It kind of comes with the territory when Mr. Hyde turns into Dr. Jekyll and almost kisses your face off.
What was that?
The soulful eyes, grounding me in the noisy rain around us.
The storm.
The silence as he gazed through me with an unmistakable hunger.
I抎 be a filthy liar if I said I didn抰 feel it too.
Against our better reason, against all sanity, we came one breath away from?
God, who knows? I don抰 know why I抦 surprised. Much less why I抦 disappointed.
Isn抰 this always what men do when they play the game?
Close in, act nice, steal hearts, make promises, and commit.
No, wait.
They actually lead you on and march you through the slow, heartbreaking realization that they don抰 have the balls to deal with the consequences of their own actions.
I抦 dealing with something, alright, hunched over these social media posts and trying to work.
Lincoln comes out of his office around noon and heads for my desk. He抯 been evasive ever since our brush with human emotions.
揥e have a few special projects that need to be done by end of day, Miss Poe. I抳e already sent you a list,?he says neutrally.
I don抰 look up until he抯 looming over me.
揑抣l look it over as soon as I send this to Anna,?I say quickly.
揃e quick about it梐nd thanks.?He turns without a lingering look, marches back to his office, and shuts the door with a deafening click.
Dick.
Also, he抯 not joking about the extras.
I抦 cooped up until almost midnight finishing everything. It抯 a cool, clear night, and I don抰 even think about his stupid chivalrous crap while I抦 biking home.
The next day goes the same way. Fresh mini projects with whiplash turnaround times.
Sigh.
It抯 like he抯 punishing me for that almost-kiss.
Does he thrive on this kind of drama?
Does he get some sick enjoyment from everyone whispering about his dating life梠r lack thereof?
I wonder.
He抯 been perfectly frosty ever since it happened. He piles on more work, deeper and higher like he wants to bury me alive.
If he抯 trying to make me quit before my ninety days梚f he抯 that freaking selfish and petty梥crew him. I抦 not backing down.
I抳e maybe slept five hours tops since this started, and I抳e almost gotten used to it.
I haven抰 had time to work on my poetry for more than short blocks in weeks.
With Eliza out of town visiting a relative, I haven抰 even gotten a square meal that isn抰 reheated in plastic or dripping with frosting and cinnamon.
So, yeah, I抦 spiritually committed to surviving this job and the ogre who runs this office.
I won抰 fall behind, no matter how much I抦 juggling.
Lincoln damn Burns won抰 get the satisfaction.
When Saturday morning finally arrives, work slows down enough so I can peck at my work-in-progress. But Lincoln constantly interrupts me with questions about the wedding line抯 timeline on my break.
I move between five different documents. When I抳e had no stupid texts in ten minutes, I pull out my notebook, thinking it抯 safe to hack at my poem for a minute or two.
I stick the pen into the corner of my mouth and read what I抳e gotten down so far. Working title, 揑vory Adonis.?
She lives between the black of night and shades of grey.
Then comes an ivory Adonis spinning light.
He woke a cold, dead heart.
He woke a heart from a coma marinated in tears.
He was no white knight.
He was soft black stars.
He made a withered heart beat red.
But he was the same.
They抮e all so lame.
Heartache and shame.
Only, she knows the game.
She lives between the black of night and shades of grey.
But she knows the rules and she can play.
He was no shining knight.
She抯 not hunting for a wedding night.
Still, he made a withered heart beat red.
Woke from ruined dead.
So they fall down in bed.
With every thrust the darkness falls away.
Bursts of color claim the day.
She owes him her life.
He wants no wife.
She has no shame.
She still knows the game.
A lesson she never learns.
And so she burns.
Burns who? Burns what? Burns me.
But he抯 her king.
Her fling.
Her boss.
Her loss.
My phone pings.
Ugh, not now. I抦 on a roll.
He would interrupt me while I抦 scratching out an angst-ball on paper that抯 totally not about him.
Okay. Whatever.
I know it抯 far from perfect. But considering the ivory asshole has me working since nine a.m. on a sunshiny Saturday morning in this godforsaken waterlogged city, I抦 just happy to spend a few minutes on something besides a new wedding dress ready to set the world ablaze.
Then again, is it better that I抦 writing about how Not Lincoln ignites my body?
Holy shit. Why am I writing this?
I take a quick photo of the poem with my phone to save it since I抦 old-school and still use paper. Then I pick up my phone with a wince, already wrinkling my nose at whatever dumb demand he抯 slapping me with.
But it抯 not his name on the screen梠r CAPTAIN, as he is in the contacts.
It抯 worse.
Jay: Dakota, can we talk? I抳e been trying to get ahold of you for over a month. At least give me a chance to apologize in person.
Why? So you can rope me back in and wreck my heart all over again?
Drop dead, Jay, I think bitterly, smashing my phone down screen-first.
But it pings again insistently. Sighing, I turn it over, and hate that my ex isn抰 done.
Jay: We were together for years. That has to mean something.
I don抰 want to respond.
I don抰 want to remember he still exists.
But my fingers move with a mind of their own, and before I know what I抦 doing, I抳e typed out a message.
Dakota: It did once, but you picked music over me. Your truest love. That抯 what the text you sent said when you left me stranded, anyway. Remember?
I do梚t抯 burned in my brain for life梑ecause I was already at the church.
I抦 pinching my teeth together so tightly they could break when my phone buzzes again. I almost fling it across the room. But I do something worse instead.
I read more of his utter bullshit.
Jay: Did you get my cards? The letters?
Yeah. I forwarded them to a local women抯 prison in your name, I send back with a smile that hurts.
I抦 not even joking. I抦 just disappointed he hasn抰 met a nice Lorena Bobbitt yet. He could use a stab-happy bitch to up his game in the bedroom, that抯 for sure.
Jay: Dakota. Be serious. Why you always gotta be so sarcastic?
Fury churns through my veins, venomous and hot.
When I抦 talking to desperate little fuckboys, it happens, I throw back.
I stare at my phone for what feels like five minutes of sweet silence.
Finally.
I think I抳e shut him up.
Until I set my phone down for exactly two seconds and it buzzes again.
Holy hell. At this rate, I抣l scream bloody murder and call the bosshole out of his office, tripping over his polished shoes.
I wish my eyes wouldn抰 betray me with the urge to read more, but they do.
Jay: See, this is why I freaked. The thought of dealing with a lifetime of that sent me running.
Dakota: Good. Stay gone, little man.
Oh, but that would be too easy.
My phone pings two more times. Great, now he抯 sending multiple whiny texts in a row.
But when I look at the screen with my breath stuck in my lungs, I see CAPTAIN instead.
Hey, can you send me the campaign timeline draft and the latest from Rome? I just left for a meeting in Tacoma, but I have some time and can work from my phone. I just need the file.