Page 15 of Famous Last Words
When I catch the flash of a devious smirk tug at his lips as if he can tell what I’m thinking, I quickly turn back to my laptop in an attempt to put an end to whatever this whole interaction is. But, of course, Tadd struts around the divider of my cubicle, inviting himself in and perching his ass right there on the side of my desk. He’s far too close. I’m inundated by his Gucci aftershave, and it’s sickeningly overwhelming.
I make a show of rolling away on my chair as far as the limited space will allow, but he just sniggers, like I’m playing with him. I eye the stapler next to my coffee mug, ready to use it if I have to.
“What do you want, Tadd?”
“What?” He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I can’t be proud of my best girl?”
I steady him with a no-bullshit look. “I am not your bestanything.”
He bites down on his bottom lip, concealing his smirk, eyes darkening as they trail down my body and back up again. “We used to have some fun, you and me.”
I balk. “Yeah, I used to love being used and cheated on, having everyone else in this office laughing behind my back because I was stupid enough to fall for your bullshit.”
He doesn’t deny it. How can he when I caught him red-handed? He does, however, have the audacity to cock his head to the side, looking at me like I’ve wounded him.
“Look, Tadd,” I begin through gritted teeth, “I’m really busy, so if you don’t mind—” I glance pointedly at the exit.
“I have a potential listing. Columbus Circle. A penthouse overlooking the park,” he says instead of leaving like he knows I want him to.
“Congratulations,” I say flatly.
Tadd chuckles under his breath, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, I was going to see if you might want to come along to the pitch with me. If it goes the way I expect it to, then maybe we can figure something out.”
He presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and I swear everything he does is suggestive and disgusting, but it’s his tone that irks me more than anything. By “figure something out” he’s referring to something crude and inappropriate, and all I do is blink at him because, frankly, I’d rather stick a cardboard fork in my eye.
“I have an appointment with the seller on Tuesday,” he says after a moment, pushing off my desk and standing to his full height. “Think about it and let me know.” And with that, he offers me one last lingering look before turning and sauntering out.
I release the breath I’ve been holding, my shoulders relaxing some, but then he pauses and casts me one last glance over his shoulder, that same arrogant smirk ghosting his lips. “Good job with Allora, sweetheart.”
I glare at his back as he walks away, strutting through the sales floor like he’s God’s gift. He’s something alright. A painful reminder of just how naïve I’d been not so long ago.
Rolling my eyes, I go back to my emails, which is when mycell starts to ring. I glance at the device, grimacing asasshatflashes on the screen. I signed the NDA, so what more does he want?
With an annoyed sigh, I answer. “Yes?”
“Well, hello to you too,baby…”
Seriously. I must really need to get laid, because the way he saysbabydoes things to me I do not want to explore. I cringe at the thought. “What do you want?”
He laughs, and I close my eyes on an exhale. I’m already regretting this.
“Get my schedule?”
Snapping into gear, I click open the unread email I have sitting in my inbox from Andy Hoffman, my eyes bulging as the document loads. “Twopages?” I hiss, keeping my voice low.
“I’m in demand. What can I say?”
I scrunch up my nose as I scour the long list. “Three games a week?”
“Sometimes four.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“You literally know nothing about hockey, huh?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I sass.
“You don’t need to come toeverygame,” he relents. “Just a home game every now and again.”
