Текст книги "Hard Beat"
Автор книги: K. Bromberg
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
She murmurs something about understanding that I’m not sure I believe as I pick up my phone and head toward the bathroom to try and get some privacy in this tiny room.
“Dude. Do you have any clue what fucking time it is?” I ask the question to save face on why I sound winded, but then I look at my watch and realize it’s two o’clock in the damn morning.
“No. No damn clue, but you picked up awfully fast, so I know you’re not sleeping.” His statement hangs on the line like a question, but I just ignore it.
“What do you need, Rafe?” I glance over my shoulder to see BJ lying on the bed but covering herself up with the sheet. Shit. Well, I guess I can look on the bright side; more sex might be in my immediate future. That’s never a bad thing.
“Got your new photographer lined up. Name’s Bo Croslyn. I set it up for you two to meet in the normal place,” he says, referring to the hotel’s one pseudo–conference room all of us correspondents have taken over as our place to do official business when we need privacy and we’re not out in the field.
I knew this phone call was coming, knew I was going to get a new photog, but for some reason having it actually happen makes me feel like I’m betraying Stella. Ridiculous.
“Experience?” I ask as I take the condom off and toss it in the trash can next to the toilet. The line fills with silence while I turn the faucet on and clean up. “Rafe? What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing abroad just —”
“Nothing abroad?” My voice escalates. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re sending me a goddamn newbie? Some fresh-faced kid that’s going to get himself killed… or better yet, get me killed. What the —”
“Calm down. That’s not what —”
“This. Is. Calm.” I grit the words out. The false calm from the whiskey and the orgasm that were like a salve to soothe the invisible wounds is now gone. “Jesus H., man. After Stella… after how that went down, you’re gonna do this to me?”
“It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Bo’s pictures are killer.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I catch a fleeting glimpse of BJ in the mirror, but I don’t turn to look because I’m so damn busy being pissed at Rafe.
“That’s not what I meant, Tanner.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Just wait. I think you guys will really click.”
“I don’t need you to bullshit me. I really don’t. The only click I need from Bo is the damn camera’s.”
Rafe chuckles into the line, but I know he’s just humoring me. I don’t have a damn leg to stand on since I’m the one who begged to be back here.
“Oh wow. I didn’t realize how late it was there. I’m so sorry,” he says, feigning apology to change the subject.
“Uh-huh.”
“Meet Bo at ten a.m. I’m late for a meeting.”
“Rafe —” The rest of my comment dies on my lips when the line goes dead. Fucking hell. Seriously?
I slam my fist against the cheap bathroom counter, but I haven’t even been here long enough to have any products on it to rattle. Something about the thought hits home. Why? Because I’m back and it’s all so different but the same too. I toss the phone onto the towel there, brace my hands on the Formica edge, and let my head hang down for a brief moment to rein in my frustration.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say as I walk back into the room. My steps falter when I take in the empty bed and my clothes as the sole items strewn on the floor. My immediate reaction is to stride toward the door, call her back, and apologize. Hell yes, it was a one-night stand, but my mother raised me to respect women.
Then I laugh at the thought, finding humor in the notion, considering what BJ and I just did: wham, bam, and not even a thank you, ma’am.
When I realize how stupid I am for almost chasing after her since I don’t want anything more, I take my hand off the door, turn around, and stand there naked with my hands on my hips. I glance around my room to see if anything was disturbed. People are ruthless trying to get a leg up on a story in this industry, but shit, I’ve been here for less than a day; it’s not like I have some big scoop worth stealing. Besides, I’m smart enough not to leave anything out if I did.
Look at me, paranoid already, and I’ve only been back in the game for less than twenty-four hours. Just like riding a bike. I sigh at my stupidity and make my way to the bed, but with Rafe’s words still ringing in my ears, BJ’s kiss still on my lips, and perfume on my sheets, I know sleep will be hard to find.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and lie back, scrubbing my hand over my face. What a fucking day. Back in this land I love and hate all at the same time with ghosts I need to let go. Except I fucking can’t. Add to that how goddamn good it was to see all of the guys again and the unanticipated bout of sex.
The longer I lie here, the more I think about everything. I blame jet lag for my inability to sleep, but the problem is that no matter how much I try to pull my thoughts from BJ, they keep going back to her. It has to be her damn perfume clinging to my skin and the sheets, but I don’t get up to take a shower.
