He’d work faster if I was a nebulous threat, skirting around his periphery. Besides, I’d rolled into work two hours late, so I couldn’t exactly jump his ass with a straight face.I’d slept so well the night before, even with the worry of betrayal hanging over my head. Maybe Lincoln had chloroformed me with that scent of his. Like a secret weapon he used against overwrought, wobbly-kneed women who cried all over him while accusing him of first-degree douchebaggery. Whatever it was, I liked it and wanted more.Jena greeted me with a slew of papers in one hand and copious notes about missed calls. As per her usual, she tripped on the edge of a rug on her way in and sent the sheaves of paper flying. I tapped my toe as I watched her pick it all up. Sheet by sheet, reordering everything. Tap, tap, tap. This was fun.Finally she rose and straightened her bright summer blouse—worn in the spring, of course. She read off a litany of calls I needed to return. I enjoyed correcting her on each mispronunciation, like a primary school teacher with a chronically slow student.But the last name on the list made me stop imagining new ways to make Jena cry.
