More Than a Hotline Fling

-12-

Thirteen months passed since I last stepped into Wet Dream's office. Like an anticlimactic, deadbeat boyfriend, not much changed since I was escorted out by a security guard.

The same clinical white walls stood adorned with depressing, non-motivational posters. Low moans and dirty, suggestive conversations murmured in the background. Curious heads popped up from behind the low-height, gray work stations that offered zero privacy.

Gossipy prairie dogs.

A few faces were unfamiliar but all spectators blurred as I stomped down the cubicle wall I passed every morning for three months. My hand fisting my phone swung it at my side. With panted breaths, my thudding feet led me to an end office whose door was cracked open.

The last time I was here, I hadn't confronted Kevin's asshole, 'you're not my boyfriend' behavior from our office tryst that was colder than the abandoned, mid-morning coffee pot. Before he turned hypocritical, vindictive, and slighted with small-dick energy, Kevin was at best a decent enough guy with zero sexual chemistry.

I had a lot of time to think about why he fired me and concluded it was more than my getting personal with Damian. What 'more' meant, I had no idea.

Because Adam and Celia still have their jobs.

Kevin's hypocrisy aside, the true reason why I was here nipped at my last threads of patience. By the time I stood in the floor manager's office doorway, facing the closed door, my huffs shortened into hot, sharp, angry bull snorts.

The image Adam brought to my attention, which I pulled up on my phone - my image - blurred from how much my hand shook.

My other hand raised in a fist. I knocked so hard against the door that pain burst through my first and second knuckles. The muffled sound demonstrated why I always had Damian do the knocking.

His is sexier, like a whole, 'Imma beat your door down and rail you into oblivion' pounding.

Focus, June.

A muffled voice behind the door called out, "Come."

My foot kicked into the base of the door, which creaked open. I grunted at the smile that spread across a face I hoped I never have reason to see again.

And yet, here I am.

A shine of hair gel outlined the black hairs slicked up and away from Kevin's forehead. His head snapped up and his brown eyes blinked, then glinted at me. His phone pressed up to his ear, a slight flush crept over his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

"Good girl," he cooed, which scrunched my nose up.

That's a no from me.

Once I realized he spoke to a client, I stepped back but he held up his hand. Thankfully, his call ended as quickly as he finished with me. Tipping back in his chair, he reclined behind the same desk he sat behind and fired my ass. Across from him, my hands fisted my hips and I shot out my best eye daggers at him.

"Thank you." He chuckled to his phone caller. "Of course."

Eww. Just eww.

"Juneau," he greeted me in a deep, nasal voice that at one point I found sexy.

Why did I find it sexy?

Knowing what a total sleazeball the guy was, he now sounded... annoying as fuck. He was the auditory version of pouring a colony of fire ants into my ears.

The absolute lack of surprise on his face, with no question as to why I was here or even how I got into the building, froze my feet where they stood.

"Please, come in," he encouraged me with curled inward fingers and a nod at his guest chair.