And then, slowly, I glance at my phone.
One last text.
Unknown Number: Sweet dreams, gorgeous.
* * *
I’m trying to focus.
Really, I am.
But Ryan is hovering over my desk like a micromanaging vulture, and I’m two seconds away from snapping my laptop shut and filing for early retirement.
“Are you sure that’s the right formatting?” he asks, peering over my shoulder.
I grit my teeth, forcing a smile. “Yes, Ryan. Because I haveeyesandbasic competence.”
He doesn’t take the hint. “Maybe double-check? Just in case.”
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and remind myself that murder is illegal.
“Ryan.” I turn to him, forcing patience into my voice. “If you’re going to stand there and critique my every keystroke, at least bring me coffee. Otherwise,let me work.”
He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just trying to help.”
He’s not.
He’s trying to hover, because…well, honestly, I don’t know why. Maybe he just doesn’t trust me to handle things. Maybe he’s just one of those guys who thinks he knows better.
Either way, I let out a long, pointed sigh, turning back to my work, ignoring him until he finally, finally takes the hint and walks away.
As soon as he’s gone, I pull out my phone and text the only person who makes me feel better these days.
Me: Tell me, do men get some kind of secret pleasure out of micromanaging women?
Unknown Number: Who’s pissing you off this time, printsessa?
Me: Ryan. He won’t stop breathing down my neck while I work. I swear to God, if I wanted this kind of supervision, I’d have stayed in preschool.
I bite my lip the second I hit send.
Shit.
I just dropped a name.
For half a second, my stomach twists.
But then I exhale, rolling my eyes at myself. Ryan is one of the most common names in existence. My mystery texter has no way of tracking me down with just that.
I shake it off as my phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number: Want me to take care of him?
I snort.
Me: Tempting. But no, I think HR would frown upon casual assassinations in the workplace.
Unknown Number: Their loss.