Page 35 of Apparently, I’m Torture

“She was probably just upset.”

“Upset or not, it was unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?”

“Yes. And I’ve been trying, you know I have. I’ve tried to be the bigger person since they got here. But between her and Mia pushing me into that stack of chairs, and her accusing me–”

I pictured Shawn’s hands on Stacey’s shoulders as she stuttered. “I get it. But I can’t kick them out of here. Mia’s doing her job well, and–”

“Lilly isn’t.”

“Well–”

“She didn’t even show up for our meeting.”

“How about you get a coffee?” he deflected. “I’ll talk to her while you’re out.”

Their footsteps were muffled by the carpet, but I could still make them out. I turned and hurried along the plush hallway, with Stacey drawling at my back.

“Well, at least you won’t have to send out a search party.”

Stiffening and turning, I lifted my hand in a wave. “Hi.”

Stacey swept by me with a hardened gaze and a pinched face. Behind her, Shawn stood, tall and imposing, hands in his pockets as he searched me, his stare like a light touch brushing along my skin.

He stepped closer, and my breath caught in my throat as he gestured toward the meeting room. This felt a lot like being called into the principal’s office. The sexy principal’s office? Would I let Shawn put me over his knee and spank me? That was not an okay thought to have. What was wrong with me?

Letting me pass by him, my cheeks flushed as my shoulder grazed his chest, and heat trickled into my skin, my small fine hairs standing on end as he shut the door behind us.

“You weren’t at our meeting today.”

Sweat beaded under my bangs as I admitted, “I didn’t get the invitation.”

He cocked his head, still studying me. “Mia texted you.”

“I know, but I didn’t get her message.”

“Because?” he asked, drawing out the word. Embarrassment laced through me.

“Because I didn’t, okay?” I put my hands on my hips and turned a pace on the carpet, almost missing the soothing clack, clack, clack of my heels. “My computer still isn’t working, and I don’t want to sound like a brat, Shawn–”

“Mister Jackson.”

I stopped and stared at him, wide-eyed. “Are you kidding?”

“No. I’d prefer it if you called me–”

“I don’t give a fuck what you prefer,” I screeched; all control gone. “My computer isn’t working, and I can’t do my job, and your assistant is feeding you crap about me, and Trevor is threatening to fire me, and Mrs Hernandez won’t stop calling me–”

I burst. I physically burst.

“And on top of all that, you’re acting like a huge dick, Mister Jackson. You’re treating me like you don’t know me. Like we never…” I trailed off, watching Shawn’s face shift from concern to frustration as I palmed my stomach and bent over.

Acid scraped against my ribs, churning against the pizza slice I’d calmly enjoyed only minutes ago. And in a matter of seconds, I took in a shuddering breath as Shawn turned on his heels and left the meeting room.

He. Left. The. Room.

I put both hands to my mouth and screamed into them, kicking my feet against the ground as the scorch of my voice lined my throat.