Even though I need sleep to get a leg up on the wicked time difference that’s going to hit me with a sledgehammer in the coming days, it doesn’t come no matter how hard I try. So I divert my thoughts and make a mental list of sources I want to contact by week’s end, military and locals, to try and get some information on what Pauly was talking about earlier, the rumored meeting of high-level opposition. But the moment I close my eyes to will sleep to come, I see BJ and her sexy-as-hell body laid out before me on the bed. I hear that little moan she made right before she came that was a plea to both move faster and to prolong things all at the same time.
And then my mind veers to the thought that we came at the same time like in some goddamn cheesy romance novel. Why does that bug me? Why does our bodies being so in sync with each other throw me off, make me wonder if there is something more to it than incredible timing?
Shut it down, Tanner. It’s been a long ass day.
Scratch that. Try a long ass few months.
Close your eyes.
Go to sleep.
Chapter 4
“Yes, I’m here and I’m doing fine, Ry,” I tell her for the tenth time over the course of our conversation.
“I guess I have no choice but to believe you. And don’t sound so condescending. I’m your sister – I’m allowed to worry about you. It’s just…” Her voice fades off. “With everything that happened with Stella, I’m…”
“I’m fine. I promise. I’m not taking any unnecessary risks, but I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.” I know never to give her a date or time because if I don’t call by then, she’ll get even more worried.
“’Kay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I end the call and look at the time on the screen. It’s ten fifteen. So first day on the job and I can’t say I’m too impressed with the new photographer they’ve assigned me, considering he’s already late.
Add to that this room makes me antsy as fuck. The last time I was in here was with Stella. We’d fought. She stormed out. Goddamn ghosts.
So I pace back and forth for a few minutes, constantly checking my watch, with my irritation growing each time I change directions. Ten more minutes pass and I’m pissed. I don’t have time for an unprofessional person without courtesy. The world outside the window passes me by as I wait for Rafe to pick up the damn phone.
“So you’ve met?” There’s amusement in his tone when he answers the phone, and my chafed nerves get even more ruffled.
“Nope. Didn’t show. Glad to know you hired a real professional.” Sarcasm is thick in my voice as I lean a shoulder against the window and watch a woman struggle to carry her wares from the market on the dirt-covered street below.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. That’s what you get for hiring a goddamn rookie, Rafe. This is —”
“I told you Bo’s not a rookie. She has a great portfolio, security clearance for the base too. Just because she hasn’t been —”
“Wait, what?” There’s not a goddamn chance in hell I just heard him right. I close my eyes and shake my head. “You meant he, right? Just because he…?” Silence passes through the line. I can picture Rafe leaning his hip against his desk, lips pursed, and the furrow in his brow that he gets when he’s put on the spot. “Last night you referred to Bo as a he, so why today are you using the pronoun she?”
“No.” He clears his throat. “Last night you referred to Beaux as he. Not me.”
“What kind of name is Bo, anyway?”
“The kind that’s spelled B-E-A-U-X,” he says, amusement thick in his tone, and I’m not too thrilled about being mocked. Images of a rough-and-tumble tomboy come to mind, and I hate her out of reflex.
“Isn’t that a guy’s name?”
“I assure you, she’s all woman, all right,” he murmurs, shattering the image I’ve created in my head of her and concurrently pissing me off because he acts as if the fact she has tits and ass will ease the sting of what I feel is his deception. “And it’s on you that you assumed Beaux was a male.” His chuckle grates on my nerves.
“And what? You didn’t correct me because you knew I was going to flip my shit and tell you to go to hell?” My pulse thunders and my hands shake with anger. “What the fuck, man?”
Snapshots of Stella flip through my mind. My promise to never let anything happen to her. Her body covered in blood while chaos swirled all around us. White flowers on her black casket. Having to look her parents in the eye and explain the circumstances and that ultimately it was my fault.
“What’s your problem, Thomas? Male or female… The sex of your photographer shouldn’t affect how you do your job.”
Shouldn’t affect me? He’s crazy.
“That’s bullshit and you know it!” I shout, fist pounding once against the windowsill.
“I beg to differ.” His calm, even tone spurs my anger even further.
