Page 14 of Direct Action

“Chloe.” His tone dropped to lethal, and I fought back a shiver.

It was bad enough I’d been carrying on a mental affair with Ryan for some time now. The last thing I needed was him becoming aware of our fake dating. Actually, we weren’t so much dating as we were banging—conceptually of course. This was all make-believe in my mind.

“Ryan, it’s late—”

“Yeah, honey, it is. So let’s get this done so you can get some sleep.”

The word mama popped into my head, and I nearly groaned at my ill-timed, newfound fondness of a word that should not be sexy, yet I still would’ve had a mini-orgasm if Ryan had used ‘mama’ in place of ‘honey.’

What was wrong with me?

I was too tired to consider all the ways my head was screwed up, too tired to stand outside my door and convince Ryan to leave, too damn tired all the damn time.

With an exhausted exhale, I unlocked my door. My breathing became less exhausted and more harassed when I flipped on the lights and my gaze landed on the pile of clean clothes I’d tossed onto the couch before I left for work. And if that wasn’t bad enough, that pile had joined last week’s pile.

Why? Just why did this have to be my life?

“So, obviously I’ve been a little busy.” I swept my hand in the direction of my clothes.

When Ryan didn’t say anything, I glanced back at him only to find him glaring at my laundry like it was steaming piles of dog shit and not clothes.

“I’ll just—” I got no further when fingers wrapped around my wrist.

“Leave it.”

I glanced back at the piles, making sure my unmentionables weren’t on display, deciding even if they were I was too tired to care. Unless it was my cotton that-time-of-the-month undies—then I’d have to discreetly hide those.

Ryan let go and made his way to the high-backed, worn leather chair I’d found at the Goodwill for a steal and sat his fine behind on the buttery-soft cushion. I ignored how good he looked in that chair, in my space, and tossed my purse and keys on the coffee table before I shoved some clothes out of the way to make room on the couch.

“What do we need to discuss?” I prompted.

“You need to quit the Vault.”

I must have finally started hallucinating from my lack of sleep and stress. There was no way I’d heard him right.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You need to quit the Vault.”

That’s what I thought he’d said, yet his insane directive still didn’t make sense.

“Why would I do that? I just got that job, and it pays a shit ton better than dog walking and cleaning office buildings.”

“Dog walking?” he growled.

“Yes, you know, the cute four-legged creatures.”

He glanced around my apartment. “You have a dog?”

Without thinking, I covered my face and half groaned, half grunted. When I’d accomplished that very unladylike sound, I bent forward, rested my face on my knees, and grumbled, “Why are we talking about dogs?”

“Because you brought them up.”

Oh, right, I had.

Dog walking, one of the extra jobs I’d been doing for extra money. One I no longer had to do now that I was making on average five hundred dollars a night at the Vault—the place Ryan wanted me to quit.

“I’m not quitting,” I grumbled through my hands still covering my face.