I glance at the thermos. The coffee is probably cold by now, but I pick it up anyway, taking a sip. Luckily, it’s still warm. Still delicious.
But the annoyance about my planner simmers. I need it. I need to know what meetings I have this week and what deadlines are looming. Being disorganized triggers my anxiety worse than waking up with these damn claiming bites.
I’m still fuming when my phone buzzes with a new message. I glance down.
Unknown
Can we talk?
I frown, a little shiver going down my spine.
Me
Who is this?
Unknown
It’s Rett.
So simple. So direct. So utterly Rett Sterling.
I stare at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What do I say?
I’ve just added his number to my contacts when another text appears below the first:
Rett
We’re sorry if we overwhelmed you. That wasn’t our intention. We’d like to apologize.
My chest tightens. I take a deep breath and start typing:
Me
You can start by returning my planner. I need it for work tomorrow.
His response is immediate:
Rett
We have no intention of keeping your planner... not forever, at least.
I stare at the screen, momentarily speechless.
Me
Excuse me? That’s MY planner. With MY schedule. I need it.
Rett
We’re aware. Don’t worry. We won’t let you miss anything.
I make an indignant noise that startles even me.
Me
You can’t be serious. Just give me back my planner!
Rett
