More like a nightmare.
For fuck’s sake, how many ways can you draw, paint, color, craft, knit, mold, sculpt, cut, tie-dye, or just plain old manifest a heart? It’s exhausting. Hell, it’s no wonder party planners get paid so much.
Normal people aren’t equipped to deal with…all this.
Yeah, because you’re totally normal.
“Let’s take a break and get something to eat.” I stand and stretch my legs. My ass has gone into hibernation, the result of too many back-to-back meetings. I need a walk and some fresh air before the rest of me follows suit.
Scarlett’s brows knit together, and she cocks her head to the side. “You mean like dinner?”
“It’s the least I can do, since you agreed to stay late.”
Rebecca, my new assistant, accidentally double-booked me, scheduling a finance meeting over our afternoon planning session. She’s also taken to printing out all my most important emails and refuses to message me when she has a question, insisting she prefers face-to-face communication. Basically, she’s my worst nightmare, but she hasn’t quit yet, so that’s something.
“It’s no big deal, really.” Scarlett offers a tentative smile. “Like I said, no class today.”
“Come on.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “I’m starving. And if I don’t stretch my legs, my ass is going to fall off.”
“Well, that would be a tragedy and a half,” she deadpans, climbing to her feet and slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Careful, Scarlett. That almost sounded like a compliment.” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans and step aside so she can go first. “You keep that up and I might get the idea you like my ass.”
“And here I was thinking you have no imagination,” she says, breezing past, chin held high, her familiar floral scent trailing behind her as she exits the conference room.
Scarlett retrieves her coat from behind her desk and I step into my office to grab mine.
The motion lights kick on as I reach for my jacket, and I freeze.
“What the fuck?”
Irritation blazes up my spine. First someone rearranged my stuff, and now this? The entire office—my desk, the walls, the fucking bookshelves—is covered with pictures of Scarlett and I in that damn photo booth. Of me dressed as fucking Cupid with those stupid wings and that ridiculous bow.
“Everything okay?” Scarlett asks, peeking her head into the room. “Oh.”
“So much for no one seeing those pics.” I tear down the one nearest to me, crumple it into a ball, and toss it in the trash. “Though I can honestly say that it never occurred to me they might end up plastered all over my office.”
Shit. What if it’s not just my office? What if they’re all over campus? My golden laurels and I will be the laughingstock of the company.
Scarlett inches past me and grabs a printout for herself, the hint of a smile curving her lips. “At least whoever did this chose a good picture.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “That’s hardly a comfort.”
Not when I have no idea how far or wide this nonsense has been shared.
She folds the picture and tucks it into her bag, and though I’d like to shred every last one of them, I say nothing because suddenly I want to keep one for myself. “Want me to help you clean up?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll deal with this later.” I slip my coat on, more certain than ever that it must be Miles who’s screwing with me. “Let’s go eat and pretend this never happened.”
We walk to the elevator in silence.
After spending the entire day listening to Epos updates, I appreciate that she doesn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with mindless chatter.
We take the elevator down to the lobby, and when we step outside, Scarlett turns to me, eyebrows raised as if to saylead the way.
“How do you feel about tacos?”
“Tacos are my love language.” Her eyes roll back in her head, and she lets out a moan that makes my cock sit up and take notice. “How did you know?”
