Home > Bliss Brothers_ The Complete Series Boxed Set (Bliss Brothers #1-6)

Bliss Brothers_ The Complete Series Boxed Set (Bliss Brothers #1-6)
Author: Amelia Wilde

1

 

 

Jenny

 

 

My soup is ruined.

Curse the crumbling ceiling above my stove. Curse the landlords who let the plaster get to this godforsaken point where it’s given up on life and flung itself into the boiling pot of my soup. And curse myself for being here in the first place.

It seemed like such a good idea, quitting my job. I’ve always been able to analyze data and figure out patterns and find best practices. You’d think I’d be suited for a career in the sciences, right? Maybe even a medical degree?

Maybe.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text message. Since the soup is a goner, I pick it up and check the message.

Celestia: I swear it’s the last time, but can you float me $200 for rent?

 

 

My pulse pounds in my neck. My sister has never been one to go meekly to the office, which is probably good for the world since she’s brilliant in her own way.

It’s just not necessarily with money.

I watch the plaster dumplings floating in the soup and do the complicated math of adding up the balances of my own credit cards and bank account. The responsible thing to do would be to focus on paying my own rent, but it’s my sister. She’s been trying her best. And who else is she going to call? Our parents?

Ha.

Jenny: Of course. I’ll send it today—same account?

 

 

Celestia: Yes! TY TY TY!!!

 

 

I toss the phone back onto the counter and take a deep breath. I don’t want her to know I’m struggling, too. I don’t want anyone to know.

Would it be any better if I’d gone the STEM route instead of listening to all my mother’s talk about the work of the soul and following my heart and working to live, not living to work?

Would I have an extra $200 to throw at my sister and never worry about it again?

Somehow, I synthesized all of my mother’s wisdom into a plan: get a dual degree in marketing and public relations. All the data you could want. All the gut-wrenching decisions you could want. And so much human connection! So many bonds to create and nurture!

That’s not what I got at my old job. Oh, sure, there were bonds to nurture, if by nurture it meant cutting them off at the knees. That’s what we did at Global. We did defensive PR.

At least fifty percent of me wishes I was sitting at my old desk right now, doing the defensive PR I hated for a paycheck that was at least a paycheck. The apartment I shared with my roommate never became an added ingredient to my soup like this.

The unsalvageable soup is looking worse by the second. The chunk of plaster bubbling on the top is probably rife with asbestos, which is also now leaching into my apartment.

One more glance up at the missing piece of the ceiling tells me that the horror isn’t over yet.

For I notice there is some kind of...insect... crawling out from where the plaster used to be.

My heart zigzags up into my throat. I hate bugs. I hate spiders. And this thing looks like the worst bug on the planet had sex with the worst spider on the planet and the mutant baby is crawling out of the wall.

I grab senselessly for something to battle it with and come up with my frying pan. There’s no room in the cupboards to put it away and hanging it obviously wasn’t a good option, so I’ve left it on the counter since I moved in a year ago. God. A frying pan.

If I can take care of this, I can survive. I brandish the pan, adrenaline singing in my veins.

It’s at that very moment that my phone rings.

It’s been set to vibrate since the first moment I got it, but the sound is enough to jolt my attention to where it buzzes and bounces against the counter. The number on the screen is another horror in itself.

My old boss, Connor Webb.

I hate that guy.

He was such a savant at being evil, and Global loved him for it. Loved him. He shot up past me in the ranks and, to add insult to injury, became my boss three months before I quit for good to strike out on my own and become a freelance success.

I should let it go to voicemail, but his name has an aura of dollar signs, so I answer.

“I’m in the middle of something, Connor.”

“So nice to hear your voice, Genevieve,” he sings. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“It’s Jenny, but you know that.”

The bug stops halfway on its journey between the missing plaster and the stove, and I freeze.

“Jenny. Jenny, Jenny, Jenny.”

His voice scratches its claws down a length of invisible blackboard. “Are you calling for any special reason, or just to say my name over and over until my eyes roll back in my head?”

“Hopefully with pleasure,” he quips, and I pantomime throwing up, though he can’t see me. “No, I’m calling with a bit of work.”

To my shame, my entire soul perks up at the mention of work, but I don’t want him to think I’m desperate. “What’s the job? If it’s a temp thing, I don’t know if I can—”

“It’s a temporary position, yes. But not in the office.”

That...seems weird.

“You want me to push paper at a desk that’s not in the office?”

Connor laughs. “This isn’t a paper pushing job. This is an on-the-ground job. I have a competitor who—”

I can’t swallow my groan. “I’m not doing it. If it’s some kind of shady, underhanded—”

“You’d be taking a position at a New York resort. A social media manager position. It’s right up your alley.”

So it is. I’ve hired out for a number of smaller social media positions since I left Global, and all of them have been successful. Just not successful enough to pay all my bills. Or get me steady work.

“Is that all, then? Work as a temporary social media manager?”

I can practically see him smiling through the phone. “Perhaps a little bit of...intel-gathering. Maybe a bit of sabotage, if you can swing it.”

“No. Goodbye, Connor.”

“Wait.”

For some reason, I do. “What?”

“Nothing that would jeopardize your freelance career. Not that you can jeopardize it much more than you already have....”

“If you’re only going to insult me, then—”

“The resort is the Bliss Resort & Club.”

My entire brain goes dark at the mention of the name, then it lights up with the most incredible mix of embarrassment and old desires. I’m gripping my phone a little too tight. “You mean...Roman Bliss?”

“That’s the man in charge,” Connor says lightly, as if he doesn’t know the first thing about my feelings for Roman Bliss. It was one happy hour after a long day two years ago. I had one drink too many. I got talkative, and Connor never forgets. I grind my teeth together. He’s playing to my biggest weakness, and he knows it. “I just need you to do enough to position my clients as New York’s premier resort.”

“It’s not fair. It’s unethical.” The words ring false in my own ears.

“Well, if you’re booked solid, then I can always look at other—”

“No.”

The bug is moving again, from side to side, taunting me. Should I take a swing at it? That’ll mean holding the phone with one hand and smacking the frying pan with the other, and there’s boiling soup on the stove in front of me. It looks like certain death.

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