“I’ll try to keep the curses in my head.”
“Is it something I can help with?”
“My frustrations aren’t work related,” I assure her. “Is Mariah Del Toro here?”
I have to get it together at least long enough to get through my scheduled meetings for the day.
“Mrs. Del Toro rescheduled yesterday. We had an entire conversation about it.” She frowns at me, but the look in her eyes speaks more of concern than frustration.
“That’s right,” I say, even though I have no recollection of that conversation.
Pauline is a rockstar employee, and I trust her fully. If she’s saying we talked about it, I know we did.
This is another thing I can blame on Ethan. No, I blame on myself. I take a deep breath, reminding myself of the very thing I tell clients almost daily. Others aren’t responsible for our behaviors. My inability to focus is my problem. I doubt he’d blame me if he were in the same situation, but I highly doubt a man like him is wasting time thinking about a woman he slept with.
“Technically, your schedule is clear,” Pauline advises. “Maybe a day off would be beneficial?”
I give her a weak smile, knowing that she means well, but leaving isn’t an option. With the way my morning has started, I’d likely end up on the front porch of the Cerberus clubhouse either bitching at Ethan for my lack of concentration or begging him to take me again. The line between those two choices is nearly nonexistent. Hell, a combination of the two doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
Would he growl in frustration at my complaints as he pulled me to his chest? God, just the wide expanse of all that muscle, and the way he—
“So, you don’t need anything from me?”
I jerk my head up at her, feeling my cheeks heat at having such thoughts in front of an audience. “I’m good. Thank you. Can you close my door on your way out?”
She nods, seeming reluctant to leave me alone, and I wouldn’t be surprised if men in white coats show up within the hour to drag me a way for an evaluation.
Is dickmatized a technical diagnosis?
“Let me know if you need anything,” Pauline says just before closing the office door.
“A lobotomy would be nice,” I mutter, turning back to my computer and waking up the screen with a shake of the mouse.
I take four deep breaths—with my eyes open because I’m not falling for that shit again—and get back to work.
I manage an hour of emails and responses before I feel my attention start to wane. Thankfully, my phone buzzes with a text because I could use the time to refocus.
Looking down at my phone, I freeze. It’s not a text, but a calendar reminder about a court case I wanted to sit in on today. It’s not on my calendar because it conflicted with scheduling, but I made the alarm just in case things were shifted around. Mrs. Del Toro rescheduling gives me the perfect opportunity to do something else instead of sitting here and trying not to think about Ethan Packwood.
Grabbing my purse, I tell Pauline what I’m doing and head to the courthouse.
I feel a little guilty for sitting in the back of the courtroom watching the hearing. The couple standing before the judge with their attorneys don’t look happy, but they’re calmer than they were the day the video popped up on the Farmington Whistleblower page. That day, they were losing their shit in the middle of the grocery store. Apparently, the husband was having an affair with one of the cashiers, and somehow the wife found out right at that moment. She didn’t hold back. Seeing as the husband is a jerk and all-around, narcissistic asshole, he gave as good as he got.
My guilt comes from being nosy because I can’t even blame this on professional curiosity. I also feel shame, wondering how many people will want to get in the middle of my business because of the post Ethan told me about last night.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and I pull it out as discreetly as possible, getting a thrill of excitement when I see that the message is from Ethan.
I didn’t expect him to message. He made no attempt to contact me after that amazing kiss on my porch, and I figured he’d be even more distant after what occurred between the two of us last night.
Ethan: Max is ready to get started on that list whenever you have it.
Ethan: Even if you just send names one at a time, we’re ready to work on this end.
Work? Does he honestly see me as a job? A problem to solve?
Me: I’m currently in court. I’ll work on it when I get back to the office.
I wait for another text to come through, staring down at my phone so I’ll see it the second it does. My screen turns dark and stays that way.