“Have you ever worked in an office?”
He shakes his head.
“Honestly, me neither. But I have never seen a dash to the breakroom for free donuts like I witnessed this morning. You’d think they’d never seen fried dough before.”
He tilts his head. “You okay? You look tired.”
“Says the man who was snoring a minute ago…”
“Sorry. I know. Don’t tell a woman she looks tired.”
“No, you’re right.” I set the cake on an end table and collapse into the easy chair next to the sofa, then indulge in lifting the footrest.
Just for a minute. “Why is sitting on your ass for eight hours a day so exhausting?”
“Because office jobs suck.”
I want to laugh at that, but my eyes are sliding closed.
So.
Freaking.
Tired.
I’m grateful to have a job. I’m grateful that Dad managed to assign me something that makes me feel partially useful. I’m getting to plan an awards banquet for the team. That’s better than deciding where to order takeout when the business development and marketing guy’s hosting potential sponsors, which I’ve also been put in charge of.
And next week, I’m supposed to cater a lunch that will include at least one of the players.
Apparently Dad scored a coup getting some huge star from the UK who wants to build American rugby up enough to outsell American soccer tickets. The Fletcher guy that Miranda mentioned last weekend. She says we’re allowed to talk to him now because he’s in a very serious relationship with a woman that the entire office staff loves so much that he’d get fired if he ever broke up with her.
No matter what it means for the team.
Sort of like Dad almost fired him for being a dick to Miranda once last year.
As much as I’d rather not be taking a pity job so that I can have a baby, I’m glad that Dad makes such an effort to take care of the women in his circles.
Me included.
“Where’s Jessica?” I mutter to Holt.
“Afternoon nap on the porch, I think. I’ll go check on her.”
“I can get up.”
“I can open a door. I’ve been off my feet all day.”
I should argue, but I don’t want to. “’Kay,” I murmur. “I’ll make dinner. Just a minute.”
“Uh-huh,” he says.
Uh-huh.
That’s a funny word.
Who made that a word? Is it a leftover from caveman times? It feels so primitive. Just grunts that tell you so much.
Especially when it’s a sarcastic uh-huh.
