Page 7
Aww, how adorable. What’s next? A foot…
I spoke too soon.
This grown-ass man is stomping his foot and scowling at me like a toddler having a tantrum.
My lips fall to a pout. “I think after I found you balls deep in my stepsister, I earned the right to speak to you how I see fit.”
It’s at the exact moment he opens his mouth, spewing words I do not care about, all defending what can’t be defended, that it hits me like a fallen log off the back of a truck Final Destination style—I’m wasting my life.
My potential and everything I’ve ever dreamed of is being wasted by trying to fit into boxes not meant for me to fit in. And I’m fucking done.
Do I need this job? Yes.
Would it be foolish to quit? Also, yes.
Do I care? Not one bit.
“I’m good,” I announce, interrupting him as I head to the door.
Suddenly Kent’s quarterback days come back to him, and he runs to block my opportunity to exit. “I’m not done talking.”
“Perhaps.” I hum. “But the thing is, I’m done listening. Now move.”
In an unexpected turn of events it appears a wave of sincerity comes crashing over him, softening his shoulders, as he breathes out, “I hate this.”
I bite back the urge to hit him with a slew of sarcastic jabs. What could he possibly hate about having his cake and eating it too? He’s CEO of a company his dad built from the ground up prior to his passing and living his best life with my literal supermodel stepsister.
He motions between us. “I hate how we got like this.”
“You should have thought about that before you cheated on me.”
Whatever momentary glimpse of empathy that possessed him vanishes. “I can’t believe you’re blaming me.”
How typical. What’s next? ‘I’m so sorry, Natalia, I accidentally slid into her pussy’?
“Last time I checked, the one who cheats is at blame for the relationship imploding. So…”
“You know that’s not what happened between us.”
“Umm…no? Please, by all means then, enlighten me.”
“You weren’t present. Not when he was alive, and especially not after.”
Nope. I’m not doing this. I’m not going to engage in this conversation and cry. Not when I have my badge in my hand to turn in. I’m not crying and quitting at the same time.
I work through the knot in my throat. “Here, take it.” My hand is left with the badge in it. My instructions ignored.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
As much as it pains me to admit, he’s not wrong. Not one bit. I stand tall, maintaining a strong front that directly contradicts how I feel inside. The glass around us might as well be shattering from the commotion my pulse is creating in my ears.
“Take it.”
He doesn’t. Desperation grabs hold of his light brown eyes. Though the longer I’m forced to look into them, it’s clear it’s his ego doing the heavy lifting here.
“I’m serious. What did you expect me to do?” Not fuck my stepsister, for starters. “You were never present.”
“So you’ve said.”
