Page 43 of Red Flag, Green Light

Sara: Yes.

Sweetly, Rouge sends me two emojis: a thumbs up and a tumbler glass.

So I get to work.

Chapter Thirteen

Knowledge is power. But I should have left information on chocolate milk X alcohol pairings alone.

Mars

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.

So you’d really think people would have better things to do than read a dark romance about off-kilter characters, yet Jove’s and my Valentine book continues to soar in the Amazon store, beating out even a “Naughty Coupon” book, whatever that is.

My head hurts.

It feels like I’ve never had water in my life.

Squinting at my stupid, meaningless work, I nurse an ice-cold glass of not vodka and sigh.

My ads are slipping. Frequency’s rising. I need to update the videos, which means I need to make the videos.

And check on my stocks.

And assess whether or not I’m pulling funds from one of my high-yield savings accounts to dump into one with a better APY.

Messages.

Fan mail.

I blink at my emails, wondering when I opened them and hoping it means I’m done updating ads. The top subject line declares:You Should Be Ashamed of Yourself.

Obviously, that sounds fun, so I click on it and read an essay about how my work is sick and repulsive. It’s a real rant. Longer than five paragraphs, too, which means it’s not even a Baconion essay. Possibly, it’s a research project, considering this dweebis pulling content references from several of Rouge’s books to support their claim about howno oneshould be reading them.

Even though it’s pretty darn clear they are.

“Lame,” I mutter, and sip, and reply:the only thing i am ashamed of is my shoulders

Maybe I’ll turn auto-capitalization off on my phone. I think I’m growing attached to the way lowercase I’s look. I should put them everywhere. Leave a pitiful trail of lowercase sentence starters and neglected punctuation wherever I go.

“That will literally make her hate you,” I grumble, letting my eyes close.

This is stupid.

I am stupid.

And a dumb hangover is no excuse not to do my morning pushups, but I simply cannot locate the strength.

At some point, my head finds itself on my desk where it remains until a piercing notification assaults my impoverished ears. Grimace in full swing, I pull my attention up to my monitor.

Sara.

Ceres.

My chest squeezes.

Sara: Done.

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