Page 11 of Sinful Temptations

“Sure.” She picked up the phone.

I strode toward Bruce’s door, my teeth clamped, my hands clenched, my mother’s gaunt face emblazoned across my brain. Each step had another spike of anger shooting through me.

Without knocking, I shoved his door open. Bruce was at his desk with his feet up, picking at something in his teeth. He just about toppled sideways in his rush to sit upright. His gaping mouth shut and his cheeks reddened. “What the hell?”

I strode to his desk, aiming my finger at him. “How dare you give my phone number to my mother.”

“She’s your mother. Of course I did.” His yellowy eyes shifted to the door and back.

“You had no right to do that.”

The red spider veins swarming his bulbous nose darkened by the second. “She said it was an emergency. What’s your problem?”

“If I’d wanted her to have my fucking number, I would’ve given it to her.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that.” He stood so fast his chair spun backward, toppling a golf putter he’d rested against the filing cabinet.

“Or what, Bruce? You’ll fire me? You’ve effectively already done that by not helping with my visa. Remember?” The extent of my fury surprised me, and by the bulge in his eyes, I’d say he was gobsmacked too.

“Ohhh.” He huffed out a breath, and I didn't have time to dodge the disgusting stench. “That’s what this is about.” His eyelids lowered like he was talking down to an imbecile.

I shook my head. “No, that’s not my problem. Well, it is, but that’s not why I’m here right now.” I bounced my fist on his desk. “Giving out my details was an invasion of my privacy.”

“It’s not your number. It’s the Vacation Dreamz company phone and number.” He smirked, all smug and triumphant. His eyes did a creepy swoop to my cleavage.

“Stop looking at my fucking tits.”

He gasped. “I’m not.” But even as he said it, his eyes yo-yoed down to my breasts and back up again.

I bulged my eyes at him. “Oh, my god. See!”

“I . . . I . . .” He shot his gaze to the door like he expected Tracy to save him. Huffing, he grabbed his chair and sat again.

“Say you're sorry.” Aiming my pretty painted nail at him, I wished it was a poisonous blow dart that could render him comatose long enough for me to tattooassholeacross his forehead. “Say it.”

He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No.” He flicked his hand. “Get over yourself.”

I clenched and unclenched my jaw, forcing myself to calm down. “Say you're sorry right now, or I'm going to quit, andyou’ll have twenty-five angry tourists in your office in three minutes.” In the back of my mind, it registered that I was already about to lose my job, so my threat was futile. But the shock on his face made it worth it.

He shook his head so swiftly his jowls wobbled. “You’re taking this out of proportion, Daisy. She’s your mother for God’s sake.”

I spun on my heel and strode for the door.

A bang behind me confirmed he’d thumped his fists on his desk. “Get back here.”

I kept walking, my swinging boobs giving my new sexy lingerie its second workout.

“Daisy, I’m sorry. Okay. Will you just stop?”

I stopped just shy of his door, tugged on my uniform shirt, and spun to him. “Pardon?”

His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.” He spat the words. “Okay?”

“Sorry means nothing unless you know why you’re sorry.”

“For fuck’s sake. What do you want from me?”

“I want an apology that means something.”

---