So freaking adorable.
Who knows what he wants but not how to take it.I draw a deep breath into my lungs.
I think I care because Im…I think I might be, you know. My face is on fire, burning to the roots of my hair, praying he takes the hint. I might be.I cant gauge his reply, whether hes anxious or irritated or—You can tell me, Laurel. Whatever it is.
Just spit it out—its like ripping off a Band-Aid. Jesus, whatever it is, I wish shed say it. Put me out of my damn misery.She looks nervous. Guilty.
What the hell could be so hard to say? Is she seeing someone else? Is she dumping me? Fuck—that would kill me.
Laurel? I can barely get her name past my lips, the stretch of her silence making me want to fucking vomit.Checking her phone, she shook her head. Seven oclock.
The plan, the favor, she was doing for her boss was to stay here until he brought three contracts in with signatures so she could scan them and e-mail them over to the various buyers brokers. Why he couldnt feed the things into the machine himself and do a little PDFing was a mystery.And okay, maybe she was part of the problem, too.
Not that she was proud to admit it.Looking up over the lip of the desk counter, she focused on the smoky glass doors that opened to the outside. The office was located in an up-market strip mall that had a hair salon where the cuts started at a hundred bucks—and that was just for the men, a boutique that displayed two pieces of barely-there clothing in its window, a glass-and-china shop that sparkled even on gray days, and, at the far end, a jewelry store that the trophy wives of Caldwell seemed to approve of.