Page 33 of The Revenge Agenda

My ant is decidedly less cute than his, more anatomically accurate, and I impress myself with the cranky face and hands-on-thorax pose.

Why are you trying to ANTagonize me? All I’m feeling is disappointmANT that you didn’t appreciate my gift.

Then, with super-sneaky stealth mode, I duck into his office and plonk it on his table. I’m tempted to take his pen so he can’t write back, but I’m way too curious to know what he’s going to say.

I jump when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I fish it out, and as soon as I see the “Ian” on the screen, my good mood plummets. Objectively, I’m done with the guy, but there’s still that tiny nugget in my chest that is convinced I loved him at one point. I don’t miss him, but I do miss the happiness I felt over having a boyfriend.

Or at least when I thought I had a boyfriend.

“That him?”

I almost jump for dear life at Hunter’s deep voice, and I whirl around and find him leaning confidently in the doorway. He can talk all he likes about not being mature or whatever, but he intimidates me. He did on the night we met as well. How one person can be so sexily himself isn’t something I can process.

“You enjoying sneaking up on people and scaring the shit out of them?”

A tiny smirk. “You’re in my office.”

Huh? I glance around and confirm that, yes, apparently I am. Ian’s message still has me thrown, and it’s taking a second to ground myself.

“I can’t help but notice you didn’t answer the question,” he says, “so I’m going to take that for a yes.”

“It’s not a yes. I just can’t figure out what answer to give you.”

“That’s up to you.”

“I’m not very good at making the right choices, so sometimes it’s nice for people to tell me what their expectations are, and then I can decide if I want to meet them or not.”

Hunter’s dark eyebrows flex together as he studies me for a moment. “Okay, then … I guess I was sort of hoping you’d confirm or deny my guess.”

“And how would you feel if I confirmed it?”

“Gutted.” His smile is stiff. “And relieved if you denied it, though judging by your face, that isn’t going to happen.”

“I can block his number.”

Hunter studies me, completely unreadable. “Do you want to block his number?”

“It’s complicated, because I do, but messaging him became a habit, and breaking habits isn’t something I do easily. I don’t want to message him, but taking away the option to makes me all panicky and weird.”

“Okay.”

There’s something in his tone I don’t like. Something that makes me shift as I try to read on his face what people mean when they won’t say it. “Does that annoy you?”

“I … I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“You’re my boss. That’s literally your job.”

“Not when it comes to your personal life, it isn’t.”

That would make things so much easier though. To have a personal life wizard who could follow me around and point out where I’m going wrong and when I’m running late and reminding me to eat and exercise and reach out to people.

“Actually, why isn’t that a job?”

Hunter doesn’t immediately answer. “What?”

“A life wizard.”

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