fast. It missed, glancing off the corner of a pot before hitting the floor and splintering.
“Way to go, boss. Should we chalk that up to employee theft—or abuse? Now we have to buy a new one.”
Whoosh.
The door burst open. The steady rain had prevented the normal pedestrian traffic from venturing through; the only customer that would step in had to be serious. Abby scraped the broken plastic into her palm, dropped it on the counter, and turned to make a sale.
“You slept with Jackson?” Carter’s face was ashen as he stomped forward, splattering drips across her floor.
“Excuse me? Is that really a question you’re entitled to ask? Who I’ve been with? I mean you hardly know me. Just because you—we—oh, forget it. Look, you had your fun. Now get lost.” Abby whirled around and disappeared into the stockroom. Where did he get off asking? He was the one that locked her in a conference room, kissed her brain cells dead, then embellished the details. What did he care who she slept with? Or didn’t in this case. It wasn’t like he’d made it that far. Thank God for that. At least she hadn’t been a total moron and had held onto at least one or two cells of gray matter. She’d never been the type before and wasn’t likely to start now.
The door to the stockroom bumped her behind when it closed at her back. Her hands shook. She’d squeezed the plastic so hard it carved a small cut in her palm. The patter of Caroline’s shoes was the only sound in the other room. Her muffled voice followed. “Soooo, I’m Caroline.”
Abby peered through the one-way glass window in their office, thankful she’d had it installed. Of course, it had been for an entirely different reason. She wanted to make sure they’d see customers who entered if they were in the stockroom.
At the moment, it was also convenient for watching Carter fume. His eyes widened as recognition hit. He didn’t take the hand Caroline extended. His were shoved in his pockets and didn’t budge.
“Caroline, huh?” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Caroline, who likes to take pictures and spy on people—how well does Abby know my friend Jackson, really?”
Caroline’s head started to turn toward the window, then she corrected herself. She squared her shoulders and straightened. “Um. Well, I’d say she has his number memorized. Just like you know which parts of Abby’s anatomy include implants, you sorry turd.”
His mouth dropped. He blinked his eyes twice. And left.
Badeep deep.
Yikes. Should she look at the message? Was there any point in doing so? They were done. Toast. And she had work to do.
Badeep deep.
Oh, hell. She grabbed the phone from her purse.
Chapter Fourteen
We’re done man. Couldn’t just leave this one alone, could u? Let me know when u grow up. Till then, go to hell.
He crammed the phone in his pocket and stomped through the drizzle to his office. This wasn’t the first time Jackson had tried to horn in on his date. It had been a game since high school. He hadn’t really cared then. Much.
Jackson was charming and everyone drew to him like flies to sugar. It wasn’t too far-fetched that when Carter had grown tired of someone, they clung to Jackson’s supportive nice-guy routine. Not to mention, the guy was filthy rich and hadn’t needed to work full-time his entire life. How they’d become such good friends was a puzzle.
Well, not really. He remembered it vividly. Jackson moved into the house at the corner of his street when they were ten. Since everyone else on the street had daughters, not sons, their friendship was a no-brainer. And a necessity for both of them unless they wanted Barbie dolls and bows on their heads. The competitiveness seemed healthy then. Even in college, it had pushed them to succeed—be their best. Not with girls, but elsewhere.
This was too much, though. Over the line. Carter frowned. He had no idea there’d been a line ’til now. Abby was it.
Abby was it.
The phrase caught in
“Way to go, boss. Should we chalk that up to employee theft—or abuse? Now we have to buy a new one.”
Whoosh.
The door burst open. The steady rain had prevented the normal pedestrian traffic from venturing through; the only customer that would step in had to be serious. Abby scraped the broken plastic into her palm, dropped it on the counter, and turned to make a sale.
“You slept with Jackson?” Carter’s face was ashen as he stomped forward, splattering drips across her floor.
“Excuse me? Is that really a question you’re entitled to ask? Who I’ve been with? I mean you hardly know me. Just because you—we—oh, forget it. Look, you had your fun. Now get lost.” Abby whirled around and disappeared into the stockroom. Where did he get off asking? He was the one that locked her in a conference room, kissed her brain cells dead, then embellished the details. What did he care who she slept with? Or didn’t in this case. It wasn’t like he’d made it that far. Thank God for that. At least she hadn’t been a total moron and had held onto at least one or two cells of gray matter. She’d never been the type before and wasn’t likely to start now.
The door to the stockroom bumped her behind when it closed at her back. Her hands shook. She’d squeezed the plastic so hard it carved a small cut in her palm. The patter of Caroline’s shoes was the only sound in the other room. Her muffled voice followed. “Soooo, I’m Caroline.”
Abby peered through the one-way glass window in their office, thankful she’d had it installed. Of course, it had been for an entirely different reason. She wanted to make sure they’d see customers who entered if they were in the stockroom.
At the moment, it was also convenient for watching Carter fume. His eyes widened as recognition hit. He didn’t take the hand Caroline extended. His were shoved in his pockets and didn’t budge.
“Caroline, huh?” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Caroline, who likes to take pictures and spy on people—how well does Abby know my friend Jackson, really?”
Caroline’s head started to turn toward the window, then she corrected herself. She squared her shoulders and straightened. “Um. Well, I’d say she has his number memorized. Just like you know which parts of Abby’s anatomy include implants, you sorry turd.”
His mouth dropped. He blinked his eyes twice. And left.
Badeep deep.
Yikes. Should she look at the message? Was there any point in doing so? They were done. Toast. And she had work to do.
Badeep deep.
Oh, hell. She grabbed the phone from her purse.
Chapter Fourteen
We’re done man. Couldn’t just leave this one alone, could u? Let me know when u grow up. Till then, go to hell.
He crammed the phone in his pocket and stomped through the drizzle to his office. This wasn’t the first time Jackson had tried to horn in on his date. It had been a game since high school. He hadn’t really cared then. Much.
Jackson was charming and everyone drew to him like flies to sugar. It wasn’t too far-fetched that when Carter had grown tired of someone, they clung to Jackson’s supportive nice-guy routine. Not to mention, the guy was filthy rich and hadn’t needed to work full-time his entire life. How they’d become such good friends was a puzzle.
Well, not really. He remembered it vividly. Jackson moved into the house at the corner of his street when they were ten. Since everyone else on the street had daughters, not sons, their friendship was a no-brainer. And a necessity for both of them unless they wanted Barbie dolls and bows on their heads. The competitiveness seemed healthy then. Even in college, it had pushed them to succeed—be their best. Not with girls, but elsewhere.
This was too much, though. Over the line. Carter frowned. He had no idea there’d been a line ’til now. Abby was it.
Abby was it.
The phrase caught in
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