“A chick? I have enough of a problem keeping my own ass safe here. I mean after everything that happened with Stella… you’re going to put me back in the same goddamn boat?” My voice hitches, and I hate that it fucking does, hate that after five months I’m still affected. I take a calming breath even though it does nothing for me. At least Stella knew the ground rules, the mistakes not to make – and yet she still ended up dead.
“You wanted to return and get back in the saddle. I told you I didn’t think you were ready.”
“So that’s what this is? Some fucking proving ground?” Fire is in my veins and ice in my voice.
“Having a tough time there, are you? Been back less than forty-eight hours, and you’re just starting to realize that whether you’re there or here in your house, Stella’s still everywhere. Not as easy as you thought, right?”
Is he fucking serious? I wasn’t aware that he ever got a doctorate in psychology. I run a hand through my hair and then lean my forehead to the glass as I recognize that Rafe’s trying to prove a point on which I really don’t feel like being the test subject.
And yes, he’s absolutely right, but hell if I’m going to admit it.
“I’m perfectly fine.” I mutter the words with more conviction than I feel. Fuck if I haven’t gotten good at repeating them over the past few months. I’m so damn sick of people asking how I’m doing. I’m alive. She’s not. End of goddamn story. How do they think I feel?
He laughs loudly into the line, and the sound grates on every frayed nerve that I have. “Keep telling yourself that and maybe one day you will be. But the fact of the matter is that you’re one of my oldest colleagues and friends, and I want to make sure you’re okay. What better way to get you on your feet again than by throwing you right back in the fire you were burned by?” He pauses momentarily to let his comments sink in and burrow tiny little grappling hooks into my nerves, forcing me to see his truth through the pain.
“This is such a crock,” I grit out between my clenched teeth, trying to figure out what’s really going on here. “Since when do I have to prove shit to you, Rafe?”
“You don’t.” He sighs in exasperation. “I don’t make the decisions, Tan. I just make sure they’re carried out.”
“How do those strings feel tied to your hands and feet?” I ask, followed by a circus tune to reinforce my puppet reference.
“Dude, her portfolio is really incredible. Top notch.”
“Uh-huh… Remind me of that when you bitch at me for losing the story because I’m so busy holding her goddamn hand so she doesn’t get us killed. I didn’t come here to put my jacket over puddles to make sure some fresh-out-of-college punk doesn’t get mud on her high heels.”
“Shit, and I packed my Louboutins too.”
The voice at my back has me whirling around, mouth lax, mind trying to catch up and put the pieces together. A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach when I see BJ standing with her shoulder against the doorjamb: Arms folded, she’s wearing a tank top with faded blue jeans, an arrogant smirk on those expressive lips of hers, and shoes that are most definitely not of the stiletto variety.
I blame the jet lag for the momentary lapse as the situation hits me full force. Rafe’s voice is in my ear babbling, and my one-night fling stands before me, but now she’s so much more than just that.
How did I not see this coming from a mile away?
“Seriously, Rafe?” They’re the only words I can form as I stare at BJ… well Beaux, I assume. My body reacts viscerally to both the sight and memory of what she feels like, but common sense tells me I’ve been played on so many fucking ends of the field that I might as well sit on the bench and throw in the goddamn towel.
“Ah. She must be there. She’s easy on the eyes, huh?” he asks, trying to use her beauty as a way to soften the blow as I walk back toward the window, not wanting to deal with her just yet.
“No. She’s not hot,” I tell him, damn well knowing she can hear me. She’s far from fucking hot. She’s drop dead gorgeous. Elegant. Sexy. All of the goddamn above.
Pissed off, I hang up on Rafe without another word. My mind reels, I’m questioning my judgment, and I find the world outside the hotel so much easier to focus on than our personalities clashing in here.
“I’m not hot?” The amusement laced with condescension in her tone causes me to roll my shoulders in discomfort, hating being played by her. “Glad to see Rafe makes sure looks are part of the job requirements.”
“No, you’re not hot,” I repeat as I turn and walk toward the conference room door that she’s blocking. “And if that’s what he’s looking at you for, that means your pictures are for shit. So…” I shrug. “Guess you can go back to freelance because you’re not going to be partnered with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” As her glare meets mine, she crosses her arms over her chest in an innocent move that pushes her tits up, so of course I’m reminded of last night. Fool me once and all that. I’m not making this mistake again.
