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Swear to fuck, but sixty-five percent of his job was emails.
Thirty-three percent was meetings.
And a whopping two percent was actually doing the tasks that were listed in his job description.
And it was six-thirty in the morning, he’d gotten into the office early to clear some of those tasks…and his inbox was already out of control.
He was tempted to empty the entire thing, to pretend that there hadn’t been emails in the first place.
He wastemptedto walk right out of this office and quit this job.
He was tempted to chuck his laptop against the wall, just to teach his inbox a lesson first.
Admittedly, he wasn’t in the best mood.
But he hadn’t slept well all weekend.
Teresa.
That kiss. Those tears. Theshithis brothers had given him when they’d found out what he’d done and why she was upset and that it was probably his fault along with the fucker who’d stepped on Teresa’s heart.
Big. Brash. Confident. Strong.
Not the woman with the stepped-on heart standing on Cora’s deck, surreptitiously wiping her eyes.
Not the woman who’d pulled away from him, who’d left a Game Night (her favorite activity) early.
Because of him.
So yeah, he’d gotten shit, and it had been well-deserved.
And he’d spent the weekend alternating between wet dreams and guilt.
Neither of which was conducive to rest.
Which was why he’d given up trying to sleep and had just gotten up, showered, dressed, and come into work in an attempt to get something productive done.
Something he’d had approximately twenty minutes to do before there was a knock at the door.
It was six-thirty.
It was still dark outside.
He’d thought he was the only one in the office.
And…
“Hey, Jeremy.”
Christ.
Nother.
Bianca was young, smart, and wanted to fuck him.
Teresa had teased him about pulling a lot of women, and while he didn’t do all that poorly in that department, he was far from a Lothario. He couldn’t abide bullshit and games, and Bianca was nothing but games.
How he knew this?
