Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“I love it. No wonder your man came tracking you down.”
I look down at my dress. Maybe it’s too sexy. I bought it for our last date night. I wanted something to get Dylan all worked up. Not that he needed any help in that area. Maybe I’m acting like a child with some of the things I’ve been doing lately. It’s a demand for attention, and I like when he goes a little crazy. I forget how possessive he can be until I do something that sets it off.
A little wave of guilt hits me, and I realize I should really talk this out with him. I wasn't even aware I was doing it until this moment. I think with things changing over the past few months I’m having trouble adjusting.
“Speaking of that, keep your visitors to your lunch break.” Nancy and I both turn to see Mark stomp into the shared office. Clearly he heard what we were talking about. He drops a few more folders onto my desk but doesn’t bother looking at me as he walks over to his own. “Are you going to get to work on this?” He motions to the pile of work on my desk.
He’s obviously peeved with me, which is bullshit. I’m helping him out with staying late and going above and beyond what my job entails. I want to tell him I’ll have visitors whenever I like. If he doesn't like it, he can shove it up his ass. But I clamp my lips shut. Yeah, like I’m going to tell Dylan he can’t pop by whenever he wants. I don’t want him burning the library down.
“I’m working on it,” I tell him, turning so my back is to him. I don’t want to look at him any more than necessary. And I don’t want him to see how annoyed I am.
Nancy rolls her eyes, clearly as aggravated as me. “I better get back to the front. Mrs. Norton is running it and she scares all the little kids.” She turns, but not before mouthing “what a dick” to me, then walks out.
Once again I’m alone with Mark. I really can’t stand him. He talks endlessly about himself. He reminds me of some of the jocks I went to high school with. I feel like I know more about him than I should, and we have only worked together a few days. I know his whole life story, and maybe if he talked less I could get more work done. It’s still not clear to me why we need to share an office. He said we’d be working on things we would need to discuss often, but he hardly talks about work. He spent thirty minutes this morning telling me about his new car.
I try to push all negative thoughts out of my mind and grab a folder so I can get to work. But not even a full minute goes by before Mark is standing next to my desk. His shadow looms over me, and for a small guy he’s always crowding me in my space.
“Was that your husband?” he asks, but I don’t look up at him as I keep working.
“Yep.”
I give him a short response, hoping that will give the message that I’m busy. I know it doesn't work when he leans against my desk, making himself more comfortable. I have to fight from tensing up. I scoot my chair over slightly, trying not to make it obvious.
“Is he always so…” he trails off.
When I finally look up at him, I’m pretty sure his eyes are locked on my cleavage. The dress doesn't really show much, but with someone standing directly over me like this, I’m sure he’s seeing more than he should be.
“What?” I ask, unsure what he means about Dylan. I didn't even know they met. Or maybe they didn't and Mark saw him bulldozing into the library looking for me. Dylan is hard to miss. His size alone makes him stand out in a crowd.
“Angry?” he finally finishes. “He didn't hurt you, did he?”
His eyes leave my chest and come to my face, but he doesn't actually look concerned. I can’t read his expression, but I’m sure mine has to show anger.
“No,” I snap at the ridiculous question. Hurt me? Well, he does like to hand out a spanking from time to time, but that’s none of this guy’s business. Plus, I’m not sure that really counts as hurting me. “He’s intense,” I defend. I don’t want to talk to this guy about my husband. Nor do I like that he asked me that. I turn away from him, going back to my work. He stands there for a few moments before he finally gets the message and strolls back to his desk. I hear him typing away on his computer, and it’s blessedly quiet for the first time today.