Page 144 of One Bossy Disaster

I can’t let him.

“Shepherd, no. Let them make up their own minds. I’ll either win or lose based on what I said. Nothing else.”

“We completely agree. Nothing else. I just need to know it’s the only factor they’re considering. Call me their friendly reminder,” he rumbles in the most unfriendly way, tapping his watch for the time. “I have to go now. See you tonight. In the meantime, Hannah has HR on your side if there’s any more trouble.”

“I know,” I whisper weakly.

With one last pat on my shoulder—a hand that’s removed almost as fast as it touches me—he turns and militantly strides on, leaving me alone to slowly make my way back to my shared office.

Mark greets me like a bright-eyed puppy.

He immediately slaps me with fifty questions about how it went.

Honestly, I barely care.

I’m still stuck on that long walk of shame back to my hole, the people passing, the whispers tossed around like frisbees.

I can imagine all the crap they’re saying even if I can’t make out a word.

I’m sure they’re talking about the way Shepherd pulled me aside, if anyone saw it.

Sighing, I do my best to ignore this torture and make a few new social media posts to my Instagram. All otters, all the time.

I’m not posting a word about shit talk and kisses that never should’ve happened. If people don’t like that, they can hit the Unfollow.

The trolls are bad enough to temporarily disable comments, though.

My DMs are overflowing, too, but I don’t have the energy to go through and block them all. Later.

“It must be terrible.” Mark doesn’t sound like he’s faking it this time. He nods at my phone. “That’s not a good face. Are they still spamming you?”

“Eh, it’s what happens when you get caught in something like this. I’m used to it.” My smile stretches across my face like clay and sags almost as quickly.

This is definitely not the kind of attention I’m used to.

“You need anything? Coffee? Water? Something stronger to take the edge off? Our little secret, of course...” He jerks a thumb at people walking by beyond the glass.

“Well, I won’t start drinking my problems away, but an iced tea would be amazing if you can run down to that machine in the break room,” I say gratefully.

“On it! Then if you’re not too busy you can help me with the grant applications. I’m just one guy, I can never keep up,” he says. “A lot of outside charities are interested in working with Home Shepherd, but we can only sign on to collaborate with so many.”

I nod automatically.

That makes sense.

And helping Mark feels better than stewing in my own misery all day, wondering when I’ll get the disappointing 'thanks, but no' message from the board.

Still. As the clock ticks closer to five, knowing I’ll see Shepherd tonight is the only thing that keeps me going.

I’m too excited.

Don’t lose your head. He wants to talk,I remind myself.

Right.

Just because he comforted me in his office and made noise about charging to my rescue doesn’t mean it was anything more than a few beautifully reckless days with a massive price we’re both paying.

A temporary paradise where we played at being someone else before returning to the cold, hard minefield of reality.

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