Page 37 of Unleashed

The one I don’t like because…

Because I don’t wanna talk about why.

“Really.” Brooke leans forward, voice lowering conspiratorially. “Because Toby said he hired all of them.”

Of course he did. Especially the pretty blonde one. Luckily, I’m still in my right mind enough I don’t mention the pretty blonde part to Brooke. “I’m not sure that was a good idea.”

That part is actually true. I don’t know if hiring Lindsey was a good idea. Not because she wouldn’t be great at running the supply room, but because I’m afraid she might also be great at finding her way into catching a lot of attention.

Generic attention. Not specific attention. She could simply be distracting. Generally speaking.

“Why is that?” Brooke seems fully invested in what she rightly believes is gossip. “Because Toby said Trevor thought he found someone who would be great at helping Walker manage the warehouse.”

“Really?” Now it’s my turn to be confused. The guys were fine, but none of them really had the experience to manage the entire retail warehouse. “Which guy?”

Brooke picks up the pen Trevor is so obsessed with, giving the end a click. “Not a guy. I heard it was a woman.”

Oh. That’s…

Not at all what I expected.

Hiring Lindsey as the supply clerk would have put her in Trevor’s face every single day. And why wouldn’t he want that? She’s friendly and personable and easy on the eyes. Hiring her to run the warehouse means Trevor would rarely see her.

And I’m going to choose to ignore how much relief I feel over that.

I don’t get jealous of other women. I want other women to succeed. More than succeed. I want them to ruin men’s lives and be their best selves. And technically, that includes Lindsey.

Especially if she’s gonna be running the warehouse. That is an amazing opportunity for her. She’ll make great money, have wonderful insurance…

And be in Walker’s face every day instead of Trevor’s.

I think something’s wrong with me. Thankfully, I have a free evening tonight, because I’m pretty sure vodka will fix it.

It might not, but it’s worth a shot.

I stew on the information Brooke’s given me for the rest of the afternoon, choosing to focus on it instead of the lingering dampness between my thighs thanks to a particularly infuriating man in a particularly well-cut suit who possesses particularly skilled fingers.

“Fucking Trevor.”

I slam down the pen I now completely associate with him and rub my eyes, doing my best not to smear mascara across my lids. I need to figure out how to fix this whole mess I’ve made. I should have never fucked him at Brooke’s wedding. I definitely shouldn’t have let him finger bang me in a meeting room. But by the time the day is over, I have zero ideas how to rectify the situation. No clue how to undo the tangled web wrapping around me.

Quickly packing up my things, I go out to my van, tossing my bags across the seat before climbing behind the wheel. As I pull through the lot, I pass a very familiar car. Not just familiar because it’s Trevor’s, but familiar because it was freaking parked outside my house this morning. A fact I completely forgot about.

But now that I’ve been reminded, I can’t help but wonder if my issues with Trevor are bigger than I realize. If they involve way more than bathroom fucks and office finger bangs.

Vodka definitely isn’t gonna fix this. This is a job for tequila.

Inbox

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:04 PM

Mr. Bradsghaw,

Here’s the link for your freaking pen: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08BX5THHP