Page 36 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Olivia: I—I need a drink.
Lucian: You need me.
Olivia: You need THERAPY.
Lucian: Baby, the only session we need is the one where I put you on your knees, fist your hair, and make you look up at me while you take me down your throat like a good girl.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: Got nothing to say now, do you?
Olivia: I should not be turned on right now.
Lucian: But you are.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: That’s what I fucking thought. Now be a good girl, check the quotes I emailed you, and let me know which one you like best.
Olivia: There aren’t any prices.
Lucian: Only timelines, I know. That’s all I need you to focus on, Liv. The rest is my issue.
Olivia: But I need to pay.
Lucian: You get that all they want is what I can give them right?
Olivia: What is it?
Lucian: That’s for me to worry about.
Olivia: You’re not paying for this, right?
Lucian: Not a penny.
Olivia: Fine, I’ll look into it and give you an answer tomorrow. Thank you for . . . what are you going to do?
Lucian: That’s for me to worry about :wink: emoji
Chapter Twelve
Olivia
How to Lose Control of Your Life in Thirty Days or Less
I knew today was going to be a mess.
But this?
This is absolute destruction.
Pipes—everywhere. Wires dangling from the ceiling like some kind of horror movie set. The floor is littered with tools, drywall dust, and what I’m praying is just dirt, not some black mold mutation preparing to crawl into my lungs and turn me into a cautionary tale.
Mike and his team are demolishing my clinic as if they’re filming a special for HGTV.
And me?
I have zero control over any of it.
