"You threatened him after I bumped into him last year, didn't you?" Peyton asks him.
"Obviously."
"Logan," she growls, exasperated. "You can't just go around threatening everyone!"
"Watch me, baby."
When she growls wordlessly, I laugh. "Are you really that surprised? He punched a reporter for you last year, too."
"Yeah, well, he forgot to mention that he threatened Austin," she grumbles. "I swear, he needs a keeper."
"He has one. You."
"I did not sign up for that."
"Yeah, you did," I remind her. "It comes with the territory when you fuck your boss and then marry him."
My boss would choose that exact moment to step out of his office. His bushy brows shoot toward his receding hairline, his eyes widening.
Fuck my life.
"I've gotta go," I hiss into the phone.
"Fine, but I still want details!" Peyton demands.
"I'll call you after the game tonight."
"What game?"
"Austin's game."
"Hold the phone! You didn't mention anything about his game."
"Can't talk right now," I growl as my boss stomps across the office toward me, his face the same shade of red as the pen in his pocket. Wonderful. This is going to go so well. "Love you. Bye!"
I quickly disconnect, shoving my phone into my desk drawer.
"Miss Abrams," Jack says, stopping a few feet in front of my desk. "May I have a word?"
"Of course. Um, I'm sorry for…" I wave my hand, refusing to actually say the words,talking about fucking bossesout loud to the literal last boss on the planet I would fuck. I'm pretty sure we're already creeping toward sexual harassment territory here. No need to make it worse.
He glances down at the carpet, then at me, then at the glass wall of the waiting area, where our patients are now pretending not to eavesdrop.
"Miss Abrams," he says, lowering his voice. "This is a professional medical office. Our patients expect a standard of discretion and decorum."
"Understood. I apologize for what I said, sir."
"I'm more concerned with your personal life being plastered all over the internet than your colorful language. I don't care what you do on your own time, but I'm going to need you to keep it out of the headlines."
A hot flush crawls up my neck. "Is there a particular way you'd like me to do that?" I ask, all sugar. "Short of not leaving my apartment, I mean."
His jaw ticks. "The optics are not ideal."
"The optics of what, exactly?"
"Of a member of my staff being involved in a public scandal."
Ah, there it is. He's going to fire me. I can practically feel the desire radiating off him.
