Page 70 of Desserts for Stressed People

I pickat my SSS with a frown, listening as Dalton and Lucy talk about last Friday at the Watering Hole.

Interrupting Dalton mid-sentence, Lucy whispers, “Woah. What the hell...”

I turn in the direction she’s staring, and Shane is striding toward me. The reason she sounds like she just saw a ghost, however, is the way he’s glaring at me as he stalks with his fists clenched. Like he’s going to murder me.

When he’s in front of the table, he slams his hands on it, not loud enough for people sitting at other tables to notice, but enough to make my colleagues and me flinch.

“Is that how it is? You don’t get your way, so you leave?” he hisses.

Pretending not to be scared senseless, I lazily chew on a cherry tomato. “I left because you kept interrupting me and refused to let me do my job.”

“Your job is to follow my directions.”

My chair screeches against the floor as I stand so we’re facing each other. “No. My job is to take care of your stupid event because the people working for you can’t seem to do it right.”

“Is that so?”

The fury in his deep, dark eyes destabilizes me for a second. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m happy to hear you say that, because we need someone to contact all parties at play to let them know the event has been pushed by a couple of hours. Everyone. Guests, suppliers, providers.” His lips purse. “I was going to ask Marina to do it, but I think you should take care of it instead. Make sure the people working for me don’t mess it up.”

The chattering that usually populates the cafeteria is gone, so I must assume everyone is taking note of the staring match taking place between us. Even so, I wish I could jump over the table between us and...I don’t know, what’s something in between kissing and murdering someone?

“Fine. You want me to do menial tasks on the phone instead of myactualjob?” I chuckle. “I’m the most capable person on your floor. But, hey, suit yourself. I’m sure Marina has it covered.”

I sit, and as he turns around, he answers, “Make sure it’s done today.”

Oh, bite me.

* * *

I spendthe rest of the afternoon on the phone or sending emails to let everyone know the event has been moved. As I go through the list of contacts for the millionth time, I still get the feeling that I might have forgotten someone. I will not give Shane the satisfaction.

Stupid, handsome, sweet Shane.

He texted Nevaeh twice this week, but I haven’t answered, because I can’t pretend to like him when he’s behaving like this. Alex, still busy with his Asian venture, texted Nevaeh too, proposing yet another fuck-date. He must not be so busy, I guess.

I shouldn’t take it so personally that the two men in my life like my alter-ego more than they like me, but oh, I do. As I do mind that it’s eight at night, and I’m still bent over my desk, trying to finish up the tasks needing to be done today. The twelve hours of almost uninterrupted work are heaving on my sore back, and the throbbing thumps in my temples tell me I’m mentally exhausted too.

“How is it going?” Shane asks in a stern voice as he appears at my door. “Did you save the company yet?” He stands with his arms crossed, looking cocky and excruciatingly handsome in yet another suit, this one almost silver with a light pink shirt underneath. It must be his most elegant outfit yet, and it’s definitely not the same from this morning.

“Do you have nothing better to do on a Friday night than pester me?” I ask as I bring the pen I’m holding to my lips.

“I do. I’m actually on my way out.”

“Don’t let the door hit you where the Good Lord split you,” I say with a disingenuous smile on my lips.

He tries really hard to remain serious, but his body eventually shakes with laughter, and soon, I chuckle too. I don’t know if he feels the same, but being angry at him is exhausting me.

“Oh, Heaven...”

“Oh, Shane...” I mock, attempting a smile.

When his phone beeps, he takes it out of his pocket. “My date’s waiting for me. Apologize to Alex for me, will you? Don’t mean to keep the two of you apart.” With a wink, he closes the door of my office and disappears into the corridor, then the stairway.

“You—a date?” I scoff, frozen in my seat.

What an asshole.

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