrives, I will ask him if he’s willing to see you. ”

“Thank you.”

Straightening my dress, I took a seat on the plush, microfiber couch diagonally across from the front desk. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Mr. Big Prick wasn’t here yet, since he wasn’t on the usual train this morning. I wondered exactly how long I’d have to wait; I only took a half-day and was due back at Ida’s after lunchtime.

Mindlessly fishing through some financial magazines, I almost hadn’t looked up when the doors opened. My heart started pounding when I noticed Graham, looking angry as ever. He was decked out in black pants and a crisp white shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. There was that gleaming watch wrapped around his wrist. He was holding a burgundy tie in one hand and a laptop in the other. When he passed by, a waft of his intoxicating cologne immediately hit me like a punch in the nose. He was looking straight ahead, completely oblivious to me or anything else around him.

The receptionist lit up as he walked by her. “Good morning, Mr. Morgan.”

Graham didn’t respond. He simply let out a barely audible groan in response as he swiftly passed us and disappeared down the hall.


I looked over at her. “Why didn’t you tell him I was here to see him?”

She laughed. “Mr. Morgan needs time to decompress in the morning. I can’t hit him with an unannounced visitor the second he walks in the door.”

“Well, exactly how long am I going to have to wait?”

“I’ll check in with his secretary in about thirty minutes.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous. It’s going to take two minutes to do what I need to do. I can’t wait all morning. I’m going to be late for work.”

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