Confessions Of A Klutz: Confessions Series #1

  Confessions Of A Klutz

  Confessions Series #1

  Abigail Davies

  Confessions Of A Klutz

  First Edition.

  Copyright © 2018 Abigail Davies.

  All rights reserved.

  Published: Abigail Davies 2018

  No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover Design:

  Abigail Davies at Pink Elephant Designs

  Formatting:

  Abigail Davies at Pink Elephant Designs

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Blurb

  Note from the author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Thank You!

  Confessions Series

  About the Author

  Also by Abigail Davies

  Acknowledgments

  Where do I even start? *cracks knuckles and takes a deep breath*

  This book wasn’t planned at all, but it has been one of my favorite to write. Writing this book truly helped me to escape and I loved every second of it. Allowing the funny me to come out has been refreshing and I will most definitely be writing more books like this!

  I have lots of people to thank but I’ll try to keep it as short as possible.

  First and most important thanks go two my two girls. They inspire me every single day and I’m sure I annoy them to no end. A special thank you to my eldest daughter for helping me name a “character” in this book.

  As always, thank you to my hubby, Mike. He’s awesome and puts up with me so is doing his good deed in life!

  Thank you to my bestie, Danielle. As always, you’re there to bounce ideas off, to laugh with me, and let me moan at you. Vife for life! *peace sign*

  Thank you to my beta readers: Amanda, Angela, and Liza! All of your feedback always makes my stories so much better!

  To my editor Judy, thank you so much! She’s always there to explain things to me, even when we can’t work out what the button inside a handset is! (It’s a plunger by the way… weird.)

  A huge thank you to all the bloggers, readers, and authors that share all of my book posts. Being part of this community is awesome and I now have friends all around the world.

  Last but by no means least: thank you to all my amazing readers, for all of the messages I receive on a daily basis. It warms my heart so much to know that you enjoy my stories. I hope you love this one as much as I do!

  Thank you for allowing me to do what I love most and tell these stories! <3

  Blurb

  What do you get when you cross a klutz with a GQ model lookalike?

  Sounds like a bad joke, right? Only it’s my reality. And reality comes in the form of arm veins, dimples, and THE sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.

  But there’s a slight issue. You see, I have a confession: I’m a klutz.

  I’m used to it now and everything's going fine— if you don’t count the monthly trips to ER and the twenty-three jobs in the last four years—that is until I’m sent to New York.

  The city of dreams… a klutz's worst nightmare.

  Three weeks. Twenty-one days.

  I can control it, right?

  WRONG.

  Let the fun begin.

  Note from the author

  This book is DEFINITELY based on true events.

  I’m a klutz and proud!

  For the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream I ate. Phish food is the bomb—Fudge brownie sucks.

  Chapter 1

  Confession #35: I once tripped over a wireless phone.

  His dark-brown eyes meet mine, heat flaring in their depths. My gaze flits over his face, taking in the short beard he’s working. It makes my fingers itch, wanting to run them through it to see if it’s as soft as it looks; and don’t get me started on his shoulder-length, almost black, curly hair.

  He steps forward, his gaze not moving, his cheeks becoming red as the cold hits his face.

  I’ve never seen a man more beautifully rugged in my life.

  I tilt my head slightly when I think I can hear someone say my name, but all that greets me is silence.

  My breath hitches as his deep baritone sounds through my ears. My mouth hanging open slightly as he comes closer.

  “Violet?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, leaning forward.

  “Violet?” The voice is louder this time, and when something touches my shoulder, I jump in my seat.

  “Huh?”

  My head whips around, my gaze landing on my supervisor, Elliot, his hands planted on his hips. Pulling my earbuds out, I give him my full attention.

  “I’ve been calling your name for five minutes,” he huffs, leaning to the side to see what I was doing. I reach for the keyboard, clicking escape to minimize the screen. “Were you watching Game of Thrones?” He raises a brow at me, his murky-blue eyes flashing incredulously.

  “What? Me?” I point at my chest, making a noise in the back of my throat. “I would never watch GOT while I should be working.”

  I keep my face in a neutral expression as he purses his lips, watching me for a beat. His upper lip is shining with sweat, and I can’t help but want to pass him a tissue as he uses his forearm to wipe it away. Ew.

  “You’re needed in Della’s office,” he finally says, spinning on his heels and stomping away.

  I blow out a breath before pulling air back into my lungs as I look longingly at the computer screen. Well, Jon Snow, you’re going to have to do without me for a few minutes.

