Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
The first drawer I hit pay dirt.
Candy. Lots and lots of candy. Like full-size candy bars from the gas station kind of candy.
I picked up a Snickers, opened it, then inhaled half before sending another text message.
Me: Wow, this drawer has lots of snacks in it!
Me: Sweet tooth, much?
He immediately tried to call again, but I declined it.
He texted about two minutes later.
Winston: I swear to fuckin’ Christ, I’m not playing around. I will end you.
I doubted he would.
Mostly, he was putting on a good show so I’d leave. If he actually wanted me to leave, he wouldn’t have been so amused by allowing me to sneak through his building unconfronted.
Me: Sorry, but you’re not here to make me leave. So I think I’ll stay.
Plus, there were lots of nooks and crannies I still needed to go through.
Starting with the rest of his drawers.
The second drawer I found a shit ton of Sharpies, a prescription bottle of Adderall assigned to him, and some tea bags.
Boring.
The next drawer was filled with staples.
Fifty boxes of staples.
Why did he have so many freakin’ staples?
I asked him that next.
Me: Why do you have exactly twenty-one boxes of staples?
Winston: Get out of my fucking desk!
Grinning manically, I moved to the other side of the desk, finding each of them just as boring as the staples.
In the end, there were no secret little compartments hiding a gun, or some secret treasure.
My phone beeped and I glanced at the screen.
Winston: I’m going to leave here and strangle the life out of you if you’re still in my office when I get back.
Me: Promises, promise. Why you tease me, naughty, naughty?
He probably wouldn’t get that TikTok reference, but it made me smile.
And, speaking of smiling, a vindictive little piece of me had an idea, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what he’d do if he got the picture I was thinking about sending.
He’d probably actually go through with the murdering he’d been talking about.
Ass in his computer chair, I leaned back in it, threw one leg over one arm, and then tugged my shirt down as low as I could get it, exposing quite a bit of boobage.
I may be small, but I wasn’t lacking in the boob department.
I had some great ones, and the photo I’d just captured proved it.
Hitting send on the photo and wondering what he’d think about it—he’d been very clear that there would be no more advances from his part—I dropped the phone to his desk without closing it.
I was still smiling as I left my phone open and where it was to continue snooping.
The only problem with the snooping, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed until it was too late.
CHAPTER 13
When I close my eyes, I can’t see.
-Text from Crimson to Winston
WINSTON
Crimson: Did anyone ever tell you that you have anal retentive tendencies? Why do you have so many books on your shelf that match? And why are they literally in alphabetical order?
Jesus Christ, I really was in the mood to commit murder. I knew when I got there, every single one of my books would be out of order, and they wouldn’t be color coded, or size coded, in the least.
I could practically hear the grin splitting her face as she took pride in moving the books around on my shelf.
“Are you even listening to us?” Katrin asked, annoyed.
No.
No, I wasn’t.
Why wasn’t I?
Because the woman who wouldn’t get out of my fuckin’ brain now had my personal cell phone number, and she was currently in my office doing fuck knew what, eating my goddamn food.
“I’m listening,” I muttered, turning my phone screen off and placing it face down on my lap.
I immediately got a text message.
I had to clench my hands on the fork and knife in my hand to keep myself from reaching for it again.
“What do you think about a vacation to the Bahamas?” she wondered.
I felt my left eye twitch.
The Bahamas were a goddamn breeding ground for child abductions.
And female abductions.
Any freakin’ tourist trap country at this point was.
All these rich pricks coming over there with their fancy clothes, designer kids, and money. They were practically slapping a sign on their asses telling any bad guy who was willing to listen that they were free game.
Easy free game.
“No,” I said. “I’m not doing the Bahamas.”
Not now, not ever.
“What about Italy?” she asked. “We could do Lake Como.”
I was already shaking my head in the negative. “No, thanks.”
She sighed dramatically, but it was my mother who finally said, “Then where would you like to go, Winston? You’re more than capable of choosing a destination.”
I was.
But nowhere was safe, and that wasn’t something that I could just put out of my mind.
“We could visit Ireland and Uncle Patrick,” Bellamy suggested.
That wasn’t a half bad idea.
“That’s good with me,” I said.