When I take a step toward her, she doesn’t budge an inch. “Yes, you are,” I inform her as I reach out to take her by the shoulders and physically move her to the side. It takes everything I have to force myself to ignore the damn jolt of heat that sears my nerves so that I can leave the conference room.
I’ve got to get the hell away from her. Just from one simple touch of her skin, my body feels like it’s on fire. Her laugh reaches me as I start to walk down the hallway, and on principle, I turn back around, then stride with purpose up to her and get well within her damn personal space. And even though my blood is boiling, the only thing I can focus on is that fucking perfume of hers that tickles my nose.
“Just tell me one thing, Beaux.”
“It’s BJ to you.”
I couldn’t care less what she wants me to call her because it’s not like I’ll be speaking to her again anyway. “Why play me like you did? Because you did play me, right? You slithered up to me at the bar, used your sexy voice and those come-fuck-me eyes to reel me in, and then stayed long enough after I left to ask around and see where I was. So were you waiting in the stairwell? Biding your time until I came down so that you could get in my pants and what? Ensure you’d get my blessing for the position because you researched me enough to know what happened with Stella and knew I was going to freak the fuck out? And then when Rafe called last night, you figured out who it was and bolted in case I put two and two together?” I’m shouting now, hands fisted at my side, and almost nose to nose with her. I don’t care about goddamn protocol now.
Shit, we fucked that over last night the minute my lips touched hers.
My breathing is labored and when I force myself to step back, I can read the look on her face. I swear to all things holy, she must be the best damn actress on the face of the earth. Beaux’s eyes are wide, her bottom lip is trembling, and her eyes are welling with tears.
I love and I hate the sight of her tears all at once. I love them because it means it just might have been a coincidence, and I hate them because it means there is no way in hell she’s tough enough to survive the despair here if she can’t handle my chewing her out.
She wipes her palms on her jeans, and I focus on the motion, because I’m always leery of a woman wielding tears. When she doesn’t speak but just stands her ground, I look up and meet her eyes to find anger and disbelief.
“Rest assured, I knew who you were, Tanner Thomas… but I didn’t know until this morning that you were my new partner.”
I snort at the word partner, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against the wall. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Convenient.”
“Look, Pulitzer, I don’t need your goddamn chivalry. I can handle myself just fine,” she says with a sneer.
I reach out and grab her arm as she skirts past me. “You sure as fuck needed me last night.” She wants to be a bitch? Well, I can be a grade A asshole. She has no idea who she’s messing with. We already started this relationship with a bang, so why not keep it going that way, right?
“Wow. You forget all of your women that quick? Last I checked, you were the one who made the first move in the stairwell.”
“Really?” My voice escalates with each letter of the word. “Parade that body of yours around and —”
“What? Be a woman? The audacity,” she says, feigning horror. She stops trying to shrug out of my grip and instead surprises me when she steps farther into me. “Let’s make one thing clear. Chivalry is dead. I wanted you. I had you. And I assure you, it won’t happen again.”
“You’d better come at me with better lines than that if you think I’m going to buy your bullshit lies. I believed them once. Not again, Beaux… or is it BJ?” We stare at each other in a silent standoff.
“It’s both, but you have to earn the right to call me Beaux, and it seems you already lost that,” she says as she lifts her chin in defiance. And shit, in less than twenty-four hours I believe I’ve met both Beaux and BJ. The funny thing is I’m not sure which one I like more. Or if I like either at all.
“Why’d you bolt last night? It’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?” I’m still feeling unsure about her motives and I hate it. I’m a man who survives by following his gut instinct, and right now my gut isn’t telling me shit. So goddamn frustrating.
Beaux steps toward me, steel in her posture, and spite in her voice. “Did you think you were that special?” she asks, causing me to immediately bristle at the comment, male ego front and center. “Don’t act so surprised. I found your bed easily in the dark, so why do you think I couldn’t have found the door so easily afterward?”
Touché.
“I don’t like being played.”
“And I don’t like being judged.” She takes a step back. “Now that we got that out of the way, let go of my arm.”
I keep my hand on her for a moment longer, wanting more from the answers than she’s giving me. Still I’m aware we both had sex last night willingly. I didn’t ask questions, didn’t want to know more – and that’s on me.
