Something Like Hate - Harloe Rae Page 0,15

shrugs. “You’ll do you, whether I approve or not.”

I tap the screen, mimicking a boop on her nose. “You love me for it, and you’re absolutely right. Landon is never going to see me coming. He’s going to curse the day he decided to mess with me.”

She giggles. “There’s nothing covert about that dress.”

I tug at the tight material. “This is simply quality packaging to fit his shallow insinuation. He assumes I’m nothing but a bimbo using my body to get ahead. Might as well feed the rumors if it causes a distraction.”

Her grin is just the slice of sweet I need. “Even though most of my words suggest otherwise, I admire your tenacity. Most would crack under the intensity that is Landon Winters. You’re brave, Vannah.”

“To a fault.”

“Nah, you get shit done.”

“I do, right?”

“Always,” she agrees.

A glance at the clock has me searching for my heels. I don’t want to imagine the consequences of arriving late. “Thanks, love. We’ll see if my jumbo lady balls pay off.”

“Just be careful.”

I give her a wave. “The reward is worthless without the willingness to risk it all. We’ll be celebrating my success shortly.”

“Just picture how Landon will handle losing.” Clea pauses for a moment. “Although, I’m not exactly sure what he has to lose.”

I button my lips and toss away the key. “Lucky for us, we don’t have to worry about that.”

Blinding streaks from the rising sun cascade across my desk, illuminating the typically dull earnings report I’m analyzing. Pressure builds at my temples as one number merges into the next. It’s too damn quiet, affording my thoughts the freedom to wander onto unsavory topics.

Silence is a fickle beast that’s rarely satisfied. Most often I crave the solitude, cursing anything that dares to interrupt my artificial serenity. But sometimes, that gives voice to authorities no longer in command. Regardless of my efforts, old habits rise from the vast stillness shrouding me.

Even as I sit in this soundless lull, the monster paces just below the surface. Flickers from my past, where I was forced into similar shackles, ram against my skull. I shift in my seat while trying to escape those ancient bonds. My father is probably pinching his lips in barely contained fury as these memories assault me. Another wave of utter stillness descends, and the comparison isn’t lost on me. His demands could never be met either.

For a brief escape from the resentment, I force my mind to stop tripping over capital gains and profit margins. I glance out the window and capture an anchor to normalcy. The commercial space I rented offers a decent scope of downtown St. Paul. Bustling traffic and crowded sidewalks greet me, even from thirty stories above the ground. That controlled chaos is a familiar trait many would eagerly accept to remain tethered.

The sharp clarity and architectural angles blur, my vision getting fuzzy around the edges. Getting lost in the motions is entirely too easy and I drift without effort. I’ll need more coffee if I expect to conquer all while running on three hours of sleep. I latch onto a suitable comfort to meet my needs—snapping the fuck out of this stupor.

Similar to the scene in Chicago, I have an unobstructed view of a river. The Mississippi doesn’t call to me quite the same, but there’s still a soothing sensation to be found in that tranquil sight. I grant myself another minute to digest the cityscape before reality catches me.

The steady slap of footsteps shatters my momentary contentment. My muscles bunch without conscious effort at the approaching intrusion. Only three people are aware of my location. I secured an entire level for privacy. Nothing drives me to the brink of madness faster than overhearing others engage in meaningless conversations. Untimely guests come in a close second.

“Good morning, Winters.” Jordan’s baritone is too chipper for the early hour.

I rip my gaze from the flowing water to pin him with a glare. “Did I miss an appointment memo?”

“Nah, this is a spontaneous visit.”

“Just my luck.” My chair squeaks as I recline in an attempt to defuse the mounting strain.

“You don’t fuck around, huh?” He lets a low whistle loose as he clomps into my office and sits down in front of me.

I lift a brow. “Meaning?”

He motions to our otherwise empty surroundings. “You have an entire floor to yourself in one of the most expensive buildings in this state.”

“It’s cost-efficient and only temporary.” As if I need to explain myself. I barely noticed the price while signing

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