It takes everything in me, but I manage to tear my eyes away from them and I continue on to my room. Behind me, I hear them say something about me and laugh. I just ignore it and go about getting ready for work.
I take a quick shower, scrubbing my skin harder than I should and am dressed in my business attire within fifteen minutes. My hair’s damp, but I just throw it into a bun. I have an hour-long drive anyway, so it can dry on the way.
I stare at myself in the mirror, not wanting to go back out there. I don’t want to have to deal with this. When I finally decide I have to get the hell out and walk down the hall, I hear banging sounds coming from the second bedroom and Sarah moaning at the top of her lungs as if she wants the entire world to hear.
I ball my hands into fists, anger threatening to overwhelm me. My jaw clenches, and I’m overwhelmed by all the emotions consuming me. I’m not going to cry. I refuse to cry and scream and give them the reaction they’re hoping for. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction and engage them with their bullshit.
In fact, I’m over this. I take confident strides to the front door and I don’t look back. Fuck them. I’m moving on with my life. They can have each other.
Grabbing my briefcase, I walk out of the apartment, Sarah’s pleasured cries trailing me, with one thought on my mind.
I guess I’ll be applying for that temporary housing after all.
I drive to work and I’m pissed the entire drive, my mood dark and gloomy. I hate the fact that they got to me. I’d be a liar if I said I was unaffected, but I plan to remedy that very soon. The first chance I get, I’m putting in for temporary housing.
The image of them going at it will haunt me for some time, so I’m going to have to busy myself to forget it. I refuse to let those two assholes fuck up my day and distract me from my job.
Wearing a scowl on my face, I walk inside Parker-Moore and make my way up to my office. There’s a stack of papers waiting on my desk when I walk in and I feel like it’s just what I need. Bury myself in work, and at the same time bury Ian and Sarah. A win-win.
I set my coat and purse down and go get coffee from the break room before returning to look through contracts and emails.
Over the next half hour, I find myself immersed in work and I lose track of the time. I’m just finishing up working data into a sales graph on my laptop when my cell rings.
“Just when things were starting to get good,” I grumble in annoyance. Busying myself in work has made me feel much better and it reminds me of how much I love my job. It's been the perfect antidote to forget about Ian.
For a moment, I debate ignoring the call. It can’t be anyone important, but curiosity gets the best of me. I pull it out and glance at the caller ID. Anger surges through my chest. It’s fucking Ian.
Why the hell is he calling me?
It annoys me that he’s back in my mind after I’d just managed to get him out of it. Scowling, I tap the ignore button on my phone and toss it to the side. I don’t know what Ian wants, but I really don’t care. I’m done with him.
I try to get back to work, but now I can’t focus. I’m too irritated. Ian had no business calling me, and it’s brought back that dark feeling that was finally starting to go away. I find myself wishing I had something or someone to make me forget my awful morning.
Logan.
The thought of Mr. CEO fills me with desire and pushes Ian out of my mind. The session we had the night before was mind-blowing, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right this second. Is he working, busy running his company? Or is he up in his office, thinking of me?
I hope he is, I think to myself, feeling my core heat, and I hope he’s hard as a fucking rock.
The thought elicits a soft moan from my lips and I squeeze my legs together. This is why this relationship with my boss is bad news. Next thing you know, I’ll be bringing a vibrator to work.
I should go see him, I tell myself. But I’m not sure of what I’d even say. We’ve already crossed the line, mixing business with pleasure, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Maybe I should let it go and just let him make the next move.
The ring of my cell breaks me out of my thoughts. I pick it up and check the screen. Ian. Again.
“Fuck off,” I growl, tossing the phone back down. I don’t know why I just don’t block his number.
I spend the next few minutes trying to get back into the groove of studying sales data, but I give up and start going through my emails instead. Responding to them takes less focus, and at least I'll be able to get something done.
As I’m finishing up answering the last one, I receive a visitor.