All my life I’ve been prepared to do a job that not many people could handle.
I take over companies and destroy them—take what isn’t mine.
I hate that it applies to her too.
She will always be Wade Anderson’s wife.
I let myself become too attached to her. From the moment I left Paris, all I have thought about is her. I’ve chased her, I’ve called her, I’ve booked hotel rooms and begged to see her every lunch hour, I’ve gone to her house and put up with shit from her children. And for the first time ever since I’ve been dating, I’ve done everything I could to try to make someone happy.
And she was missing him.
I feel stupid, but worst of all, for the first time, I feel hurt.
I don’t like it.
Sammia appears with a big slice of chocolate cake on a plate and a cup of coffee. “Here we go.” She smiles sweetly. “Sugar for the fuzzy bear.” She messes up my hair, and I swat h
er away.
“I am not a fuzzy bear,” I snap, annoyed.
“Have you seen a mirror, Tris?”
“Shouldn’t you be doing something right now?” I roll my eyes. “You know, like working?”
She giggles. “Now there’s a thought.”
“Sammia,” we hear Jameson’s voice call from reception. “Where are you?”
She sighs, and I smile into my coffee cup.
Sammia is Jameson’s PA, and he’s a taskmaster. He arrives at the door and breaks into a broad smile when he sees me. “For Christ’s sake, Sammia, book him into a fucking barbershop today, please.”
“Fuck off. It’s not that bad,” I huff.
“It’s appalling. Have you looked at yourself?” he scoffs.
“Yes, but I can get a haircut, and you’re still ugly. Both of you, get out of my office,” I demand.
Sammia laughs, and they both disappear down the corridor. I walk into the bathroom and peer into the mirror.
My hair is the consistency of cotton wool and standing on end. “Fuck this,” I whisper. I wet my fingers and pull them through my hair as I try to control it.
I go back to my desk and buzz Sammia.
“Hi,” she answers.
“Can you book me in with a barber, please?”
“Already done. Twelve forty-five at Max’s on Sixth.”
“What would I do without you, Sam?” I ask.
“Probably call your own personal assistant.”
I lean back in my chair and smile.
“And if you didn’t have a habit of making them all fall in love with you, Tris, they could be on this floor instead of downstairs, and I wouldn’t have to do all your crap.”