Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I set my drawings on her seat and picked up the folder. The thing had weight.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t.
But what if I’ve missed something?
I knew two things with absolute certainty. One, it would be a pretty scummy thing to do. And two, if the shoe was on the other foot, and it were Annalise finding my desk with all this shit, she’d turn around and walk the hell out.
But there was no fucking way I could move to Texas.
I wouldn’t be doing it for myself. I’d be doing it for Lucas.
There was an exception for shitty behavior when the end justified the means, right?
What the hell could she have in here? Seriously, this thing had to weigh three pounds. Maybe there was a brick inside? Or a book? A hardcover of Marketing for Dummies? I could at least check that, couldn’t I? It might set my mind at ease to know I wasn’t missing research.
I pulled the red rubber band off the file folder.
God, I’m a fucking asshole.
Setting it down on the desk again, I stared at it some more.
What if this weren’t Annalise?
She’d said herself that she’d tried to take the person out of the equation when deciding how to act. A sixty-year-old, married man—I was pretty sure that’s who she pretended her competition was.
What would I do if I’d found this file of potentially helpful information, only the competition I’d been pitted against was a sixty-year-old dude instead of Annalise?
I’d like to think figuring out the answer to that question required some debate.
But…we all know better, right?
I’d already be at the copier photocopying the crap out of this file.
That, in a nutshell, summarized the difference between me and Annalise. When she walked through a how would I act scenario in her head, she always came out on the right side of what was ethical. I, on the other hand, came out on the right side of what would bring me closer to what I wanted.
So what the hell was stopping me?
Annalise and her goddamned ethical bullshit had me feeling guilty.
Groaning, I picked up the file folder, wrapped the rubber band back around it, and set it where I’d found it. I swiped my drawings from her chair, pulled the door shut behind me, and then squatted down to slip the artwork under the closed office door. She’d find them in the morning without ever knowing I’d been inside.
I grumbled my way back to Marina’s desk to replace the key. While I was there, I figured I’d leave her a note that I’d be out tomorrow morning since my appointment had originally been in the afternoon.
I found a pen and looked around for something to write on. Next to her phone was one of those message pads that had three little carbon copy tear-off message slips on each sheet. So I grabbed that and started to write on the bottom one.
But the carbon that remained from the message above caught my attention because it had Annalise’s name on it.
DATE: 6-1
TIME: 11:05AM
FOR: Annalise
CALLER: Andrew Marks
PHONE: 415-555-0028
MESSAGE: He’s returning your call. Call anytime.
***
“Is something wrong?” Annalise leaned her hip against the counter in the break room.
“Not a damn thing,” I said, pouring my second cup of coffee.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “So just a general piss-poor mood then?”
“It’s been a busy week.”
“I know.” She looked toward the door and lowered her voice. “That’s why I thought I’d be nice and make you dinner at my place last night. Only you didn’t answer my text, and this morning when I saw you in the hall, you looked like you might bite me.”
I picked up my mug. “You’re the one who wanted to make sure we were discreet in the office. Should I have stopped to feel you up?”
She squinted. “Whatever. Don’t forget dinner is at six tonight with Lauren and Trent at La Maison.”
I scoffed. “Can’t wait.”
Annalise rightly read into my sarcasm. She sighed and turned to walk out of the break room.
Near the door, she stopped and turned back. “Thank you for the sketches, by the way. They were exactly what I needed and couldn’t come up with.”
I looked up from my mug and our eyes caught. Fuck it.
“I went into your office to put them on your desk last night. I saw it was covered with your work on the Star campaign, so I left and slipped it under your door.”
She cocked her head to the side and searched my face. “You didn’t look at anything?”
After I’d found the message from her ex, I’d contemplated going back in. But I fucking couldn’t. Wussy. I shook my head.
Her eyes lost focus for a minute, and I got the distinct feeling random shit was spinning around in her head as she tried to click together the pieces of some puzzle.
She zoned in on me again. “Are you annoyed with yourself that you didn’t rummage through my things?”