  Standing up, I pat down my mousy-brown, frizzy hair, trying to tame it to no avail. Every morning when I run the straightener through it, it looks shiny and healthy, and then as soon as I step out into the L.A. heat, it becomes a moot point as it expands to twice the size. Thank you, humidity.

  I push my chair under the desk in my cubicle, straightening my navy-blue pencil skirt and cream blouse before taking a step in the direction of the CFO’s office. When my bare feet hit the scratchy carpet, I realize I slipped off the death traps that are my heels. Dammit, I can barely walk ten feet in those things.

  Quickly crouching down, I grab them from under my desk and slip them onto my feet, stopping every so often under the AC, relishing in the blast of cool air.

  Hooking a left at the end of the sterile hallway, I walk past the copy machine room, flashing a smile at Steve the mailman. His crooked teeth show when he grins back, his hand frantically waving.

  Coming to a stop in front of the CFO’s office, I close my eyes briefly and steel myself for what’s about to happen.

  Since graduating College four years ago, I’ve been fired from twenty-
three jobs. Yes, I’ve been keeping count, and no it’s not because I’m bad at them. I just get bored. My attention span is the same as a fish.

  This latest job is the best I’ve had so far, and the last two months have been awesome. Being one of the many assistants on this floor for the CFO means no two days are the same. I get my work load done that’s emailed to me each morning and spend the rest of the day watching whatever show has taken my fancy.

  This week is Game of Thrones and my new beau: Jon Snow.

  Lifting my hand, I rap my knuckles on the door three times before pushing it open.

  Della sits behind her desk, the sunbeams flashing through the floor-to-ceiling windows making her bright-red hair look even shinier.

  She lifts her head, her lips stuck in a neutral expression when her dark-green eyes look me up and down.

  “Elliott said you need to see me,” I say, shuffling my feet along the floor.

  She inclines her head slightly, giving me her answer so I step inside and shut the door behind me.

  “Take a seat.” She waves her arm to the other side of her glass desk, pointing to one of the white chairs.

  Balancing on the edge of the chair, I keep my hands in my lap as she pulls a folder closer to her, looking through it and holding it out to me.

  Reaching forward, I take it, and just as I’m about to open it, she says, “You’re needed in New York.”

  “Wha—”

  “Your flight leaves Sunday morning, you’ll be there for three weeks.”

  My head reels back as I pull open the folder, seeing a jam-packed itinerary.

  “Sunday? As in the day after tomorrow? I don’t understand,” I murmur, bringing my gaze back to hers.

  She huffs out a frustrated breath. “Look, Vivienne—”

  “It’s Violet.”

  “Violet.” She narrows her eyes at me. “What isn’t there to understand?”

  “I…” I worry my bottom lip, my gaze batting back and forth between her and the folder. “Why do I have to go?” I don’t mean to sound whiney, but it makes no sense. Surely it would make more sense for someone who’s more qualified to go?

  She makes a noise in the back of her throat before leaning forward, her perfectly painted nails tapping on her glass desk. “You’re one of six assistants, all of which have young families.” She raises a perfectly plucked brow, steepling her hands in front of her. “Would you like me to send Andrea who has a six-year-old son? Maybe you can help her explain to him why she won’t be with him on Christmas morning?”

  “I—”

  “I didn’t think so.” She turns back to her computer, her nails clacking on the keyboard as I stare at her.

  It’s not that I don’t want to go to New York, but I have no idea why they would send me. I do the bare minimum and even that feels like a stretch for me sometimes.

  “You can go now,” she dismisses.

  “But…” Her green gaze meets mine again. “What will I be doing in New York?”

  Leaning back in her seat, she lets her head drop back, groaning before she glances back at me.

  “You’re aware of what Taylor Industries does?” I don’t answer right away, keeping my mouth shut. I researched the company a little before I had the interview but didn’t find much out.

  But as soon as I got the job, I did a little snooping and found out they buy other companies and either strip them down and sell them on, or turn them around and keep the company under their belt.

  The latest company they were buying was to be stripped down, but I knew if they kept it and turned it around, they could make a very lucrative profit. Not that I’ll tell Della that; I wouldn’t be listened to anyway.

  Finally, I nod. “I am.”

  “Then you know we have a New York office we opened six months ago. Mr. Taylor’s PA was in a car wreck and is out of work for the next six months. We need to send someone there until HR can find a replacement.”

  “Wait.” I hold my hand up, my eyes bugging out. “I’m going to be working for Mr. Taylor?”

