The-Woman-on-the-Exam-Table.pdf

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Contents
Title
Rights
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Salvatore
Also by Jessica Gadziala
About the Author
Stalk Her!
The Woman on the Exam Table
a mafia romance
—
Jessica Gadziala
Copyright © 2022 Jessica Gadziala
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S Copyright Act of 1976,
the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book
without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the
author's intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.
"This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents
are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental."
Cover image credit: Getty Images .com/stevecoleimages
CHAPTER ONE
Whitney
“Move your ass, new girl,” my boss snapped at me as he moved between
me and the back counter, grinding his whole front situation against my
whole… back situation.
Biting my tongue was an art I was, luckily, practiced in, thanks to
decades in the workforce, dealing with various superiors who took their title
to heart and believed themselves very much above everyone in their
employ.
I hated this job.
Every single minuscule aspect of it.
From the obnoxious “retro” dress in a bright blue color with a white
collar, buttons, and matching apron to the way the scent of grease almost
seemed permanently embedded in my pores, to the often impatient and rude
customers, and the crummy pay.
But there was nothing I hated quite as much as I hated my boss.
Tommy Dolin was all of five years my senior, but his years hadn’t
treated him quite as kindly. On my more bitter days—which were

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