Snickering infiltrates the door, and I sink down, touching my throbbing hand to the ground.
Great. It is official. I'm fool enough, pathetic enough, tragic enough to do what some random wrong number tells me because, apparently, I'm that desperate to have a life.
WN wanted a photo—one that has got to have reached him by now—and evidence of the fact I copied them.
I drag myself up from the ground by grabbing hold of the copier. "I'm never doing anything like this again."
I'm not sure I can deal with the shame.
The machine goes off. I must have pressed start.
Fine by me. I'm happy to get this over and done with now so I can pretend I never did it.
As it is, for me, this is a wild move.
Out there.
What in hell must he think of me?
I'm honestly questioning my sanity, but I calm myself byreminding my overheated brain that he has no idea who I am. And he never will.
I pause, pressing my cold fingers against fiery cheeks.
My heart is racing and...
Hell's bells. If this is the pinnacle of me being daring, it might be time to throw in the towel.
But I stand still, thumb throbbing as I listen.
I want to remove the photocopy and my panties, take a photo, and shove all the evidence in my bag before scurrying off.
So, I listen for the sounds of anyone coming close to the copy room, but there are no more approaching voices, just the usual hubbub of the office.
My shoulders start to relax, and air rushes out, making me sag a little.
I'm aware I don't need to do this. Just as I'm aware that I could have taken WN's get-out-of-jail-free card.
But there isn't much happening in my life, and I honestly can't see anyone wanting to be with the girl whose father caused such a massive scandal that all the papers and socials were alight with it when it all went down.
Correction. No one I would want to be with.
And that is why I will never meet this guy. He is firmly in fantasy land for me.
Wild heat whirls through me.
I also like it. I get a thrill.
It is totally safe.
Right, I need to get out of here.
I put one hand on the copier as I reach for the photocopy when the door bursts open, and I go stiff.
"Lola!"
The copier starts to go off, flashing like a man in a trench coat in a train full of women.
Oh, God.
