More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) by Ann Royal Nicholas Read Free Book Online

than his, and I know I have to break it off once and for all, which is why I started telling the Muffs I stopped seeing him when I technically haven’t. It’s also why I agreed to try online dating with Vicki, even though success will elude me unless I get a total attitude reboot to simply get over feeling that there’s no one else out there for me.
    I unplug my phone from its charger and stick it in my purse. This whole thing with Steven is so boringly predictable, that’s what’s so irritating. I should know better. In fact, I do know better; I’m just not doing it. Yes, yes, yes, yes; thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you . I am destined for great things .
    Well, at this point, I’ve pretty much given up on great things, but I am going to become a better person.

CHAPTER 3
    With my damaged foot in a purple croc, I limped off the elevator and onto the fifth floor offices of Talent Partners, Inc. as gracefully as I could. Everyone, save for the receptionist, a recent college graduate named Daniel, seemed to be at lunch, which was just as well since when Jamie returned, I’d be at my desk, looking industrious, possibly negating the reality of how late I was.
    Making my way across the mostly-open floor plan, over the tasteful wall-to-wall wool carpeting in muted shades of gray and grayer, I reach my office—an enlarged cubicle, really, which we who have one call a ‘cubiffice’—and sit down. If half of life is just showing up, I’d made it. I’d shown up and my ankle didn’t even feel too bad, the double dose of NSAIDs having done wonders and delivering on their advertised promises. Too bad all the anti-wrinkle creams I’d purchased over the years had not.
    My mobile vibrated, and I looked down to see Steven’s name on caller I.D. I considered picking up but let it go to voice mail. That was one place I would not be showing up today.
    Other than making an appearance at Talent Partners, the only task I had to complete that particular afternoon was the paperwork for the Kubota shoot so that everyone involved on our end could get paid. You’d think that in the latter half of the first quarter of the 21 st century I could have finished up the job from home with my ankle up on ice, but even with all the technological advancements and our faith in online transactions, believe it or not, some of what business required was still done on real paper and required real signatures.
    As people slowly returned from their lunches, I chatted with colleagues who were curious about my shoe selection, Japan, and how Viggo looked on a tractor.
    Sameer Kumar works opposite me in a cubiffice the size of mine. He’s a soft-spoken, dark-skinned guy of about thirty-five originally from Sri Lanka—a former cricket player turned agent who basically does the same thing I do at T.P. except instead of dealing with A-list actors, he books athletes—Tiger Woods for Nike, for example. He handled that quintuple-timing, under-par husband throughout his multiple sextscapades.
    Carolyn Marcus, with a slightly smaller cubiffice, is the go-to person for PSAs—also known as public service announcements. When various charities or causes need a mouthpiece—wanting one of our clients to speak out against smoking, or to be the new face of “Got Milk” or whatever—Carolyn is the one to field that call. She’s whip smart and might one day call the shots at T.P. unless somebody hires her away to another agency first, which is probably what will happen since hiring from within seems to be threatening to those passed over.
    The three of us—Sameer, Carolyn, and me— are assisted by a recent mailroom graduate named Rafe who puts out calls and basically takes care of our every non-sexual need, including indulging our caffeine addiction by driving to Peet’s Coffee several miles away, even though there were three Starbucks installations within walking distance.
    After an exchange at the water cooler, I hobbled to my desk, realizing the only