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Just Temporary von Pitra, S. M. (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 01.09.2016
  • Verlag: BookBaby
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Just Temporary

Life is finally looking up for Casey Svaboda--struggling fabric artist, devoted cat mama, and single, self-professed perimenopausal pain in the posterior. Casey's just landed a primo 'temp' assignment with Somerville Staffing, a successful, small employment agency in downtown St. Paul. The perks of the position are to die for...a stylish 33rd floor office, complimentary contract parking, and an unattached employer, Stewart Somerville, who's a dead ringer for James Bond, '007.' Could life get much better than this? Casey soon discovers, though, that things aren't quite as harmonious at Somerville Staffing as they appear on the surface. There's definite tension between Somerville and Elliott Mankovicz, the company's undistinguished Director of Operations. Tension and some strange goings-on that just don't seem to add up. But money is tight and Casey desperately needs this new position to keep her furry felines, Thelma and Louise, in cat food and to afford the rent on her beloved tiny bungalow, affectionately nicknamed 'the hobbit house.' Just do your job and mind your own business, Casey repeatedly reminds herself. At least she was luckier than the poor, young hooker just pulled from the Mississippi River. And then one of the small staffing company's principals goes missing...

Produktinformationen

    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: none
    Seitenzahl: 226
    Erscheinungsdatum: 01.09.2016
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9781483579726
    Verlag: BookBaby
    Größe: 694kBytes
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Just Temporary

Chapter 3 I set the alarm clock and Mr. Coffee timer for 7:00 a.m., figuring even for me--the high priestess of dawdlers-- that would be plenty of time to get ready for my nine o'clock appointment at Somerville Staffing. I awoke to the rhythmic beeping of the alarm after a hot, romantic romp under the sheets with Jesse Katsopolis. Okay, I confess...I was a Full House groupie in the late '80s and that was a dream straight from Heaven. Curled up under my chin, Thelma purred like the souped up engine of a '64 Mustang. Glancing down, I was comforted to know that it wasn't Jesse during the night with the bad case of fish breath. I extracted myself carefully from the smelly little bundle of fur and padded off to the bathroom. Turning on the faucet for the hot water in the shower, I slowly stretched and bended as my tiny hobbit bathroom enveloped me in a moist, comforting blanket of steam. Morning showers are a passion of mine. Some of my best plans and inspirations come to me as I soak, lather, and rinse myself off to the likeness of a prune. Those mornings when I'm in my Einstein mode, I figure I can use up enough hot water to keep the Hoover Dam filled for an entire year. Not today though. Today I needed to make tracks to get to my early morning appointment on time. Toweling dry, I proceeded to blow my shoulder-length shag into a chestnut mass of waves. Make up, which was next, has always been pretty minimal for me-- a good moisturizer, a brush of mascara, and a swipe of complimentary color on the lips is about all that I bother with. I mean, if a woman's not blessed with good genes, why spend countless dollars and hours trying to change things? I slipped into my Merona black cotton skirt and Mossimo lavender silk sweater set and stole a glance in the full-length mirror. Mm mm...not bad, I thought. Who says you can't be stylish on a discount store budget? My nose followed the enticing aroma of Starbuck's Italian Roast into the tiny hobbit kitchen like a bloodhound on a fresh scent. I carefully broke the seal on the box of chocolate glazed Krispy Kreme donuts for my requisite morning sugar fix. Popping a hunk of the air-filled mass of heaven into my mouth, I headed for the hobbit living room to pop in my favorite feel good CD, Abba's "Dancing Queen." Flopping around my limited dance floor like a tuna caught in a trawler's net, I thought back to the day years ago when Mrs. Meehan, of Mrs. Meehan's School of Dance, had announced to my mother that no amount of money spent or classes taken would change the fact that I, Casey Ann Svaboda, was cursed with two left feet. If any consolation, two gorgeous left feet. Luckily, that woman's opinion from long ago has never stopped me from continuing to do something I so love. I mean, how can something that looks so bad, feel so damn good? I guess it was just one of life's many mysteries. Bouncing into the kitchen, I turned off the coffee maker and emptied the carafe into my car mug. I then emptied the contents of a can of Fancy Feast Chunky Chicken into two porcelain cat dishes and filled the automatic pet drink dispenser with cold water from the tap. I grabbed a second Krispy Kreme and my car keys off the counter and headed for the back door. Peering down the basement steps, I called to Thelma and Louise, who had fled to the safety of the lower level after seeing their Momma in apparent distress just moments before. "I'm outa here, you guys. Wish me luck. And be good ." Stepping out the back door, I discovered that it had rained at some point during the night. Believe me, I could have slept through the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The air held the fresh commingled scent of plant oils and earthy loam. Droplets of water, yet to evaporate in the cool morning

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