Page 70 of Snowed In With The Second Chance Daddy

I work long hours and by the time I have free time, I have to catch up on stupid life shit. And sleep. Don’t forget sleep.

I’ve been living on energy drinks and takeout since I returned from Chicago. I haven’t even unpacked.

Not that I want to go through my suitcase and remember all the outfits I wore in Chicago. The dresses Trevor tore off me, the underwear I didn’t wear so he could have easy access.

The only thing that’s really changed is my hair. I’ve gone from blue to a lilacky purple which got me snickers at work since my name is Iris. I’m not going to put a whole color off limits just because people think it’s funny I’m named after something purple.

My latest project sits on my computer unfinished. I have zero inspiration to go through it for the umpteenth time and refine the prototype for something that will be ready for beta testers.

It’s the same shit, different day. A fighting game full of microtransactions that relies on people getting hooked on something and giving the company ninety-nine cents over and over again until the end of time.

Becca, one of the only other woman in the office, swings over with a fresh cup of coffee, perching on the edge of my desk. Well, it’s more like a table.

We have one of those open concept offices which is an eyesore given all the fucking equipment everyone has on their desks here.

“Hey, rockstar.” Her hip bumps my Croft award on the corner of my desk. “How’s the work going?”

I readjust my Croft, the golden diamond shape I keep on my desk to remind everyone that I’m kind of hot shit.

Crofts are given to women in STEM every year, and I earned mine a couple of years ago back in Chicago for a short form game I created with an all-female team.

Of course, people don’t run after Croft award winners the way you’d hope they would. If anything, male dominated industries just get more prickly when they see us coming.

“Could be going better. I just can’t focus.”

“Mm. That time of the month?”

We might be in Seattle, but the dudes still get weirded out when the women in the office talk about their periods.

“No, just…kinda tired of this shit.”

“I hear ya.” Her eyes blink form behind the lenses of her thick glasses. “Working here in the winter is always the worst.”

“Is it?” On one hand, great, at least I can chalk up my fog to the weather rather than being heartbroken. On the other hand,fuck, all winters are going to suck as long as I work here.

“Yeah. Especially because all the dudes who usually like to hike are all cramped up and start getting pissy about everything. And they giveusa hard time for being hormonal. I swear, they’re even worse.”

“Hear fucking hear,” I grab my coffee mug and clink it against hers.

From over my other shoulder, Tad, the office manager, calls out. “Gift for Iris.”

My eyes roll so far back in my head I want to puke.

“Girl, don’t give me that look. If I had a guy sending me flowers here every other day, I’d be over the moon.”

Tad places the bouquet right in front of me and continues on his trajectory through the office. Not the most friendly guy, I’ll say that.

Today’s bouquet is all red, pink, and white. Perfectly arranged, fragrant, expensive-looking. And, oh, look at that. A card. Another one.

“It’s getting close to Valentine’s Day…” Becca waggles her eyebrows. “Great time of year for forgiveness.”

I pluck the card out of the bouquet. These started arriving about a week after New Year.

Two to three times a week, Trevor sends flowers to the office. I guess it’s his way of trying to show me he cares without running after me. A loophole in the boundary. Of course.

I unfold the card and, again, the same message.

I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll wait.

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