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Life hasn’t been the same since she literally crashed into it—and I wonder if it ever will be again.
Right about now, I’d kill for a little normalcy.
Or perhaps I’m just feeling extra homicidal today.
You’ll never force me to admit aloud that I enjoyed frittatas and coffee with Elle this Monday morning, while she flicked through—cartoons.
Of course.
Coming in to work was actually pleasant with her excited chatter stealing my attention, one eye on my laptop and the other on her throughout the drive.
She was thrilled. Aunt Clara asked to see her pitch portfolio, which features her original characters, versus her work portfolio, which has a variety of styles and mediums tailored to win over new clients. Before I could express my curiosity to see it myself, Rick let us off at the office.
Where my lawyers are waiting.
With Marissa Sullivan and her lawyers.
I’ve been so wrapped up in Elle Lark that I half forgot we’re meeting this morning. The moment I walk into the office and see Marissa sitting in the reception area, impatiently tapping her heels, I know she’s bombed out again.
Piss-donkey drunk.
Her eyes are dilated, her lips slack, and her scowl is comically childish. The two men flanking her on both sides look uncomfortable. She’s every bit the spoiled Mafia princess with her handlers, minus the street wars and bloodshed.
Too bad she still raises enough corporate hell to count.
The moment Elle and I step off the elevator, her head comes up sharply. Marissa’s sharp glare hits me first before she turns it on Elle.
“You,” she slurs, pointing a manicured nail at Elle, “are wh-whey too perky.”
Elle smiles.
Perkily, I might add.
“Hello to you too, Marissa,” she says. “You’re looking nice this morning.”
“Don’t you try to sheet-talk me!” Marissa snaps. The two men with her look uncomfortable, stirring in their seats. She flicks her glare back to me. “You guys are late.”
“I am perfectly on time,” I counter cooly, glancing at the receptionist.
She offers a nervous smile of agreement. “The legal team is already waiting in the conference room with refreshments, Mr. Marshall.”
“Very good, thank you.” I catch Elle’s arm lightly and lean in to kiss her cheek. “Go see Aunt Clara. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Gotcha.” She winks, and I have to fight not to smile as she bounces back into the elevator, her pretty bright-blue skirt swirling around her.
“Bitch. Way too perky.” Marissa aims a disgusted look after Elle.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and turn to push the door to the main office open. “If you’ll come this way, please. We can make this quick.”
I have no damn intention of entertaining what will no doubt be an insultingly low buyout offer to prevent this from going to court.
I wouldn’t listen even if she offered up her entire company for a dime.
It’s tense and silent, save for the click of Marissa’s heels as she stalks after me.
I can feel every eye in the room on us and low murmurs in our wake.
“Get off me!” Marissa hisses at her lawyers every now and then. I suppose it’s when they reach out to steady her.
