Page 151 of Hate to Love You
Looking down again at the letter opener I run my thumb along the cool obsidian blade.
“Did you not hear me? These are urgent and—”
“Okay,” I say, interrupting her, smiling up at her sweetly, and imagining her getting eaten alive by an escalator. “Anything else, Miss Jenson?”
I deliberately choose to put the emphasis on the “miss” part, reminding her that she is neither my boss, nor Roman’s wife, but simply just another employee.
Like me.
For a moment she just stares at me, her eyes wide before quickly turning and heading straight for Roman’s office.
She doesn’t knock, she just steps inside.
I wait, expecting to hear him yelling, or snapping at her to get the fuck out of his office…but he doesn’t.
Well, I guess his door is open to anyone but me today.
Dropping the letter opener on my desk, I wince at the audible thud the intricate handle gives.
Impulsively, I open Roman’s schedule.
I don’t know why I’m even looking. I shouldn’t even care, but I need to know if Heather had a scheduled appointment with him today, because I know I didn’t make one for him.
Smashing my finger down aggressively on the mouse button, I pull it up on my screen.
No. He has a clear day. Not a single thing scheduled.
My head smashes into the back of the chair as I glare at the screen, somehow even more infuriated that he just…let her walk into his office.
Unlocking my phone, I stare at Lily.
Maybe I should’ve called out and stayed at home today.
The only noise on the executive floor right now is the whirling of the computers and my rapid breathing.
Something bangs in Roman’s office.
My hands clench into fists, my nails stabbing into my palms, leaving little crescent shaped indents. Leaning forward I grab the letter opener off the desk, hoping that fidgeting with something will distract me.
The phone rings, and I glance up.
Holy shit…It’s Roman. Calling from his office.
My entire body heats as anger begins to flood my veins.
Why the fuck would he phone me when he has her there? Does he want me to get coffee for the two of them? Or is he calling just to rub their little fucklationship in my face?
So much for those apology texts, Roman.
Seeing red, I jerk forward and grab the receiver, slamming it immediately back down.
A sharp prick draws my eyes down to my finger, which has blood pooling from the cut the obsidian blade has accidentally made, the crimson replacing the red haze of my vision.
Fuck I barely even felt that.
Realizing I’m about to get blood all over my clothes and desk, I reluctantly stomp my way over to the bathroom, holding my hand away from my body and leaving drops of blood as I go.
Behind me I can hear my phone ringing again, but I don’t give a shit.