But I’ll put a whole helluva lot of blame on her right now too. I think there’s more to this story than she’s telling me. I keep thinking about that look in her eyes through the darkness of the room last night, and I can so easily see that she was deceiving me. And that’s sitting about as comfortable as a chastity belt on a hooker.
“Great, then I’ll expect the call from Rafe shortly that you’ve changed your mind about the position.”
“Fuck you.” She yanks her arm back this time, and I let it go willingly, watching every nuance of her reaction to try and figure out the truth here.
“Do you talk to your mother with a mouth like that?” She’s such a contradiction. Elegant with the mouth of a trucker and a body made for sin. No wonder I’m intrigued and pissed simultaneously.
“Shall I say it again? I don’t have a problem repeating myself. And just so you know, I’m damn good. My candids earned me the spot.” She starts to walk away and then stops. “Better yet, I will call Rafe. I’ll ring him right up and let him know how emotionally unstable you are. How you refuse to perform the song and dance for the brass by taking me under your wing. We’ll see how long you last before they yank you out of here for being the goddamn liability that they fear you are.” That victorious smirk of hers returns with a vengeance, and she turns on her heel and stalks out of the office before her words hit home and take hold.
My feet remain rooted in place as I watch her ass sway from side to side down the hall until she turns the corner. Even when she’s gone from sight, I can’t move. My thoughts collide together with her words to shake the sarcasm from them so that I can really hear what she said.
And as much as it pains me to admit it, she’s absolutely right. If I was pissed a minute ago, I’m livid now. I start to move on reflex, pacing without thought because I need to work off some of this anger while I process my thoughts.
The men controlling the strings are actually testing me. Making sure I’m not a liability because I refused to take the time off they requested. I believe sabbatical was the term they used. Well, fuck that.
Do they really think strapping me with some damn rookie and having to teach her the ropes is going to prove my stability? That it will keep me out of the trouble that they obviously believe I caused when everything went down with Stella? And if that’s the case, they’re contradicting themselves by saying I’m fucked up in a sense but meanwhile putting me in charge of teaching a newbie the minefield of reporting out here on what feels like the fringes of civilization.
Damn, it’s like they’re not sure what they want from me. They won’t let me go to CNN because they’re afraid to lose me and my reputation, but at the same time they think I’m about as stable as a fault line.
Yes, what happened to Stella and everything else that went with it messed with my head. She was my best friend, for fuck’s sake. If it didn’t affect me, then they should be worried. But just because I’m having a hard time with it doesn’t mean I can’t do my job effectively.
I went through their circus hoops to get back here. I retrained in all of the protocol I first did what feels like a hundred years ago when I started this career: captive training courses, first aid certification, ethics classes. I did them and then some. Even went to the fucking shrink they asked me to see so she could ask me the same question ten different ways from Sunday to just get the same answer I gave the first time.
Well fuck them. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on weighted down with all their asinine reasons for treating me this way. I’ll prove each and every one of them wrong. I’ll take this babysitting job and still get the best goddamn story out there. Break it first. Prove to them that I’ve still got my mojo.
Decision made. I can play the corporate bullshit game with the best of them. Now I just have to wrap my head around chasing after a woman I’d much rather let run out the damn door. She’s sassy and haughty and she was a one-night stand, but damn it to hell, I’m a man with needs.
I just don’t want one of them to be her.
“This is utterly fucking ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath as I stride down the hallway to try to find the rookie.
I look in the obvious places first and can’t find her. I’m about to walk up to the front desk of the lounge area of the hotel to ask if anyone knows where Beaux’s room is so I can lay down the parameters of this partnership, when something catches my eye across the street from the hotel.
“Fucking hell, woman,” I growl as I shove the entry doors open. The heat hits me like I’m in the center of a furnace, but I don’t give it any reaction because in a few weeks’ time I won’t even notice it. Still, I grumble, pissed that I instantly feel protective of her. While I might try to shrug it off as being a good person, somehow I know it’s more than that.
I’m playing right into corporate’s hand by rushing out to rescue their new golden girl from making a huge mistake and getting into a car that looks like a cab but isn’t one. The difference between the creeps here and the ones back in the States is that the ones here have ten times less regard for women. I know firsthand. I’ve reported on some scenes that made me sick to my stomach.
