Mr. Bossy Devil - Lindsey Hart Page 0,54

her, I might have asked them what in the heck I should be doing, but after going through a mental list of names and faces, it made me realize how few close friends I actually have. I know lots of people, but no one who I would go to for advice about something like this.

I promised to wait, and I promised to be patient. I told Zoe I’d be fine living my life and that she wouldn’t ruin me, but I know it’s not true. It was a lie.

I should have fought for her. I shouldn’t have let her go. Now, I’m no longer sure it was the right thing to do.

The jangle of my office phone nearly sends me flying out of my desk chair. I’m doing the best I can to bury myself in work, so yes, I’m in the office, although I have been thinking about not keeping any sort of regular hours as of late. I might take a break and do something else for a bit. Not be here. Maybe not even be in the country. I just haven’t figured out what that might look like yet, so, for the moment, I’m still here, still plugging away at all the shit it takes to keep this empire running. Not that I need to do anything anymore. I employ people who are really good at doing that for me. I just get to read the reports and suggestions, go over the numbers, and figure out if things are where they should be and where to go next.

I immediately think about taking the phone off and leaving it that way, but I notice the line flashing is from Sharon, the front receptionist. I reluctantly pick up, but only because I know if I don’t, I’m going to get a knock on my door in a few minutes, and I’d honestly rather be left alone.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Vanstone? There’s someone here who would like to see you. I can see you don’t have any appointments or meetings scheduled. Should I send her back?”

I grip the phone receiver a little tighter. “Do you know who it is?”

“Oh, right. Yes. Sorry.” Sharon laughs obnoxiously into the phone. She’s actually a great receptionist, and she’s a miracle worker when it comes to booking just about anything. She also keeps the office running smoothly and keeps everyone in line. If it’s someone I do not want to be bothered with, she’ll do the tactful job of sending them away. And right now, that’s most probably what will happen to the person. Poor choice of timing of their part. “Yes. Uh, her name is Zoe. Zoe Anderson.”

I leap out of the chair so fast that I bang my knee on the side of my desk. I hop around, still holding the phone as I curse under my breath and bite down on my tongue to keep more foul words from escaping.

“Yes, sure. Please send her in.”

I hang up the phone, knowing I have about one minute to try and get my shit together before Zoe walks through my open office door. I’m thankful I didn’t modernize the place after I leased it. The office building was modern enough even if the offices weren’t all fancy, all-glass deals like the ones you see on TV shows about big corporate companies.

My office isn’t any bigger than anyone else’s because I didn’t feel the need. I get by just fine with a desk and a few rows of shelves and filing cabinets—the usual. Not that it’s small because it’s not, and the big windows at the far end overlook a park with a walking path. It’s kind of nice, in a really soulless corporate sort of way.

I use every second of that minute, but nothing could prepare me to see Zoe again. She’s been on my mind every single second of every single day and for most parts of a few sleepless nights as well. She looks amazing. Like she hasn’t suffered these past few weeks at all. Her hair is swept up in a high ponytail, and she has just enough makeup on that I notice because her eyes look huge, and her lips look even pinker and fuller, her cheekbones sharper. She’s wearing a bright red blouse tucked into a pair of dark skinny jeans, accompanied by black flats.

She looks killer, and my poor heart nearly stops working completely after racing at an ungodly, unnatural pace for a few seconds. All I can do is collapse