Instead of being a half-decent person, Mark clasps his hands, and cocks his head in that arrogant way he always does. “Remember our little talk about knocking, Jess?”
It’s as if his balls are begging to be kicked so hard, they lodge in that vacant space where his brain should be. Flames lick at my insides, double daring me to hand him his ass on a platter. Or throat punch him. Or damnit, cry. Ugh, I really should have had lunch.
I am ready to plow his ego to the ground, but the second I open my mouth, he adds, “I’d hate to see you lose your job for something as trivial as manners.”
Stunned, I stare. And Brian is just sitting there. Not doing anything but warning me with a slow shake of his head.
Brian’s right. I know he’s right. He’s leaving in a few days and taking this worthless sack of shit with him. I don’t want this job, I need it. And not even for the money. Without it, I’m more or less alone. Deacon is stationed in New Jersey. Close, but never close enough. And Finn is away in some God-forsaken part of the world that feels as unreachable as the moon.
Tears threaten fast. Too fast. But not fast enough. No-holds-barred atomic anger wins. I see the stack of checks on the desk, miraculously in alphabetical order. Mine’s right on top. I snatch it and point it in his smug face. “Go to hell, Mark Donovan. I quit.”
Pulse racing, I rush out of the room and don’t look back.