A sketchy-looking local has his hand on her upper biceps, and he’s gesturing wildly over whatever he’s arguing with her about. And the only thing I see is that she keeps trying to shrug out of his grasp, and he just holds on. I can’t hear enough of the verbal exchange between the two of them to know what it’s about, but rather can hear the frustrated pitch of Beaux’s voice as she argues with him.
I all but run toward the yellowish taxicab with nothing more than a broken sandwich-board-type sign on the top of it. “Do not get in the car, Beaux!” I command as I come around the back of the car, causing her head to whip over to me in surprise.
“I’ll get in the damn car if I want to!” she snaps at me, hands already on her hips and posture stiff. “Who the hell do you think you are? First, you insult me and my work upstairs, and then you chase me across the street and tell me what to do? Dream on, asshole.”
The man she was talking to slinks around the hood of the car, far from inconspicuous, but shady nonetheless. “Everyone knows not to get in the cabs here if they’re not —”
“I wasn’t getting in the damn cab! I didn’t come in here blind and wet behind the ears, so back the fuck off. You got me pissed off enough that I wasn’t thinking, and I ran outside without my hijab,” she says referring to the head scarf most women wear here. Her voice is a mixture of contrition and anger because I caught her making a mistake after I got her so flustered that she fucked up.
“Without thinking. Hmm. Guess that’s something a rookie does. Oh wait, you’re not a rookie, though, are you?” I hold her stare as I goad her, while the sun’s heat feels as if it’s burning through my clothes and straight into my skin.
She lifts her chin in defiance, a nonverbal fuck you that makes me respect her and dislike her all at the same time. The tough-girl routine is fine and dandy stateside, but out in this crude Wild West of a place, it can end up getting you killed.
“So where were you going in this cab that isn’t really a cab, rook?” I ask the question to get a reaction, see if she’s lying to me, and her quick intake of air and widening of the eyes is the one I was hoping she wasn’t going to give me. She was really going to get in the damn car with this guy. Unfuckingbelievable.
I’m a reporter, not a goddamn nanny.
She huffs out a breath. “I’m a big girl. I was asking the guy a question. Is there a crime in doing that, Pulitzer?” Beaux takes a step toward me, irritation in her voice and defiance in her stance as the car idling beside us takes off.
“Nope,” I say with a shrug, already pissed at myself for caring. “Go ahead and get yourself killed. No skin off my back. In fact, it’s the quickest way for you to get out of my hair.” I regret the words the minute they are out of my mouth. I feel like I’m bad-mouthing Stella, but fuck if I’m going to take them back.
I turn to walk away – from her, from this partnership, from everything – when her voice stops me.
“Nah. The quickest way for you to get someone to leave you alone is to fuck them.”
Is she serious? It’s the second time she’s insulted my bedroom ability, and I’m not letting it go this time. I’m back in her face in the blink of an eye, hands on her shoulders so that I can give her a little shake. Even though right now I detest this woman, it’s taking everything I have not to drag her up against me and kiss her senseless to show her just how wrong she is.
And what exactly she’ll never get a chance at again.
“I must have mistaken your crying out loud when you came last night, then… because last time I checked, a man’s gotta have some skill and a large dick to make a woman come without any foreplay. And I know for a fact that you came,” I say in an implacable tone.
The sounds of a flailing city erupt all around us, and yet all I can hear is that damn hitch in her breath. The one that tells me I’ve called her bluff and for now, that’s enough to pacify my ego she tried to bruise, because I’m beginning to learn that touching her in any capacity gets my blood humming.
And I don’t want it to hum when she’s near.
“Rest assured, I don’t need a man in order to come.” She quirks her eyebrows up and purses her lips. “Now that we’ve got that out in the open, get your hands off me.”
“Gladly. I assure you I won’t touch you again,” I mutter as I glare at her, the tension in my muscles from touching her relaxing fiber by fiber as we exchange silent fuck yous.
“I’ve got shit to do. I’m assuming you ran after me because you realized I’m right about the boss man.” Her slight smirk and the gloating expression in her eyes are the only physical signs that she knows she’s won this one. All I can do is stand and grit my teeth as I bite back how I really feel about it. I’m most definitely not admitting to her that she’s right in any capacity. That would give her an advantage in a situation where she already seems to own the upper hand. She stares a beat longer before reaching in her pocket to pull out a small piece of paper with a number written in perfect penmanship. “Here’s my number. Call me when you get a lead. Otherwise stay the hell away from me.”
