Page 7 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
It’s better not to think about it at all. My kitten heels clip along the polished floors as I head toward the elevator. I take solace in the steady rumbling of it as it carries me back down the twenty-six floors of the building. It’s easy to force myself back into work mode once I’m back in my cubicle, setting the files Nick signed off to the side to be delivered to the research and development team tomorrow.
I’m interrupted before I can make much headway into my work when the overwhelming wave of expensive perfume tells me who’s coming before I even hear the snap of stilettos across the floor.
A forced smile paints my face as Sloane rounds the corner, overdressed as always in a silky wrap dress that shows a healthy amount of cleavage. She smacks her cinnamon gum as she leans an ample hip on the edge of my desk, ignoring the sticky notes taped there as she crosses her arms. One penciled brow arches in a look of carefully crafted disdain as she rakes icy blue eyes over me.
“Morgan,” she drawls, wrapping bright red lips around my last name like it’s some sort of insult. “You better be done with the risk analysis I asked for if you’re wandering around the office during work hours.”
I grit my teeth to avoid snapping at her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, sounding much calmer than I feel. “I just brought it up to Mr. D’Amico for review, along with?—”
“And it didn’t even cross my desk first?” she asks incredulously.
Through sheer willpower I bite back a scoff.
“You’ve never asked to see it before.” I’ve been doing the risk analyses for her since I was still an intern, and she’s neveroncechecked my work. I’d be flattered if I didn’t know she’s just too lazy to care. “Should I send them to you for approval in the future?”
“Watch your tone,” she snaps. “Don’t act all uppity just because I’m making sure you stay busy. Remember who’s in charge here, Morgan.”
She’s not keeping me busy; she’s making me do her entire fucking job for her, along with my own. Even with the added work, Istilldo a better job than she could ever hope to.
Instead of calling her out, I drop my eyes to my desk and nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure it goes to you first next time.”
Sloane scoffs, pushing away from my desk as she sends several sticky notes falling to the ground in her wake.
“Don’t bother,” she says drily. “Just get started on next quarter’s soon so it’s not late.”
It’s never been late when I’ve been the one working on it.
God, I want toscream.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Anyhow, I’m heading out early. Make sure you get the Fourneaux file reformatted like the client asked.”
She doesn’t even say goodbye before turning on her heel and marching off, the scent of designer perfume wafting in her wake.
I swallow down my bitterness and clear my mind of everything but work. Taylor may think I’m wasted on spreadsheets and crunching numbers, but Ithrivehere. Numbers and analytics are what keep me sane, especially when Sloane tries her hardest to get me to snap. I don’t want to spend an extra several hours at work most days, but at least it’s something that I enjoy doing.
If I had to answer phones all day, I’d wither away and die.
By the time I finally wrap up my own work for the day, the office is silent and dark around me. I realize with a wince that it’s already past seven. Now that I’m not staring at my computer, the aches are starting to set in. I stretch my arms over my head to work the worst of the tightness out.
A check of my phone shows a few messages from Taylor, but my notifications are dry as the desert. I sigh as a wave of disappointment washes over me at the fact that my masked suitorstillhasn’t texted me. Maybe I should take Taylor’s advice and just text the guy. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll delete his number and call it quits.
I pack up as my mind races about what to say.
Taylor’s right about guys liking bold women, and I can play at it, but that’s notme. I’m a wallflower if there ever was one, and the thought of pretending to be anything but makes me nauseous.
Even if he did like it, I couldn’t keep up the act for long, and then he’d lose interest anyway.
I toss my messenger bag over my shoulder and head toward the elevator, flipping the last light off as I go. Maybe it’d be better to just delete his number now and save myself the stress.
My phone buzzes in my pocket just as I step into the elevator. I tug it out, expecting a text from Taylor, only to choke on my own surprise. My heart skips a beat at the notification staring up at me. I pinch my thigh to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Mister Mystery: Hello there, Miss Morgan. Did you miss me?
CHAPTER 3
