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“Tanner. I don’t know how many times I have to say it: there’s nothing wrong. It must’ve been a fluke accident, and I have food poisoning. I don’t know what else to tell you.” My acting skills are really paying off.
“Well, I don’t believe you.”
“Okay, great. And what am I supposed to do about that?”
“Fucking convince me, that’s what you do!” He does his best to quiet his yelling, but he’s sucking at it.
The few people who’ve walked by glance at us, and some visibly jump.
“I don’t have to do anything. Especially fucking convince you of something that’s not even happening.” I stand, fed up with his bullshit.
Without a second glance, I storm out the front door, leaving him behind with my designer puke bag.
And he can stay, like, foaming at the mouth all day for all I care. That’s what he gets for not listening to me.
And I have nothing to explain to him…yet.
We’ll cross that bridge when and if we have to. For the time being, I’m content with him being blissfully unaware.
Chapter 26
Tanner
Okay, admittedly, this isn’t the first bag of puke that I’ve ever been stuck holding that isn’t mine. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t the heaviest.
How the fuck could she hold that much in her stomach?
But that’s hardly the point right now.
Elsa is quite the exceptional saleswoman, but this time, I ain’t buying what she’s selling.
There’s more, a lot more, going on than she’s telling me. And you best believe I plan to find out just what the fuck it is that she’s hiding from me.
I just need to get rid of this fucking gaudy bag filled with vomit first.
My eyes look up and down the hallway for a trash bin or anything I can hide this fucking bag in when I hear an oh-so-familiar shrill voice coming up behind me—Jean Mayer.
Have you ever seen the movie ‘American Pie’? If you haven’t, then you should.
Jean’s like the real-life version of Stifler’s Mom from that movie. It’s scary how similar the two of them are. She’s blonde, busty—thanks to implants—and has a thing for young cocks.
Fuck, she’s got more wieners at her disposal than Oscar Mayer.
She’s got an eye for talent though, which is why she sits on the board as our VP of Talent Relations. It’s a job she takes seriously and is very hands on—if you catch my drift.
She’s screeching at her poor assistant—her third this month—about how her slim, soy, banana cherry latte was too cold for her this morning.
But once she sees me—and I wish she hadn’t—she puts her abuse on hold to bat her fake eyelashes at me.
Her dark blue eyes look me over like she’s eyeballing a T-bone steak on the grill.
As much as I can’t blame
her—I do look extra tasty today, if I say so myself—she’s definitely not my type. Even if Elsa isn’t in my life right now, the woman would have no chance…too much botox.
“Well, hello, Tanner. It’s so lovely to see you in the office today. Feels like forever since I’ve gotten to lay my eyes on you,” she coos.
“You know me. Always working away. Got to stay on top of everything.”
