Page 6 of Bona Fide

“She’s here.”

Here’s where things start getting more ridiculous. My heart does this skip-run thing in my chest while my blood pressure skyrockets into oblivion. I’ve never had this kind of reaction. Not when I won the position of governor. Not when I had a threesome in college. Sure as hell didn’t react like this when I married Demi.

And I fucking loathe it.

This powerless feeling—we don’t play well together. I’m ready to throw myself out of this six-story window and just off my whole damn self right now. I’m out of control. I don’t know how to curb all the moods and impulses that keep slicing through me at any given time.

“Hey Reagan,” Emmy suddenly greets cheerily through my body’s current panic attack.

Slowly, I force myself to glance up and straighten my spine. I can feel sweat starting to form on my forehead. An unexpected chill creeps up my spine, warning me to watch myself. To look out for that vital organ called my heart not to leap out of my chest and into Reagan’s soft hands.

I watch her stride purposely to my office. Black dress pants and nude heels, a plain gray sweatshirt and hair that bounces off her shoulders as she makes her way to her mission—quitting.

She’s here to fucking quit.

Over. My. Dead. Fucking. Body.

“What’s up, Emmy?” Reagan mutters, standing alongside her in my doorway. “Do you mind giving us a minute?”

“Of course,” my faithful assistant replies, stealing a quick glance at me. I hope my face doesn’t give away my current mind fuck. The last thing I need is more of Emmy in my office and up my ass.

Reagan walks deeper into the room and sucks all the air out of the room.

My next inhale doesn’t happen.

My right leg starts to bounce underneath my desk as I clasp my hands together in anticipation, waiting for her to suck the soul right out of me with her eyes.

And it’s happening.

I can feel it with each blink. The disdain in her frown along with the tension in her shoulders.

Reagan Shelton is done with me.

I’m just not done with her yet.

“Shut the door, Em,” I deadpan.

Reagan peers over her shoulder. “You don’t have to, I won’t be here long.”

My assistant is glancing between us like she’s about to witness her parents fighting. The pout that breaks from her lips, the sad eyes that look between Reagan and I.

I’m going to fuck up Emmy’s stress level because I’m just realizing that Reagan’s ongoing hate towards me is going to screw things up.

Gesturing with my hand for her to do what I ask, Em hesitates before slowly closing the door behind her. I return my palms back together, coercing myself to chill the fuck out right now.

She’s just a woman.

I’m the fucking governor.

Chill. The. Fuck. Out.

“Please take a seat, Miss Shelton,” I convey when her head turns back to face me.

“Won’t be necessary, Governor,” she retorts. “I’ve come to resign from my position as your party planner.”

My teeth clench together so hard that I think I’m going to chip one.

Instead, I perk a brow. “Have you now?” She doesn’t pry her gaze from mine, defiant and prideful as hell.

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