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Making a mental note to call Peytonasapand see if she had anything to do with this.
“I love you, mom,” I choke out. “But I have to get ready for work. Or I’m going to be late.”
“Call me later. I want some updates on your situation with Marc.”
“You got it, Ma.” I keep my voice as cheery as possible in hopes that she doesn’t sense my avoidance in wanting to talk about it.
Yesterday was enough to drive me to drink. I'mnotthe type of person that goes for the bottle of liquor during a time of stress. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
He refused to tell me what was causing the smoke to come out of his head, and I spent all afternoon in my little cubicle of glass walls wondering what the hell I could have possibly done that caused that. And if it wasn’t me that caused it, who was it?
Now that I’m sober enough to think about it all, who the fuck does he think he is talking to me like that? Taking his rage out on me. When I’m over here helpinghimout! My hangover mixed with these thoughts now hasmyblood boiling.
As I get ready for work, I decide to go with the tightest black pencil skirt I own. The one that sits just above my knees, showing more of my legs than I ever have in the workplace. I pair it with analmostsee-through light pink blouse, keeping the top button undone, exposing a little more cleavage. I can’t stand my hair in my face most of the time, but today, I let it hang free with loose waves.
I know the moment I walk into the office and see Marc's face morph with anguish that I definitely chose the correct attire to really get under his skin. The same damn way he did to me yesterday.
I skip the morning chit chat with him, and head right into my work for the day.
It doesn’t take long before my cell phone rings on my desk with a phone call from Dean.
This guy is relentless.
But I will say, it’s been a solid week or two since his last attempt at getting a hold of me. Kudos to him for going so long, fighting the urge to call me.
I do what I always do, and deny the call immediately. Except it chimes seconds later with a text message.
DEAN
Pick up your phone.
No.
It’s time I finally respond. I need to clear the air and end this for good, because he can’t keep calling me the way he is. This is getting borderline stalkerish.
Dean, you have to stop calling me. You’re a great guy, but I told you already… I’m busy. I don’t have time to be involved with anyone right now.
DEAN
When were you going to tell me that you’re engaged?
I can feel the color drain from my face at the same time my jaw hangs open. My eyes dart to Marc through the glass walls that separate us, but he’s immersed in work. How the fuck does Dean know I’m engaged?
I ignore his text and fire a message to the girls.
How the hell does Dean know that I’m engaged?
KALI
I thought we ended it with him weeks ago?
EMILINE
Second that question…
I screen shot his message and shoot it to the group chat.
My hands are trembling under my phone. I don’t know why my heart is racing the way it is. Dean means nothing for me to feel like this right now, but I can’t help but wonder if this conversation I’m having right now has something to do with the outburst Marc had toward me yesterday.
