Page 30 of The Revenge Agenda

“Good to know where I’m going wrong.”

“We all have our strengths, boss man.”

The nickname thrills me. “You’ve been through a few different supervisors, right? Why do you think that is?”

Autumn laughs, star-shaped earrings swaying around her neck. “Rush. He’s a hot mess, but I love him to bits. Sweetest heart. Weirdest brain. I know he’s not easy to manage, but the last guy tried to force him to get medicated or be fired. I don’t think I need to explain to you why pushing that on someone wasn’t a good call.”

There’s something in her tone that makes me curious. “Is that you relaying information … or warning me?”

“Take it how you want to take it. We’re all a bit weird, and I like it. I’d never tell Eloise her obsessive need to check in on the babysitter is psycho or that Gates doesn’t need to answer every call with well, isn’t it my favorite client? even though it makes me want to stab pins into my eyes.”

“Noted.”

“Good.”

I hesitate. “Does he really answer every call like that?”

“For at least the two years I’ve been working here. Need anything else?”

I shake my head. “Email me if you think of anything.”

She leaves, and on a whim, I pick up my phone and call through to Gates to ask him to come in for a chat.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite boss.”

It takes all my willpower to bite back a laugh.

Yeah. Maybe this job isn’t the worst thing I could be doing.

Even after staying back late to work and stopping by the bar for a drink, I’m home earlier than I’d like. And I’m playing fast and loose with the word home. Living out of a suitcase in a sub-par hotel room that’s making me hemorrhage money isn’t what I’d pictured when I’d envisioned living in Seattle.

Ian was.

His house was.

The first time I’d seen it, our future together played out so clearly in my mind. The neat, suburban street. The tidy house. The kids playing in the front yard.

Him fucking any and all manner of men in our bed.

I huff and strip off to shower, hoping to get the thoughts out of my head. Rush said there were others. I’d gotten that impression from Ian, too, but was trying to ignore it.

Were there so many others that my own fucking fiancé has already forgotten my existence?

I scrub myself so hard that by the time I step out of the shower, dripping all over the tile, my skin is red raw. Against my own better judgment, I can’t stop from obsessing over the messages he’s been sending Rush. Does Ian miss him? If he’s got others, why would he be so persistent in getting in touch with Rush?

Sure, the guy’s hot as hell, but so are many, many others.

That can’t be the only draw card here. Or maybe it is and Ian was that shallow.

I dry off, scrubbing my hair until it stands up all over the place, and the second my skincare routine flits through my mind, I push it right back out again. I’m not that put together, Rush, thank you very much.

It actually makes me laugh that he somehow thinks that about me. The whole hotel room behind me is visible in the mirror. Basic white sheets, chipboard closet, small TV on the wall. It matches the barely holding it together guy that’s renting it. Even though I’m smiling, I look wrecked. My hair is a mess, my cheeks are splotching from scrubbing, and my eyes are so bloodshot red they make the brown look muddier than usual.

I’m starting to understand why Ian wasn’t worried about losing me.

On a whim, I pick up my phone and open my emails, and my thumb hovers over the one to Rush. It’s just one question. All I need is a quick answer to get over my curiosity. Then, I can go back to moving on.

I click on our emails and type before I lose the nerve.

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