Page 44 of Filthy Little Regrets

And if I refuse to wear it?

We can have a naked wedding if you want.

That’s not what I meant.

You’ll wear it.

Don’t count on it.

Grumbling, but admittedly curious about said dress, I take my seat. Apparently, everything is set for us to sayI dolater. The whole thing is so anticlimactic and, frankly, fucked up, that it’s put me in a bad mood. I typicallytry to keep my self-pity at bay, but there’s only so much a woman can take.

No family. No romance. A fake marriage. This isn’t the life my dad wanted for me. He always said I’d do great things. So far, I’ve done unlawful things. I can’t think too hard about whether he’d be disappointed.

Settling in behind my desk, I close my purse in the drawer, my negative thoughts alongside it, and focus on work. Orion sent an email saying he’s out for the first half of the day and Mace has stopped texting, which means I can focus. The building muffles most of the noise from the street, and as I click through my emails, minutes tick by. Silence creeps around me. My body can’t tell the difference between being attacked by a bear and sitting in a room filled with dead air.

Some people enjoy the quiet, but to me, it’s a monster, vicious and cruel. A violent creature that clamps its meaty paws over my face and nose, depriving me of the very oxygen I need to live. Suffocating reminders of how alone I really am.

As my pulse quickens, my throat grows thick, the worst of my repressed feelings threatening to break free of the box I’ve shoved them inside of. I grab the purple over-ear headphones I keep at work and cue up my favorite playlist, settling the muffs over my ears. Closing my eyes, I count my breaths in fours, waiting until my heartbeat slows and I can breathe without pressure constricting my airways.

I release a heavy sigh as the music chases everything else away. With my mind in check, I pick up where I left off, finding evidence of Larry stealing from his clients. Tracking the payments from his business to various payees is tedious, but it takes all of my focus, and as I lose myself in the work, breathing gets a little easier.

It’s easy to feel okay when you shut everything out.

A while later, someone’s hand lands on my shoulder. My heart practically bolts out of my chest. I screech and throw my headphones halfway across the office. The clack of plastic on the thin tile makes me wince.

“I’m so sorry!” The guy who tapped me is five steps away, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I tried to say hello.”

I clutch my chest, do a double take, then squint to make sure I’m not imagining things. “Tony?”

“That’s me,” he says with an easy grin. “Maccon sent me to watch after you.”

Excuse me? “Do I look like I need a babysitter?”

Tony gives me a once-over.

I didn’t mean literally.

“I mean, you are pretty short.”

My hackles rise. “What does my height—you know what? Never mind. TellMacconhe can eat my ass.”

Tony’s eyes widen. “I’m definitely not texting Mace something about your ass.”

A scoff tears out of me. “Unbelievable. Why is everyone so afraid of him?”

“Listen, I’m just doing my job. Are we going to have a problem here, or can I”—he gestures to the seating area—“get to it?”

I glare at the cameras. My phone dings with a new message from my overbearing freaking soon to be hus—no. He’s not that. Not yet. Not ever. He’s simply Mace. The phone dings again. Nope. I’m not speaking—er, texting—to him right now.

Tony eyes the phone warily, taking a step toward the chairs. “You might want to text him back if you don’t want him to show up.”

“Seriously?” My voice is edging on shrill, but it is what it is.

“I don’t make the rules,” Tony says, shaking his head and grabbing my headphones for me. He sets them on my desk with a firm nod, then posts up in one of the empty chairs.

Grudgingly, I check the messages.

MACE

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