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A minute later a text comes in.Bahamas for Christmas. Paris for summer, and Japan for spring.
I grit my teeth.
Bec’s a ball busting bitch. I feel even worse. I half type out I’m sorry but stop. If I’m doing all this, she knows.
Just like she knows me finding someone like her, someone who’ll put up with me and do her job even a quarter as well as she does, will be impossible. She runs my office, she organizes everything. She sends Carlos all the things he needs for me to know, and no doubt tells him what he needs to make me do. She’s pure fucking gold.
Add a big bonus.I text.Up to a million.
Good to know you know my worth. Make it two and I’ll think about it.
Done.
I’ll be here Monday. Keep out of my way.
I rub a hand over my face.
“Fuck everything,” I mutter. I know why I’m not currently balls deep in one of the fine women I kicked out.
MG.
She’s a plague on my mind.
Because he’s had her and because I despise him, I call Hendrick.
“Drop dead,” I say when he answers.
Hendrick sighs. “Maybe grow the fuck up, Jac, and maybe, if you want Magdalena to talk to you, you should try being nice.”
“What do you know?” I snarl.
“Goodbye Jac.”
He hangs up.
“Fuck!” He’s been seeing her. Fucking her, having his dick sucked by that incredible mouth, enjoying her hot tightness, enjoying her no fucks given attitude.
Christ, I fucking hate him.
* * *
The next day, my mood’s even worse. Lili would call this a hissy fit. I’m calling it justified. So far, I’ve threatened to shoot three staff members. I’ve snarled and snapped and hurled threats at anyone who’s come near me.
I’m acting like I’m vying for gold in the asshole Olympics, and I’m angrier than I’ve been in years.
I can’t stop. I can’t reign it in. I make Carlos send everyone home, including himself. He’ll wait outside, I know that. But I’m at the point of unreasonable fuckhead that I might actually do something I really regret, say something I can’t take back. Or, God forbid, kill someone I like or need.
I shower, put on my robe, find a new bottle of bourbon, and have a drink and then smash it. Just because I want to. Because it feels good. And I have more.
Someone fucking knocks on the door at around four, and I storm up. Expecting Carlos, I rip the door open. “You fucker. I told you I’m not responsible—”
I stop.
MG.
In a pretty dress.
She’s glorious, her pale hair pinned up on one side, wearing floral heels to match the floral dress, and she’s got dark rose lipstick on.
