Page 85 of Last Love

Presley

Discussion Topic 11:  Speak Up For Those in the Back Who Didn’t Hear You the First Time

I’m not entirely sure how I get to work let alone in my office.

Or what Clemmy said about the busses.

Or what Jaye’s email said about the book fair.

The only reason Merrick’s message about now being on vacation even really registers is because it’s Merrick.

My boyfriend’s roommate.

Ex-boyfriend?

He wasn’t cheating on me…

He just…couldn’t…have been.

Could he?

Contemplation regarding the subject and the possibility thankfully isn’t allowed too much time to occupy my mind. The daily routine of phone calls – although ignoring all personal related ones today –, emails, meetings, and classroom check-ins does an amazing job of preventing my brain from bouncing down the rabbit hole of doubt where I question my judgment.

My decisions.

Myself.

And right when there’s a break in the day for those insecurities to rear their ugly head, I start shoving packets of saltine crackers in my mouth, super thankful Clemmy never eats them when she orders herself soup, which is typically four times a week.

God, who really likes that much soup?!

I shove another salty treat into my mouth at the same time I finish registering for a seminar on advanced management techniques for small business owners.

Is it that I work too much?

Is that why he felt he had to ship in his own fucking Vivian Ward?

Ugh.

That tramp was nowhere near as pretty as Julia Roberts was in the movie.

“Uh…boss?” Clemmy’s voice cuts in through the crunching.

Not loving the way she’s suspiciously staring at me, I lift my eyebrows in question. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, I buzzed and then knocked three times before I came in. You just…weren’t responding.”

Not good, Pres.

Not good.

Forcing a professional smile is attached to an equal phony smile. “Must’ve been too focused on the form. My apologies.” I dust my hands on my forest green dress pants. “What did you need, Clemmy?”

“You’re two o'clock appointment is here.”

I pretend I’m well aware of whoever or whatever is here to see me. “Send them.”

She hesitates to nod, which strikes me as strange.

The wrong kind of strange.

However, before I can inquire about the action, she motions in the visitor. “Miss Morrison will see you now, Mr. Bloomfield.”

Mr. Bloomfield?

As in –

“Xander,” I breathlessly sigh out loud when his face reveals itself bearing an adoring expression I’m shocked to see.

He sweetly smiles and casually tosses his hand in the air. “I’m your two o’clock.”

Baffled and for some inexplicable reason relieved, I playfully tease, “Did your brother send you here to do the dirty work of helping get your niece in?”

“No.” His soft chuckle wraps around me like an abandoned blanket I had forgotten could ever provide comfort. “We both know his paycheck could never afford a place like this even with his last raise.”

“Your sister didn’t move back from Rome pregnant, did she?”

He continues cautiously approaching my desk while shaking his head. “Thankfully not.”

An unmistakable twinge of jealousy trickles down my spine. “Is this meeting about childcare for…your own child?”

“No.”

I don’t even bother holding in my sigh of relief.

Thank fuck for that.

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