by Niles, Adele
10 Days
The Slippery Curves Series
Book 4
Table of Contents
10 Days
Copyright
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One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Epilogue
No Regrets
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Copyright
First Edition, May 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Adele Niles
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations are the product of the author's imagination.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
License
This book is available exclusively on Amazon.com. If you found this book for free or from a site other than an Amazon.com country specific website it means the author was not compensated for this book and you have likely obtained this book through an unapproved distribution channel.
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About This Book
10 Days
It was supposed to ten days. A temp job. In and out. Money for bills. Work for experience. I was going to pad my resume and move on. Then the boss called me to his office. Dorian Cave, ex-pro athlete and all alpha boss. Rock solid and rock hard. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and turned this temp job into a dirty dream.
This book contains an older, over the top alpha, a hot younger curvy girl with all the right moves, instalove and enough steam to make you run for an ice cold shower. If you like alpha bosses that take what they want in the workplace, see if you can last 10 minutes before running for cover.
Buckle your seatbelt, because there are slippery curves ahead in this new series from Adele Niles that makes for a perfect sizzling hot steamy short read novella. 10 Days is Book 3 in the slippery curves series about sexy, curvy girls and the alpha men that love them.
WARNING: This book contains a plot, character connection AND instalove with steamy scenes. Prepare to suspend your disbelief and enjoy a HEA with no cheating.
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One
Lanie
The slap on my ass was most definitely not welcome.
First off, I almost dropped my tray, and Table 22 would have been really pissed to find out that their dinner was all over the floor.
Second, sexual harassment was evil. Completely wrong. I didn’t ask to get my ass slapped, and especially not by some balding, forty-something creep.
“Hey, dickhead!” I turned, putting my hand on my hip. “Try it again and see what happens. The cops can’t get here fast enough to stop me if you pull that shit a second time.”
The man blinked, reeling back against the wall of the booth. “What—I was just—”
“What? Can’t get any ass at home, so you think you can grab mine?” I gave him my coldest look.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and mumbled, “Bitch.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” I smiled again and walked away.
Behind me, his friends erupted into laughter.
I wanted him to be embarrassed. Guys like that—the kind who thought they could harass women on the job and get away with it—never failed to piss me off.
And I’d decided a long time ago I was done with it.
I put my smile back on as I took 22 their food and passed out plates. They were my last table, and thankfully easy-going.
They left an extra twenty on the table after they’d paid their bill. One of them had written, ‘Thanks for dinner and a show!’ on the back of the receipt.
Some people liked the entertainment, at least.
* * * * *
I tossed another envelope on the bill pile as I walked into my apartment, which was now half-furnished since Claire had moved out. She’d provided more of the furniture than I had, and now my apartment just looked sad.
At least she’d let me keep my favorite chair.
I sank down on the pink chaise, an IKEA purchase I had claimed almost as soon as it was in our house. My feet ached, and my lower back, and I just wanted to go to bed.
Some stuff wouldn’t wait, though. Like the bills.
I let myself sit for a moment, then got up, kicking off my shoes. I pulled the stack of cash from my back pocket—tonight’s tips—and grabbed stack of bills.
Rent. Electric. Internet. Student loans.
Student loans—that was the worst one.
I opened the envelope, but didn’t pull the statement out yet. First, I counted my tips.
Seventy dollars.
Not a lot.
Especially when my loan bill was almost four hundred dollars.
“Fucking Claire,” I mumbled.
It wasn’t right for me to be this mad at her. I knew it, but I couldn’t help it. She’d gotten an amazing job offer and moved for it. I was mostly happy for her, but I also couldn’t help but be angry.
She was succeeding, and I was waiting tables.
And if I didn’t find something better soon, I’d have to pick up a second job.
I sighed heavily, leaning back into my chair for a moment and closing my eyes. Something had to change. I wasn’t having any luck with my job search, no matter how hard I tried. I’d submitted my resume to every single job that I was even remotely qualified for. In the past year, I’d had maybe five interviews, and not a single offer.
Go into marketing, they’d told me. You’re basically guaranteed to find a job.
And yet here I was.
I turned and reached for my laptop, where I scrolled through job listings for a while.
Nothing.
Nothing even close to marketing.
I was about to give up when an ad caught my eye. Temp agency, guaranteed placement within one week.
The pay was all right, too.
I sighed. “Oh, what the hell. Better than waiting tables.”
