The Price of Inertia (The Seven Sins #4) - Lily Zante Page 0,43
my head not so long, jerking off like a horny-as-hell teen. Now that she’s on all fours my arousal kicks up a notch.
She crawls back but not all the way, and while I’m busy admiring her butt she lifts her head and I hear a thud. Then a yelp. She’s hit her head on the underside of the desk. She touches her head as if she’s in pain. I want to ask her if she’s okay, but the raging throbbing between my legs makes me hold back.
“It’s not here,” she says, still kneeling as she glances around on the floor.
Rage overwhelms me. “You saw it last. Find. It.”
“I’ve looked for it and I can’t find—”
“I can’t write without that pen.”
Still touching her head, she reaches for the desk to help her get to standing but she knocks over my glass of juice. The sweet smell of oranges permeates the air as the liquid bleeds out all over my desk, heading towards my papers and note.
No!
“What the fuck!” I cry, and leap forward scooping up the priceless papers. They are sopping wet underneath.
No!
What the hell has she gone and done now?
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and whips out a whole heap of tissues from the box on my desk then starts soaking the liquid.
“How clumsy are you?” I snarl, looking through my precious papers. All of my weekend’s work is wasted.
“I’m sorry.” She pulls some more tissues out and wipes furiously. It was a full glass of orange juice. The damage is done. It’s even gone all over her blouse.
“You’ve ruined everything I worked on.”
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “It was an accident. I was trying to help you.”
“Help me? You’ve been nothing but trouble.”
“Trouble?” she cries, taking a step back. “You’re a nightmare to work for.” She stops, presses her lips together and continues to clean up the mess. “I need to wipe this down,” she mutters. “It’s all sticky and I need to—”
“Don’t.” Any moment now my bottled up rage will erupt.
She straightens up. “You don’t want me to clear this up?” Her voice is stronger now. The meekness has vanished. She’s angry, and stares at me as if she wishes I were dead.
“Leave it.”
“Fine. I’ll leave it then. If that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.”
I exhale a long, slow breath. Not only do I not have my pen, but I have to clear up this mess.
She thinks I’m crazy for making such a big deal about my pen. I’m not so sure this was to do with just the pen. Frustration and irritation mingled together to form one angry cocktail.
I’ve never had a pen go missing like that.
I’ve never had anyone in my personal space. In all the years I’ve known Freya, I’ve never had a pen go missing.
She’s not a thief, that much I’m know. It’s obvious that Mari has picked it up and misplaced it. I wish she’d own up to it.
Chapter 18
MARI
The asshole.
The great, big, fat hairy asshole. He’s nothing but a pathetic, vile childish excuse for a man.
The orange juice clings to my arm and chest and feels uncomfortable. I need to change my blouse. I have no idea about his pen. But I banged my head trying to find it. What did I get from him? Nothing. Not even an ounce of sympathy.
I push the door to my bedroom open and rush straight for the bathroom where I take my top off. I wish I could stay here and not have to go back and make his lunch or dinner. I’m tempted to spit in it. I would, if I were that kind or person.
I can’t have a shower, so I wet a flannel then squeeze a blob of shower gel onto it and attempt to remove the stickiness. But my mind is a riot of confusion spiked with hatred.
What just happened downstairs? I replay the scene over and over in my head, shocked that it has come to this. Disgusted by my response, that I became a whimpering, nervous wreck crawling under the table so desperate to find the pen that I had no part in losing. He accused me. He thinks I had a hand in it. Instead of standing up for myself I turned into a meek little mouse in front of that huge bully.
How does this man manage to do this to me?
Jackass.
Douchebag.
Prick.
I miss Jamie. I wish I could go and see him right now, and tell him what a monster this man is.