I check in with Isaac when I get back, and I can tell he knows exactly where I’ve been, and he’s not pleased.
“We had lunch. He asked to see me later. I said no.”
He inhales deeply, all that intensity I once thought was all about wanting to tie me up and whip me with a riding crop—turns out he’s just in love with me. Haha. Silly me.
“Any particular reason you said no?”
“You. Deacon. And I broke up with him for a reason.”
“What was the reason?” he asks, an eyebrow lifted.
“Not something I want to get into right now, but maybe we can talk later.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I’m gonna get back to work.”
“Okay,” he says.
Once I’m back at my desk, preparing to lock in on work for the rest of the day, I make the mistake of checking my phone. There are an alarming amount of notifications on my Instagram. Thinking some random reel I posted must have gone viral, I click into the app only to find that I’ve been tagged in a post by Millie.
I click into it. It’s a carousel with curated photos of Manon as a puppy and now as an expecting mom. Several pictures I’ve already seen of her nipples make an appearance along with some better ones of her smooshed face. All that would be fine, but the paragraphs of words accompanying each picture are a whole other story.
After a short biography of how Manon came into Millie’s life (she bought her from a breeder), the tone changes with the first pregnant picture.
My ten-month-old puppy was recently impregnated without my knowledge or consent. The culprit? A GREAT DANE. Because of Manon’s narrow hips and the likely size of the puppies, she’ll be forced to suffer through a surgery to deliver the babies.
She’s already hurting and requiring weekly visits to the vet to monitor her fragile health.
It breaks my heart to do this, but since @evan_lockwood refuses to acknowledge his enormous dog’s responsibility, I’m asking for your help. Please consider contributing whateveryou can to Manon’s C-section fund—link in bio—to help her through this difficult time.
All puppies will be available for adoption, if we make it through the pregnancy. Every penny and prayer is appreciated.
My jaw is hanging open.
That crazy bitch.
I’m about to text her to untag me immediately, but Isaac steps out of the office and says my name.
I look up from my phone, close to losing it.
“Can you take notes for me on this conference call?” he asks.
Normally I would give him a hard time about this, because my inbox is now full, and he’s perfectly capable of being on a conference call by himself, but all I say is, “Sure.” It comes out sounding breathy like I just ran five miles.
“Everything okay?”
I set my phone on my desk, face down, and straighten my shirt. “Fine.”
When I get home, I’m going to wring my neighbor’s skinny neck.
In pure psycho fashion,Millie answers her door in a rainbow onesie with a bright smile. “There you are!”
I hold up my phone. “What the fuck is this?”
She leans in, squinting at the screen. “Oh. Well, I assumed you weren’t going to pay, so I had to do something. I can’t afford that surgery.”
“You neveraskedme to pay.”