I filled in the application, attached my resume, and clicked submit.
* * * * *
My phone rang while I was eating breakfast the next morning.
“Hello, may I speak to Miss Loving?” the woman on the other end of the line asked.
“Speaking,” I replied, swallowing a tater tot.
“Wonderful. I’m calling from the Quickstaff office.”
God, that had been fast.
“Yes! Hi!” I immediately put on my most chipper voice and sat up straighter in my chair.
The woman asked me a few questions about myself; as I answered them, I could hear her typing in the background.
She took a long pause, then spoke again.
“All right, we’ve got a good match for you! It’s a two-week assignment, ten days, in an office building downtow
n. Does that work for you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, definitely! When do I start?”
“Are you free to start today?”
Short notice, but okay. “Sure. Um, what are the hours?”
She gave me all of the details—location, hours, pay. It was a sports marketing company; while that wasn’t my focus, I figured I could handle it. And besides, I’d make enough in two weeks to pay my student loan for the month.
And I could still wait tables at night.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Yeah, I can start now. I’ll be there in an hour?”
“Perfect! I’ll let them know,” the woman said. “Thank you!”
The next half-hour was insane. I had never done my hair and makeup in such record time, but it worked. I still had some business clothes from college, and I threw them on. I had to dig in my closet to find my comfortable pumps, but I grabbed them and stepped into them.
I looked in the mirror.
Lanie Loving, business professional.
Good enough.
I grabbed my purse and keys, and headed out.
Two
Lanie
I walked into the lobby of DC Sports Marketing exactly an hour after hanging up the phone.
A skinny brunette was waiting at the reception desk. She made a show of looking at her smartwatch and sneering. “You’re late.”
“Am I?” I blinked in surprise. “I apologize—I told the lady on the phone I’d be here in an hour.” I checked my own watch, an old analog that hadn’t died on me yet. “Did she say something different?”
The brunette huffed. “We start work at eight every morning. If you can’t be here on time tomorrow, don’t bother coming back.”
Wow.
I opened my mouth, but closed it. I needed this to work. Maybe they’d like me and keep me permanently if I just clammed up and behaved.
So, I smiled. “I apologize for the miscommunication. I’ll be here before eight tomorrow.”
“Fine.” She looked me over, frowning, but then stuck out her right hand. “I’m Rachel.”
“Lanie. Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand. Her grip was firm—too firm, like she was trying to compete.
What was this girl’s deal?
She let go and turned on her heel, starting down the hall. I followed her. We got into an elevator and she hit the button for the fifteenth floor.
“You’re going to be in the file room. Sorting, shredding, organizing. Whatever we need you to do.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show.
That was all stuff I was way, way overqualified to do.
But it paid well, so I’d do it. Just for two weeks, I reminded myself. That’s all.
We walked down the halls, Rachel a few steps ahead of me. I glanced in offices and down halls as we walked.
Everywhere I looked were women. Skinny women, built like runway models and dressed impeccably. Most of them wore their hair in waves or curls while I liked mine straight. They all had glamorous, Instagram-worthy makeup on.
I felt very out of place, with my curves and natural makeup and straight hair. If there was a certain look that was necessary to work here, I definitely wasn’t going to fit in.
Rachel led me into the file room. It was dark and cramped, filled with shelves full of quill boxes. Some of them were labeled; many of them weren’t.
This was going to be a rough two weeks.
“I’m too busy to do all of this,” Rachel said, waving her hand to a pile of documents next to the copy machine. “So, you do it. Make copies of all of these, then organize them.”
“Okay, sure.” I nodded. “Is there anything I need to know about organizing?”
Rachel looked at me, her lip curled. She waved around the room. “Figure it out.”
I raised an eyebrow and, again, opened my mouth to respond.
And then stopped.
I put my smile back on. “Okay, yeah. I’ll take a look and go off of what’s here. Thanks.”
Rachel left without another word.
At least I was alone. I turned on music and grabbed the first file to copy.
Three
Dorian
I could still do a mile in under seven minutes.
I had to. I didn’t want to let myself go, not even a little bit.
In spite of the ache in my left knee, I kept running, my feet pounding on the treadmill.
Even if my pro career had been over for years, I had to keep myself in shape. Even at forty-two, I wanted to be at my best.
The treadmill began to slow, dropping to cool-down speed.
Six minutes, forty-three seconds.
Still under seven minutes.
