Page 23 of Don't Run
Picking up my wire frames, I rest them on my face and exhale. Then I click over to the in-office camera feed.
Journey McIntire is posted up at Micah’s desk, and my good mood vanishes.
Picking up my desk phone, I watch the micro expressions that flit across my girl’s face until she answers.
“Yes, Mr. Carter?”
“Come see me in my office. We need to go over my schedule for the next two weeks.”
“Yes, sir. Be right there.” She hangs up, standing with her notebook and mug full of apple crisp tea.
I don’t miss how happy she is to have an out to get away from Journey and I bite back a smile as she gets closer to my office door.
Instead of knocking right away, she smooths down the barely bunched material of her dress and takes a deep breath.
Knock.
Knock.
“Come in.”
She walks in and the first thing I notice are the faint marks around her neck that I didn’t pick up on camera. The scarf around her neck is doing a piss poor job of hiding them and a territorial tug pulls in my chest.
I trace them with my eyes like I’m following a roadmap of the way I owned her. It’s the only proof I have and a souvenir I’ll savor long after they fade.
Micah pastes on a bright—fake—smile she reserves just for me. She’s so easy to read it’s almost laughable some days.
“Good morning, Tahj. How was your dentist appointment?”
“Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “Close the door and have a seat, Ms. Shaw.”
