Page 126 of Boss of Me
I give her a disgruntled look. “Yu-Gi-Oh? Really?”
“Sorry, boss. Couldn’t resist.” She smiles for a moment before the humor fades from her eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“Just peachy.” I gesture impatiently. “What else you got for me?”
She frowns. “What’s the point of me talking if you’re not going to listen?”
I narrow my eyes at her.
She narrows hers right back. Her ability to cut through my bullshit is just one of the many qualities that makes her an indispensable assistant.
“Fine,” I relent gruffly. “Let’s pick this up later?—”
“—when you’re more focused. I agree.” Veronica stands with her tablet and strides to the door, where she turns and fixes me with a meaningful look. “Should I send her flowers?”
I feign ignorance. “Who?”
She snorts and shakes her head before walking out the door.
Annoyed with myself, I swivel my chair around to face the window and the morning sunlight bathing the city below. I’mnot thinking about the view or the myriad tasks demanding my attention.
I’m thinking about Marlowe. I haven’t seen her since yesterday, and it’s driving me out of my mind.
When I got home last night, I went straight to her room to talk to her, to assure her that my ex was out of the picture. But she was nowhere to be found. With worry and frustration tightening my nerves, I called her to find out where she’d gone. She declined the call and texted to say she was spending the night at Quinn’s. Striving for patience, I texted back to ask her to come home so we could hash things out like mature adults. The “mature adults” part probably rankled her, because she never responded.
Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning and replaying every word of our argument, I grabbed my phone and tried to reach her again. The call went straight to voicemail.
I’ve been stewing ever since.
“I’m heading out.”
I swivel away from the window to stare at my brother in the doorway. “Where’re you going?”
“Where do you think? I’m going to Tokyo to oversee the Tech Fury app launch.” Maverick cocks his head, frowning incredulously at me. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Of course not,” I mutter, forking a hand through my already mussed hair.
Maverick prowls closer, his eyes narrowed on my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Have a good trip.”
“Uh-uh. Not so fast.” He perches on the corner of my desk, arms folded across his chest as he studies me. “Just yesterday you brokered a sweet nine-figure deal, and before that you were chilling on a tropical island with a hot young babe. You shouldfeel on top of the world right now. So why do you look like someone just shit in your cornflakes?”
“I don’t eat cornflakes,” I grumble. “And you have a flight to catch.”
“I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s bugging you.”
I scowl. “You have a bad habit of being late?—”
“Fuck you. Start talking.”
After a few seconds of us glaring at each other, I curse under my breath and fall back against my seat. “I had a fight with Marlowe.”
“Seriously? You lovebirds just got back from your quasi-honeymoon. What the hell did you fight about?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Then hurry up and start talking.”
