Miller frowns, one brow raised in suspicion.
“It’s a process,” I reply, drawing out the word and dramatically widening my arms to indicate just how big the process is.
“So, who told you you weren’t decisive?” Miller’s got his arms crossed, that stubborn teenage look on his face that tells me he isn’t going to be dropping this any time soon.
“No one,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. The person who said it was wrong. I am extremely decisive.”
“So no one told you that or the person who told you that is wrong?”
This kid, I swear. “Jesus, Miller. Are you going into fashion or trial law?”
“You’re very decisive in fashion,” Miller replies, ignoring my jab.
“Exactly! Thank you.”
“Personally though? You’re an indecisive mess.”
Unreal. Un-freaking-real.
Now I’m being lectured by both cats and teenagers.
“I am so,” I argue, mainly as a point of pride. “For example, I needed my plumbing fixed and the governor offered to help me in exchange for me pretending to be his date or girlfriend or whatever, and I decisively agreed.”
“Uh, that’s not what I remember,” Miller says. “Pretty sure—”
Thankfully we’re interrupted at that exact moment by the door jingling and the appearance of a customer. Miller helps them out while I bury myself into my design, pushing aside any and all criticism.
I am a badass designer.
That’s all that matters at the moment.
Thoughts of my alleged shortcomings and whatever is happening or not happening with the governor are forgotten.
At least until later.
After work, I decide I need to relax. I’ve let the pet psychic get to me. Also this plumbing/forced roommate situation isn’t helping anything. And I’ve been working really hard, between actual work and all the time spent faking it with the governor.
So tonight, I deserve some me time. Because faking it is all frustration and no satisfaction.
So it’s up to me to find it for myself. Decisively.
I find a comfy blanket in the sitting room, and then I curl up on the couch with my earbuds and my iPad. And then I head to one of my favorite sites on the internet. The one with all the naked people.
The one where people actually get pushed up against the wall in very fun and inventive ways.
I’m still scrolling through my options when Warren appears in the room. He looks unfairly handsome in a suit, the collar of his shirt already loosened. He barely glances at me as he passes through the room to grab something off a table.
“Hey,” I say, taking out my earbuds.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he replies, with barely a glance in my direction. “I’ll leave you to your reading.”
“Oh, no worries,” I say, still scrolling. “I was just bookmarking porn.”
He freezes mid-stride on his way out of the room and turns around to face me. “Excuse me?”
“You know, bookmarking? Tabbing? Whatever,” I say, shrugging. “I had some free time so I’m scrolling. It’s exhausting trying to find anything good when you need it, am I right?”
More like I need something to satisfy me because my endless sex dreams about you don’t quite cut it, Governor.
“For when you need it,” Warren repeats, clearing his throat.
He looks confused, which doesn’t make any sense. Everybody bookmarks their porn, right? I’m not sure why this concept is so foreign to him. Maybe he’s not picky about his porn? That’s probably it, he’s a guy. I’m super picky. It’s a bit of a curse, hence the scrolling.
“So you’re just sitting in my living room, looking for… porn?”
I blink, looking around. “Isn’t this the sitting room?”
“Same thing.”
“Not really,” I say. “I’m sitting in this room. Feels like a perfectly appropriate place for what I’m doing.”
He just stares at me, but I think I see his lip twitch.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, pointing a finger at my iPad. “I’m not on your wifi. And I was using headphones. I’m a very considerate porn-watcher. I used to live in the city and there’s nothing worse than having to listen to someone else’s porn selection through a wall, you know what I mean?”
He shakes his head, and for a second, I think he might leave. But then he takes a step closer. He crosses his arms. He narrows his eyes just a tad. “So you’re just… searching for the good stuff.”
“Exactly.” I nod. “It takes forever because there’s a lot of junk to wade through. Terrible camera angles. Bad lighting. Not everyone takes pride in their work, you know?”
Warren blinks, tilting his head to the side a bit as if he’s still not sure this conversation isn’t