Page 36 of Desserts for Stressed People

“Until you go back to your chaotic little department.”

So four-and-a-half weeks. I’m pretty confident I’ll win. My favorite dessert is so unimpressive he’ll never think about it. “Perfect. That gives me enough time to decide what I want.”

“Nah, it’ll also give you enough time to think up a backup plan when I win, and youdon’tget what you want.”

I suppress a chuckle and grab one half of the muffin. I’m not big on blueberries, but I will not give myself away that easily.

“Do we have a deal?” he asks.

I stare at the hand he’s offering me and hesitate for a second, not because I lack the confidence to win, but because when we met, we didn’t shake hands, and as I passed him one file or another, our fingers never grazed. This is the first time I’ll get to touch Shane.

“If you’re worried about the degrading things I’d ask you to do, don’t. I’ll keep it respectful enough. We don’t want to give HR a headache.”

I can feel myself blushing as I fixate on his mischievous eyes and dark lashes. Then I grab his hand and shake it, ignoring what the contact of his skin against mine does to my stomach. “Okay. We have a deal.”

Chapter10

It Takes One Dick Pic

Kicking the apartment door shut,I inhale the smell of the sea-breeze aroma diffuser I got last week. I’m exhausted. Not only did Shane and I walk a lot today, which in my heels wasn’t all too pleasant, but being around him makes me tense. It’s difficult to explain. He makes me feel safe and comfortable, like a familiar song or a comfort movie. Yet my knees buckle every time he smiles at me.

I fit the shoes neatly on the side of the other heels I often wear for work, the ones permanently stained with my blood on the inner part, then I enter the bathroom and wash my face. There’s something that I’ve been avoiding the whole day, but I can’t ignore it anymore. My phone. Or rather, the two people who texted Nevaeh. Shane and Alex. I didn’t check either text on my way back home because Shane drove me here—after we were done with the third location, it was way past office time.

At least I feel like I know which we should choose. I still wish Corinne had come, because, as expected, when I asked Shane his opinion, he said he trusted my judgment.Yeah, right.The man is even more of a control freak than I am. And I am pretty sure there is only one correct answer in his mind, and he is testing me.

Grabbing the makeup remover, I scrub my face.

“I didn’t hear you come back.”

The small plastic bottle flies out of my hands, my heart tumbling. “God! You scared me,” I say to Alex, who lazily smiles.

“How are you?” He comes close and kisses my lips.

I haven’t seen him in a week, and I’m so shaken by the sudden affectionate gesture that I temporarily lose the ability to speak. “I’m good,” I finally say. “How was your trip?”

He shrugs. “It was okay. Work.”

I grab the pink bottle lying on its side on top of the carpet. “Right.”

“What’s for dinner?”

There’s a pout on my face as I turn to the mirror. Of course that’s the first thing he’d say to me. Because that’s what I’m here for. To give blowjobs, clean, and cook. “Can you get a pizza? I’m exhausted.”

Once he nods and leaves the bathroom, I stare at the mirror. I am so tense my hands are shaking. Grabbing my phone, I shout that I’m taking a shower and lock the door behind me with a renewed sense of purpose. I need to see what he told Nevaeh.

I check my notifications, immediately freezing. As I imagined during the car ride, Alex matched with me, then texted me. What has me squinting at my screen, however, is that the last messages he sent are pictures.

Each of my heartbeats grows more painful, but I open our conversation and notice the green dot next to his name. With a gasp, I bring a hand to my mouth and drop the phone onto the washing machine.

He’s online right now, when he should be ordering his pizza. While I’m in the bathroom, a wall away from him.

It takes me a couple of minutes to recover from the nausea squeezing my belly, but when I do, my heart still goes a thousand miles an hour.

The pictures. No, it can’t be—it’s not what I’m thinking. Alex is a human pile of garbage, and I had no idea until a week ago. But there is no way that he’s that type of man. No. Yet I can’t find another explanation. It has to be nudes, or dick pics, or some other horrifying surprise.

I sigh and grab my phone—only one way to know. I open the conversation again and scroll up. “Hey” the first message says. “Wanna see how hard your pictures made me?” says the second. Then, pictures.

He’s that type of man.