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“You’re eleven years too late for that question.” She jerks to a standing position and slams the documents on the table. “I’m finished. So if you have anything you want to be changed, please let me know, sir.”
“What the fuck got your knickers in a twist?”
“You and your useless questions. What do you care what happened eleven years ago when you never glanced my way?”
Inever glanced her way?
What in the ever-loving fuck, and I mean this, type of crack is she on?
“Should I remind you of what you’ve done, Nicole? If I make a list, I’ll break some fucking record.”
“Just like you broke a record of being a stage-one bastard, you mean.”
“Did you just call me—your boss—a bastard?”
“You’re the one who brought up the past. Why would you? Do you like tormenting me for fun?”
“Maybe I do.”
“Maybe you have too much time on your hands.”
“Not nearly enough to turn your life into hell. I have a wish list of the things I’ll do to you every day.”
“I hate you.”
“Careful, Peaches. Hate is a mixture of love and jealousy on steroids.”
Her mouth falls open and I realize my mistake too late.
I called her Peaches after vowing to never use that nickname again.
Before I can retract it or think of an insult to erase it, she clears her throat. “I suppose the fact that you’re not reading the file means you’re not in a hurry. So, I’ll take my leave.”
Then she’s practically jogging out the door, leaving her cherry perfume behind.
It’s cheaper, not nearly as strong or authentic as back then.
But just like eleven years ago, I’m left confused, angry, and with a fucking hard-on.
12
NICOLE
“You’re fired.”
My mouth falls open in anO.
If I hadn’t been a zombie who didn’t sleep for the whole night and had to hug a small box I shouldn’t have kept, I would’ve probably processed the words better.
Or maybe I did, but my brain is unable to catch up.
Jay has had a nasty fever and, even worse, asthma that made him wheeze for breath without his inhaler. I found him squeezed in a ball beside the sofa while Lolli fussed around him.
I had to take him to the emergency room at midnight and monitor his fever all night long.
Apparently, he’s been feeling sick for a few days, which is why he went to sleep early. When I asked him why he didn’t tell me, he said he didn’t want to worry me or distract me from my “twat” of a boss.
My eyes are puffy from so much crying by his bedside. I cried for not being there for him, for making him an adult trapped in a child’s body, and especially for not seeing the signs of his sickness.
