Sinful Rewards 1 Read Online Free PDF

laboring through lunch, never taking a sick day, not even once.
    â€œThe organization appreciates your commitment.” Mr. Peterson picks up an invoice, studying it. “We’ll have to find you something to do for the next two days.”
    This response, I expected. Mr. Peterson plays by the rules. He wouldn’t wish for me to start my new role before it was officially announced.
    â€œI have a suggestion.” I lean forward. Writers for my college’s online magazine are always yapping about how managers like employees to take initiative. “Susan at reception needs help in the mornings. I could cross-train with her, arrive early and lend her a hand, be her relief person when she goes on break. This would broaden my skill set.” I use as many of the buzzwords as possible.
    â€œThat’s a suggestion.” Mr. Peterson frowns at the paper, his cheeks turning an alarming shade of pink. “But, as Susan doesn’t report to me, your cross-training might cause conflict within the organization.”
    I should have known this. My stomach twists. My boss would never interfere with another manager’s department.
    â€œI have other ideas,” I lie. I have no other ideas. “I’ll make a list.”
    â€œBelinda, ummm . . . I should probably tell you that ummm . . .” My boss falls silent, his mouth moving, as though he wants to say something yet can’t, the words stuck in his throat.
    People never have trouble communicating good news. My palms moisten. I can’t lose the full-time job. My mom counts on my paycheck.
    â€œAllow me to make the list, sir.” The desperation in my voice makes me inwardly cringe. “You’ll see how committed I am.” I’m the right employee for him. I know this.
    Mr. Peterson sighs, his chubby cheeks puffing out. “Do that. Make your list.” He sets the invoice on top of one pile. “I’ll review it tomorrow.” He doesn’t look at me, his attention on the papers in front of him.
    I stand. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”
    I return to my desk, determined to work even harder. Tonight, I’ll draft the best damn list of initiatives Mr. Peterson has ever seen, knocking his sagging socks off. He won’t have any reservations about hiring me.
    Dru smiles smugly at me as I sit down. I curl my top lip. I know she caused my boss’s doubts similar to the way she caused me to doubt him.
    Thinking she’s won, that she’s secured the full-time position with her antics, my troublemaking coworker doesn’t attempt to do any work. She props her feet on the desk and chats on the phone.
    Dru doesn’t know that I’ve dealt with girls like her my entire life. I write the next financial supporter’s name on a reminder notice. Tara, my high school tormenter, had been the worst, making those years a living hell for me.
    I address the envelope, giving the wealthy supporter the personal touch he expects. Tara also taught me more about fashion than any magazine ever has. If I wore an ill-crafted knockoff to school, she’d ridicule me for weeks. I quickly learned how to distinguish the good fakes from the bad fakes. This is a skill I continue to use today.
    I haven’t gained any new skills from associating with Dru. My coworker twirls her fingers in her hair. I ignore her and work like a woman possessed until noon. Dru leaves for a two-hour lunch. I run out of the office, purchase a hot dog from a corner street vendor, and return to eat it at my desk.
    There should be no more confusion about which one of us deserves the full-time job. I put extra effort into my penmanship, making each reminder notice a thing of beauty, the gold ink gleaming on the black card stock. Dru spends the afternoon filing her nails and reapplying her makeup.
    At ten minutes after four o’clock, Mr. Peterson opens his door and stands on the threshold. I look up from the reminder notice