Page 82 of Loathing My Boss
I like a lot about Viktor.
Sitting up, I look at him. At his strong profile. His trim stubble. Those amber eyes. They’re still brown, but they’re lighter than mine. Maybe that light in them is why he sees me in far brighter shades than I do.
I manage a stiff breath. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t feel like I’m allowed to regain my dream of being an author now. Not after what I threw it away over.”
Locking his phone, he sets it on my nightstand. “Did you really throw it away at all, sweet pea? The progress between what I saw ten years ago and what you cranked out in a matter of weeks doesn’t happen unless you keep writing. You’ve been writing all this time, haven’t you?” When I avert my eyes, he smiles. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Some people sit on a story for ten years and do nothing with it because of insecurities or doubts.” His smile fades. “I ripped your whole world out from under you. But you kept writing even when it felt pointless, because you’ve got something I don’t. You really love to write, Crisis. I’m just sticking around because it’s not that painful and I feel duty-bound.” Shaking his head, he exhales a laugh. “The only stuff I’ve ever enjoyed writing? That’s not stuff I share.”
“There’s something you love to write?”
He nods. “One thing, yes.”
I think I’m buzzing with curiosity. And I think henotices.
Red touches his cheeks as he rustles his hair. “Um. No. You would very much not be interested in reading it. It’s less of a story and more a collection of thoughts, ideas, and dreams. A fantasy journal.”
The extent of my desperation to read this man’s fantasy journal is something he shall simply never comprehend. I say, “How erotic is it? You can tell me. I’m a big girl. It’s harem fiction, isn’t it? Alien harem fiction. How many octopi qualities do any of the main characters have? How many sets of quadruplets are we talking? Did you make it punny?” I gasp. “Viktor, no. No, you didn’t. Did you? It’s secret baby withoctopulets, isn’t it? You made hentai and gave the poor octoperson male lead a baby for every arm. Don’t worry. I’m not judging. At some point, all writers go alittlecrazy. For example.” I lay a prim hand against my camisole. “Ionce wrote alove triangle.”
He snorts, crumpling in on himself. “Well, now I just feel like it’d disappoint you, seeing as you are clearly a wild one.”
“I’m willing to be disappointed.”
He glances at my collection of his books, just behind me, on my shelves. “Sometimes I forget you’re actually quite the rabid fan.” He sighs. “If it crashes my phone, it wasn’t meant to be, okay?”
“Why would it crash your phone?” It’s not a Canva murderboard.
“Because,” he murmurs, bringing up his Google Docs app, “It’s over two hundred thousand words long.”
I gasp. Big boy. Thick boy.Weapon.
Forgetting myself and the affections this man claims to have for me, I remove the barrier of my pillow in order to squish against his side and peer at his phone screen.
He mutters a swear. “It loaded.”
What joy.
Grinning not at all evilly, I scan the first line.
Catastrophe was not like other girls.
I bust out laughing. “Anot like other girlstrope! Oh, this is gold.”
She was everything.
And it’s a romance.
I’m already obsessed.
Gimme gimme more.
Her deep brown eyes reflected worlds and galaxies, entire universes. They held magic, wonder, mischief, and many, many Canva Whiteboards.
I…am no longer smiling. Reaching, I confiscate Viktor’s phone. Then I scroll, until it chokes, because it’s still loading.
A swear word catches my attention. So I skim the following lines, which possess more swears. Swears all over the place. Scattered like dew.Her thighs. Her —ing thighs. The way she —ing moves. Her —. I can’t breathe when she bends down. It’s like she was —ing crafted with my exact cravings in mind. She’s —ing beautiful. So beautiful. So — beautiful.
Viktor makes an effort to regain his phone. I pull it away, stand, keep reading.
Her eyes destroy me. Whenever they sparkle, whenever they look up to meet mine. She’s so precious. So…so precious.