I grabbed my towel and wiped my face. Not bad, I told myself. Not my best, but not bad at all.
* * * * *
I walked into my office and sat down at my desk. My coffee was waiting on the cup warmer; a stack of files sat on the center of my desk, waiting for my attention.
The office took up four floors of a high-rise in downtown; I was lucky to have a good-sized office and a highly qualified team working with me, including my own secretary. And while she was good at her job, sometimes I liked to do things on my own.
So when I’d printed a document that I needed from a client, I rose and took a little walk down to the file room, where the copier was kept.
I opened the door and almost dropped my paperwork.
I didn’t know the woman in the room, but she was stunning. Blond and curvy, dressed nicely, her hair pulled over one shoulder while she copied a folder.
Her tits and ass were perfect.
Looking at her made my dick twitch.
I cleared my throat. “Good morning.”
She looked up, green eyes fixed on me. “Oh, hi. Morning. Here, I’m almost done with this stack.” She smiled faintly at me, starting to clear space for me to get in and use the copier.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not in a rush.”
She clearly didn’t know who I was.
That was fine.
“So,” I said, “are you new here?”
She looked up and smiled. “Oh—yeah, I’m from a temp agency. It’s my first day. I’m only here for two weeks. I was kinda hoping it was a job where I’d get hired on permanently if I did well, but the woman I’m working under clearly doesn’t like me.”
How could anyone not like her?
Maybe that was just me thinking with my cock, but still.
“Who are you working under?” I asked.
“Rachel?” She shrugged. “She didn’t tell me her last name. Brown hair, skinny. I dunno. She was mad that I wasn’t here at eight, but I didn’t get the call from the temp agency until seven-thirty. I got here as fast as I could.” She stepped back from the copier, gesturing toward it. “It’s all you.”
Rachel. Interesting.
“So, what does she have you doing?” I moved in, putting my papers in the copier and letting it go.
She laughed. “Monkey work. Not the kind of things I thought I’d be doing with a marketing degree. Making copies and organizing stuff. I mean, it’s fine. It’s money, you know? And I’ve got bills piling up.”
God, her body was incredible.
And she spoke boldly.
I liked it.
I grabbed my papers and looked at her, smiling. “Well. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
She laughed. “Yeah, come find me in the copy room. I’ll be here!”
As I turned to leave, I laughed, too.
It was nice to see a real woman in the office, and especially one with a sense of humor.
I’d need to get this one in my office for a conversation soon.
Four
Lanie
God, that guy was hot.
And ripped. If he’d flexed at all, his shirt would have torn. Buttons would have popped off.
Not that I would have minded.
And that ass, holy shit. He could’ve cracked walnuts with it.
Maybe I’
d get to work with him sometime.
Or maybe he’d come back and lock the door, bend me over the copier, and go to town on me. His pants had fit well enough that I’d been able to get an idea of what he was packing, and it was impressive.
And besides, I was only here for two weeks. Maybe an afternoon with that guy could be my going-away present.
The door to the copy room banged open again. I looked up, hoping to see the hot guy. Maybe he’d come back to tell me his name?
No.
Rachel.
Dammit.
“Boss wants you in his office.” She folded her arms. “What the hell did you do?”
I blinked. “What? I—I haven’t done anything. I’ve been in here all morning. Look.” I gestured to the stacks of paperwork I’d already copied.
Rachel snorted. “Whatever. Follow me.”
I nodded and turned to follow her.
She led me up another floor on the elevator and down a hall. The office she walked me to was impressive, all black and chrome with modern furniture. Clean lines, minimal. Masculine. Some sports memorabilia hung on the walls, but I didn’t know enough to really identify any of it.
Rachel pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “Sit. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”
I nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
Was the problem my conversation with the hot guy? Had he reported what I’d said about Rachel to the boss?
Had he noticed me checking him out and reported that? That would be ironic. Here I am, a hater of sexual harassment, and I’m getting in trouble for ogling a guy at work.
I sank down in the chair, wrapping my arms around myself. I needed this job. I needed the money desperately.
I’d just have to apologize, beg for forgiveness, and hope everything was okay in the end.
I heard footsteps behind me, and then the sound of the door closing.
I swallowed.
He walked around the desk and sat down, looking at me.
“Forgive me. I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Dorian Cave.”
Oh my god.
The hot guy from the copy room was the boss. Heat flooded between my legs and every dirty thought that had crossed my mind earlier came right back.