Digging A Hole (The OHellNO Series Book 3)

By: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I’m standing smack in the center of his office when the silhouette of a tall man fills the doorway. The hard planes of his cheekbones give his gorgeous face a European elegance, but his unshaven jaw gives off the air of a rugged mountain man. And while he’s wearing a sleek black suit and burgundy-colored tie, there’s something about him—perhaps the way he’s standing with a ramrod straight back and a noticeable bulk in his arms—that tells me he is not a fine-suit man. He vibes ex-Marine or some other tough-guy type profession.

Our gazes lock, and it’s then that I notice his unusual light gray eyes. They’re stunning, and I can’t look away. Surprisingly, he seems equally mesmerized, because he’s just standing there with an odd expression.


No. Not possible. Maybe he recognizes me, though that isn’t likely.

Abruptly, the moment shatters, and his expression shifts to a nasty scowl like he’s caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.

“What are you standing there looking at?” He shoves his cell phone in his pant pocket.


“I can’t believe it. Sydney Lucas is a bigger loser than me.” I groan as I talk into my cell and yank off my blonde wig from the safety of my bathroom.

“Uh-oh. I’m guessing the interview didn’t go so well?” says Abigail on the other end of the line. She’s been my best friend since middle school and is the only person on the planet who knows what I, the infamously shy Georgie Walton, have been up to these past two weeks: an epic scandal in the making.

If I ever get caught.

Which I won’t.

“You guessed correctly. The interview was a disaster.” I sigh and turn away from my annoying reflection in the mirror, planting my ass on the marble counter. “I literally threw up on the woman’s shoes.”

“No. You didn’t.” Abi sounds like she’s going to laugh but holds back. She’s a good friend. She’s also a down-to-earth and timid-as-hell brunette like me. Only, I’ve been living a double life lately, thus the crazy blonde wig and hipster glasses.

“Did,” I say. “I had oatmeal for breakfast, too. It was a sticky mess—complete with theatrical heaving.”

“Wow, girl,” says Abi. “You’ve really upped your game; you only got nauseous at the last nine interviews.”

“Well, ten must be my lucky number, because after I heaved, I was so embarrassed, I nearly passed out, which then made me more humiliated so I just ran from the room crying. Which is why I’m done.”

“No. You can’t quit, Georgie. This is too important, and if you give up now, you’ll never believe you can stand on your own two feet.”

At this point, you might be asking if I’m mental, and maybe I am; however, the root of the problem comes down to one thing. I am deathly shy and have been since the age of five. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it started, but I’m fairly sure it began when I realized my family wasn’t your everyday American family. I remember going out with my mother one day and being followed by dozens of news trucks. “Georgie,” my mom said, “always be on your guard. They’re watching.”

“Who, Mommy?” I’d asked.


From that moment on, I’ve always felt claustrophobic, enclosed in some musty, dark closet, the cold walls suffocating me, making it harder and harder to breathe. That closet is the world. Yep. I’m totally mental.

“I don’t know, Abi,” I say, “I thought I could pull this off, yanno? But no matter what I do, I can’t get through a goddamned interview.” And if I can’t do that, then what’s the point of my life? To be a freakishly awkward woman-child who has to rely on her siblings?


This is my life.

And getting a job is my chance to change how my family sees me—the timid, incapable twenty-one-year-old baby of our family who will never do anything more than stand in a shadowy corner, hiding from the world.

I know I am more than that. However, the words I think aren’t backed up with action, and every time I fail, my self-worth drops a notch. This moment is do or die. It’s win or lose. It’s my coming to Jesus.

Ugh. Only, I just threw up on his sandals. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

“I’m done, Abi. I thought pretending to be someone else would take off the pressure of being a Walton, but Sydney Lucas is just as bad at dealing with people as I am.”

Abi sighs on the other end of the phone. “Georgie, please don’t give up. You can land an internship. I know you can.”

“With who? I’ve tried every company with business internships in the Houston area.”

“Another position just opened up at PVP. You could work with me.”

My brother is actually the person who recommended Abi for the role. Palo Verde Pharmaceuticals is a multibillion-dollar company owned by my family and is ironically tied to the reason that I absolutely must stand on my own two feet. Simply put, my family’s billions in assets are in the midst of an ugly and very public legal battle. Okay. Let me rephrase. My siblings and I are suing my father for control of Walton Holdings, which owns twenty large companies.