Page 1 of Arranged Addiction

Chapter 1

Casey

My spicy self-care package got delivered to the wrong office.

I don’t know how. The young mail delivery intern was too busy staring at TikTok to give me a straight answer. “Oh, yeah, I remember that. Big box? Stuff rattled around? Dunno where it ended up. Sorry, dude.” He didn’t even bother to make eye contact.

Now I’m in pure panic mode.

Maybe if I weren’t such a coward, this wouldn’t be happening. When I placed my order at Blush Boutique, I couldn’t bring myself to put my name on the order form. Instead, I opted for the genericEmployeeand used my office address instead. Which shouldn’t be a huge deal, right?

If the mail intern weren’t such a jerk, it would’ve been put on my desk, no harm, no problem.

Instead, there’s a box filled with lingerie and several adult toys waiting for some unsuspecting colleague.

This is my worst nightmare.

“You didwhat?!” Natalie covers her mouth, trying not to laugh as I wave at her to keep quiet. If Mr. Whelan hears, he’ll give me another lecture on what’s appropriate in the office, and I really don’t need my grumpy asshole boss giving me shit right now.

“I know, I know, okay? It was stupid!”

“Why didn’t you just get it delivered to your apartment?”

“I panicked, okay? I was afraid Sheila would see it somehow.”

“Casey, you’re twenty-five. I don’t think your aunt would care if you bought a box filled with enormous dildos.”

“They’re not enormous!”

“But the box is filled with them?” Natalie’s eyebrows raise. “Just what exactly did you order?”

“Would you stop it? I’m having a meltdown here.”

“Okay, okay, give me a second to think.” Natalie paces in front of my desk. She’s the only person in the whole world who I’d ever trust with something so mortifying. We met in college and lucked into working at the same office right after graduation. Even though this job isn’t ideal, I’m the executive assistant to the CEO of Mainline Logistics, which isn’t exciting, but it’s good for my resume.

And besides, nobody else would hire me. Dozens and dozens of applications and not a single callback. At least, not until Mr. Whelan, the worst boss in the history of horrible assholes.

Honestly, despite this idiotic and terrible situation, I consider myself extremely lucky.

Things have a way of working out for me. The big stuff, anyway. When my parents were killed in a freak mugging, my aunt Sheilastepped up and took me in. She sent me to an amazing private school, paid for tutors, sports trainers, anything I wanted really, and I ended up going to NYU on a pretty good scholarship.

Everything else though?

I have a habit of screwing it up.

Men in particular act like I have some kind of repulsion field wrapped around me. Ever since high school, the second a guy’s gotten close and things look good, he suddenly ghosts in the most aggressive way possible.

Once, mid-date, a really nice guy looked me dead in the eye and said, “I have to go home and give my dog a bath. This isn’t working out.”

He didn’t even stick around long enough to cover his half of the bill.

This missing spicy self-care box is just one in a long line of stupid love-life mishaps.

It was supposed to boost my confidence and help me get back out there.

Instead, it’s going to ruin my (pathetic, floundering) career.

Natalie stops pacing and comes to a decision. “No other choice but to search all over,” she proclaims. “If we split up, I bet we can get through most of the desks pretty fast.”