  Della stares at me before her eyes flutter shut, her patience wearing thin. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  I swallow, my hands gripping the folder tighter. I haven’t met Mr. Taylor as he rarely comes into this office, and now I know why—he’s in New York. Normally in an office there’s gossip about the boss—I know this on account of the many jobs I’ve had. But there’s zero gossip about this boss. He’s a complete mystery to everyone.

  My shoulders droop. Guess I won’t be able to watch GOT while I’m in New York. Bummer.

  “You can leave early today, go get all of your affairs in order.”

  My gaze swings to the clock hanging on one of the white walls. Well that’s just great, let me off fifteen minutes early before I have to uproot my entire life for the next three weeks.

  “What if I don’t want to go?” I ask, standing up.

  “Then you can go and find job number twenty-five.”

  I nearly choke at her words. “You’d fire me?”

  “Yep.” She doesn’t look at me, instead all of her attention is focused on her computer.

  “Well, then.” I clear my throat, walking toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you in three weeks.”

  She doesn’t answer as I exit, and when I get to my station, I grab my purse and earbuds, shutting my computer down after casting another longing glance at Jon Snow.

  Walking toward the set of elevators in the foyer, I press the button on the wall. The middle one opens and I step inside, clicking the button for the ground floor and pulling my cell out to occupy the thirty-floor descent.

  Pressing on one of my game apps, I start flinging red birds across the screen, getting closer and closer to breaking my high score.

  The doors whoosh open when I’m about to overtake the score and some asshole in an expensive suit knocks me on the way out causing my cell to tumble to the ground.

  I quickly reach down for it, sending a silent prayer to the smartphone gods, but when I pick it up and turn it over, I nearly cry at the crack running down the middle of the screen.

  The doors start to close and I scamper out of the elevator, scanning the area for the guy who knocked me.

  “Hey, asshole!” I shout when I see him exiting through the glass doors. I run after him, nearly catching up to give him a piece of my mind when my stupid heel gives way and snaps.

  I brace my hands out in front of me but I’m not quick enough as my knee cracks on the marble floor followed by my face. I turn at the last second to try and save my glasses. My chin smacks into the unforgiving floor, my teeth clashing into my lip and I immediately taste the unmistakable copper tang of blood.

  This is just great! I’ll be meeting the CEO of Taylor Industries with a fat lip.

  I groan, laying my head down on the cold surface as I will myself to disappear.

  * * *

  I haul my case off the belt, blowing the hair out of my face as I weave in and out of people getting their own luggage. JFK—one of the busiest airports in the US. I get lost several times and have to ask two security guards directions, each time being grunted at and told to follow the signs. Thank you, douchenozzles.

  I finally see the wall of windows signaling the outside world and make a mad dash for them, stopping when I see my name being held up by a middle-aged man wearing a black suit and white shirt.

  His eyes track over the hundreds of people as I stomp my way over to him, feeling a bead of sweat roll down the middle of my back. Do they not have air-conditioning in this hot box?

  “That’s me,” I announce, leaning on the handle of my case and pointing at his sign.

  “Miss Scott?”

  “Mmmhmm.” I offer him a strained smile, knowing he must be sweating in his getup. “Let’s get out of here, Jeeves.” I chuckle at myself as I step around him, pulling my case with me.

  “Let me take that for you,” he says, pulling my case to a halt.

  “Oh.” I push the strands
of hair out of my face. “Okay.”

  He nods at me in acknowledgement and waves his arm in front of him, leading me outside and to a black town car before he holds the door open for me.

  I slip inside, my eyes wide at the black leather and embroidered AT on the seats.

  Jeeves gets into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out into the fray of traffic, not making it ten feet before he has to stop.

  “Mr. Taylor has made arrangements for you at his hotel,” he says. “We should be there in approximately thirty minutes.”

  “Okay,” I reply, running my hands over my jean-clad thighs and shivering against the cold emanating from outside.

  Jeeves puts the heating on, giving me a half smile. “Tad cold compared to L.A., huh?”

  “You can say that again,” I murmur, wishing I didn’t pack my one and only coat in my case—coat is an understatement but I’m from L.A., we don’t mix well with cold. “Is it always like this?”

  “At this time of year, yeah.” He moves the car forward, finally making it onto the freeway as he drives us toward the city.

  The last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind of getting ready and trying to make sure someone is around to water my houseplants. Not that I can keep them alive myself, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

  I pull my cell out of my pocket, switching it on and being greeted by several beeps. My lip quirks as I see my cousin’s name on the screen. I click on the message app, reading her eight messages that could’ve been condensed into one.