“Fuck, go ahead. It looks like today might be a total wash with what you’re describing,” I grumble.
“No kidding. Imagine my surprise when Detective Allen and Goss showed up to tell me they got a break in the case a couple of days ago. The only reason you and Dylan were left out of the loop is because it involves an employee here. You’d have never guessed who it is either, which is shocking even to me. Especially when Dylan said Priscilla is the gossip queen and this wasn’t spoken of even by her.” If Dante would quit beating around the bush, that would be awesome.
“Well, quit leaving me in the dark, why don’t you,” I interrupt him, trying to convey for him to hurry the fuck up.
“I’m not even sure if you know who this employee is, and you know I charge by the hour. So, I’m going to make this last.” The fucker. As if I don’t pay him enough as it is.
“You make me wait too much longer, I’ll just wait until the whole thing unfolds.”
“What did I miss? Why did you let me fall asleep?” Dylan wakes up, much faster than she usually does. Apparently, our voices were enough to wake her up out of her stupor.
“Nothing, because this jerk won’t get on with the damn show.” She stands up, making her way around my desk. I make room for her to sit in my lap.
“Good, there’s no way I’m going to sleep through everything.” Dylan slides into my lap. I almost wish she would, so the added stress doesn’t make her sick again. I’m already wondering if Dylan isn’t developing an ulcer with all of this bullshit that’s been hanging around for far too long.
“Whatever, as if there’s anything you can do about it,” Dante says before continuing. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but someone tried to make another deposit at your old bank. This time, the teller notified the manager on duty. They allowed the deposit to go through and took a thumbprint. Shocking, really, if you think about it, considering how last time went. Anyways, the detectives were called. They took every bit of evidence the bank had, and now were here.” Dylan is sitting up, fully engrossed in what Dante is saying.
“Okay, so who’s the person who was impersonating me, then?” she asks. Now she’ll finally understand just how annoying my friend and attorney is.
“It seems it was one of the employees downstairs. My guess is he was pissed that he was still stuck as the low man on the totem pole, being an assistant in marketing, and couldn’t finagle a spot with Wesley. Apparently, he thought a shakeup in owners would mean employees would be moved around. He had no idea that Dylan wasn’t going anywhere. That’s why I’m assuming you were targeted,” Dante finishes.
“Holy shit, and of course, me dating said boss surely didn’t help.” Dylan sinks back against my chest.
“I guess I need to call public relations about this. It’ll be all over the news in no time, and I’d like to keep Dylan’s name out of it.” If I could tear that asshole apart limb from fucking limb, I’d do it, and not because of what he’s done to me, but what he’s done to Dylan.
“I’ll call your father. You know he’ll want to be here during the whole process.” Dylan and my dad are attached at the hip. Half the time, those two are ganging up on me. I have to say it’s something I love to watch.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” I kiss the side of her head, then she’s up and attempting to walk out to her office.
“Not a good idea, Dylan. You might want to use your cell phone in here. Who knows what kind of company you’ll get if not,” Dante interjects before I get a chance.
“Ugh, this is so annoying,” she harumphs but does what is suggested. Meanwhile, Dante sits with me, both of us going back and forth with my public relations department. He and I both give our input on how to spin this. What a fucked-up day this is going to be. My only hope is that shit doesn’t get too out of hand.
Seventeen
Dylan
Not getting to go to work today was a doozy. I’m a creature of habit. Though sleeping in was a definite plus, waking up without Wesley in our bed, that was a total bummer. But I guess that’s par for the course. Shit definitely went sideways, and keeping my name out of the press was impossible. It could have been the teller at the bank. I’m thinking it was probably Priscilla. She’d probably sell dirty underwear to a car salesman with the talk she puts on.
That’s why when I roll out of bed, stretching as I make my way to the bathroom, I’m stopped in my tracks. There’s no way I did it again, is there? I mean, yes, I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night, have erotic dreams with Wes as the focus, but like every time before that, he’s taking me soon enough. I start moaning and stop my fingers before they trail a path down my stomach, heading towards my pussy.