Page 3 of All Bark, No Bite

She never cared about my writing schedule. She treated my work like a hobby, one she could come in and sweep to the side when it suited her.

It suited her quite often, oh by the fucking way.

Reese has the same kind of outlook, I’m sure of it.

She doesn’t have to like me. Hell, I don’t have to like her.

Why the fuck does my chest ache with that thought to the point I find myself rubbing my hand over my sternum in the hopes to alleviate some of it?

It wouldn’t surprise me if I’m having a medical episode at 32, considering the stress I’m under. The only thing which could make this day better is a call from my publisher and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.

I close my eyes and lean back into my chair, the sound of Boomer barking like a background track where the levels are all wrong and distorted.

Yeah, when Reese gets home, I’m going to be giving her a piece of my mind. Enough is enough.

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