Page 64 of #Bossholes

Kinsley

When I fuck you,it’s not going to be because I paid for it. It’s going to be because you beg me for it.

NotifI fuck you, butwhenI fuck you.

When.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours, and those words are still hammering around my skull, wreaking havoc on all the promises I made to myself. Can’t forget my libido either. This bitch has been desperate for another orgasm, and nothing I’ve done seems to make a difference.

I should be pissed. I mean, Iampissed. He came into my apartment yesterday with his brother and best friend in tow and moved all my shit without asking me. Don’t get me wrong, the place he picked for me is super nice. And big.

But that’s not the point.

They should have asked. They should have respected my decision. And they sure as hell shouldn’t have just done what they wanted to anyway.

And why?

So I’ll beg Brantley to fuck me?

That’s never going to happen.

Not only do I not appreciate their dictation over my life, but doing anything with my bosses was a one-time lapse in judgment. Temporary insanity. No exceptions.

Doesn’t matter if I don’t believe myself right now.

And it sure as hell doesn’t matter if I picture Brantley bending me over his desk every time I walk into his office. I just need to make sure I don’t go in there. Problem solved. Easy peasy.

“Hello, earth to Kinsley.” Brianna waves a hand in front of my face before taking a large bite of her sandwich, eyeing me cautiously over the wholewheat bread.

“Do you think they’ve brainwashed her?” Margo leans toward Brianna and whispers. Loudly.

“Absolutely. She looks like a zombie.” Her head tilts as she studies me. “Maybe a little more color.”

“Blink twice if you need help.”

I wave them off with a laugh, taking a generous bite of my grilled chicken salad. While I’m not a fan of being down here, it’s nice to see the girls again. I didn’t realize how much I missed my work friends. No matter how ridiculous they are. “I haven't been brainwashed. And I don’t need help.”

“Could have fooled me.” Brianna’s gaze narrows, and her lips purse together as she assesses me. She picks up her pickle spear and points it directly at me, splashing my cheek with its juices. Well, I don’t miss that. “You couldn’t even be bothered to come down and have lunch with us. I thought we were your friends.”

“You are my friends. Things have been…a bit crazy up on the top floor.”

Understatement of the century, but it’s not like I can tell them what’s actually going on. Definitely not in the crowded lunchroom.

I glance around and several people are watching me, some making it obvious while others are more discreet. They’reprobably waiting to see if I break down and cry into my salad like the previous secretaries. Well, they’re going to be waiting quite a long time.

I lean toward them and lower my voice. “And I didn’t want to come down and be stared at. Sitting down here is like being the main exhibit in the zoo. I feel like I should start performing.”

Margo shrugs as she takes a quick sip of her water and rips open her bag of chips. “It’s nothing personal. They’re just trying to gauge if they have a chance at winning the pool.”

My brows crash together, and I place my fork down on my napkin. I have a feeling I’m about to get a little stabby, and it’s best I don’t have a sharp object in my hand. Especially in a room full of lawyers. “What pool?”

“On when you’ll quit or get fired. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it, but maybe news doesn’t travel that quickly to the top floor. I think the pot is already up to fifteen hundred dollars. You’ve already outlasted most of the temps, and people are excited. I haven’t seen Jim this happy since the last season of Survivor.”

“Excited to see me quit? Or get fired? Seriously?”

She shrugs again, as she grabs a handful of chips and tosses them in her mouth. “Like I said, it’s nothing personal.”

I lean back with a scoff, catching the attention of two junior associates seated at the table adjacent to ours. They’re openly watching me with stupid ass smiles, and I’m sure they’ve been talking about me. Since I can’t stab them, I narrow my gaze, stare them down, and don’t stop until they shift and eventually look away. Dumbasses. I hope they feel as uncomfortable as they look.

---