Page 83 of Loathing My Boss
I scroll again, wait for something else to catch my eye.
Her arms wrap around me, her nails digging into my back, desperate to draw blood. Her full, perfect lips touch my ear, and she whispers, “I hate you.” But when I envelop her in my embrace, she does not pull away.
Viktor’s on his feet now, marching for me, voice thin enough to snap. “Crisis. Crisis, give me back my phone.Right now.”
I scroll again, dodging him. I slap my hand to my mouth at what I’ve found this time.
“Crisis,” he practically squeaks. “Crisis, not all of that is entirely stuff I’m comfortable with you seeing.”
It…is…vivid.
I sweep under his arm and march to the other side of my room, stepping on and over my bed in the process while pictures of scandal flash before my eyes. Not an octoperson in sight. And, yet, I am very much the opposite of disappointed. It’s morefeelingsthanbodies, but the feeling? It’s desperation. Absolute, utter, crushingdesperationto have…me?
I scroll, and scroll, and it lasts forever, doesn’t it? Just on and on withplease, please, pleasebe mine. When the end comes, it robs me of air.
“I love you.” My lips press hard to her silken hair as I hold her close, feel the heat of her thaw something aching inside me. “I love you so much, Crisis.”
Every muscle in me freezes.
And Viktor finally rips the phone from my hand.
Face blazing, he looks at me, formidable, large, agonized.
Voice raw, he says, “I can explain.”
“You can explain…what?”
His mouth opens, eyes searching, but no words force their way up his esophagus.
“The tense shifts? Can you explain those? You started in past. It fell into present.”
“Um.”
“And the inconsistencies? Your…female lead’s name…well. It started as some chick namedCatastrophe. But I’m pretty sure I just read it asCrisis.”
He closes his eyes. “I…don’t think I know how to explain that…actually.”
“You wrote two hundred thousand words…aboutme?”
“I didn’t know where to put them.” His head shakes, helpless. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. I’ve never experienced anything like what I’ve written. It was all…impulse…fever dream…wish. A way to get things out of my skull, so maybe I wouldn’t think about them so much when you were right in front of me. Most of it isn’t…illicit. I promise.”
“I think I’d have to read all of it to make sure, right?” A lovely thought possesses me, so I beam. “New bedtime story located!”
He looks like he’s about to die. “I…would really rather not.”
I pout.
“Crisis, please…”
Crisis, pleasewhat? I’m not the one with a two hundred thousand word fanfiction about my assistant stuck all willy-nilly in a Google Docs folder. Imagine theoopsthat could happen if he was tired one night while submitting a manuscript.
Desmond would be utterly scandalized. And, yet, he would edit it, and then we’d have a huge problem on our hands. Because, see, Viktor would want to die, and I…I would want theweapon.
And while he’s busy perishing, I’d be irresponsibly utilizing my access to his email accounts.
Forcing a breath into my tight lungs, I approach him. Rightfully, he hides his phone behind his back and angles his body to flee. Gripping the hem of his t-shirt, I stop him. “Will you promise not to let me hurt you?”
His shaking hand cups my face. “I don’t understand.”
