Page 139 of Catfish

Me: And what would you want?

Chase: You, of course.

Me: Doesn’t that mean I get to pop you in the dick?

Chase: I’m not into the kinky shit, but…

Chase: The rest of the shit I want to say won’t look good for me in court if you come after me next.

Me: Always watching your ass.

Chase: I’d rather watch yours, but maybe I’ll make that my next bet.

Me: You’re a pig and deal.

Me: I'd love to talk, but I gotta run.

Chase: No blowjobs!

Me: Bye, idiot. *kissy emoji*

When I arrive at Wade’s office, I don’t stop to tell the receptionist I’m here, I don’t seek out Emmy to say hello, I stride right into Wade Lockwood’s office like I own the damn place.

He's typing away at his laptop, eyes focused on his screen, but I know he senses me, heard me enter because a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Governor,” I snide.

“Hello, Miss Shelton,” he greets, peering up for a brief second before looking back down at his screen.

“You made me come down here, I’m assuming you can make it happen?”

It’s all he needs to do to tell me he’s fucking around with me. I see the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

It’s about to go down.

And not on his dick.

? Girl Crush — Harry Styles ?

She’s biting her tongue because I’m ten seconds away from being called every name in the book, but she needs this damn favor. Emmy has been bitching at me since they hung up, informing me that this child’s birthday party could open a lot of doors for her.

And I want that.

I just want to get back at her a little for bringing Jed Hardison into my office.

“It’s urgent,” she leers, looming closer to my desk. “The party is in two days.”

I nod nonchalantly. “That does sound urgent.”

More typing, more ignoring her. Reagan shifts her weight and inhales a deep breath, so I take that exact moment to start counting to a hundred.

“Can you make it happen?” she repeats.

I know I’m being a petty asshole. That it doesn’t matter who she hangs out with on her free time. But her making my delivery was my time. And the fact that I’ve already warned here to where it flew right of her head—that’s a problem.

I finish up my email and close my laptop, finally giving her my full attention. My eyes flick over her light pink romper that goes to her gold sandals. She's dressed casually today, more than likely running around with her head cut off, and I'm wasting more of her time.

Like she does mine at night when I’m alone and reenvisioning the outfit she wore that day.

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