Page 54 of Jordan

Marco is watching me with a smirk, while Elio has a raised brow.

“Problems in paradise already?” Marco asks with a knowing grin.

“I have to go.” I tuck my phone into my pocket. “Sunday dinner is at my house next week. Don’t be late.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jordan

I wake up with the worst cramps of my life. After screaming at Bernice for waking me up and demanding I eat breakfast, I go back to sleep. And when she comes in my room to wake me up for lunch, I throw a pillow at her and tell her if she comes in here again, I’ll suffocate her in her sleep.

I don’t usually talk to people that way, even people I don’t like, but I feel like crap and all I want to do is sleep. Plus, she was being rude.

When I wake up and it’s dark, likely dinner time, I’m starving, in pain, and weak.

My periods are usually pretty bad, but not this bad. I blame it on all the stress. Forcing myself out of bed and moving slower than a slug, I make my way to the kitchen and pout when dinner isn’t done. In fact, it hasn’t been started yet.

Enzo’s right-hand man, the one who’s up his ass half the time, is sitting on the couch, looking through a magazine. He eyes me as I walk by. I flip him off. He chuckles.

Thankfully, Bernice isn’t around, or I might actually tear her head off, shove it on a stick, and parade it around the house to show Enzo I can be a heathen too. Bet it would only make him want me more, so it’s probably a bad idea.

I open the fridge to look for something to eat. I glance at each shelf. Milk, juice, and water on the top. Margarine, eggs, and other weird containers on the next. The drawers are full of cheeses and raw vegetables. The door has a few condiments and ingredients that need to be refrigerated.

My stomach growls, and a cramp hits me so hard I grip the fridge door tightly and curl in on myself, breathing through it.

When it passes, I slam the door shut and move to the cabinets, feeling the ass kisser’s eyes on me. I spot the dining room on my way across the kitchen, that bright blue folder and those papers still in the same spot I left them yesterday. They’re still taunting me.

Sugar. Flour. Cocoa powder. Olive oil. Dishes.

I close the cabinet door harshly and go back to the fridge. Same shit. I even open the freezer, only to find some ice cubes and frozen dough.

“This house sucks!” I screech, reaching for the ice cubes and whipping the container across the room. It shatters, the ice cubes flying everywhere.

The ass kisser gets up and moves toward me carefully. It sends me into an absolute rage. I whip the door of the fridge open so hard it cracks, grabbing the first thing I set eyes on and throwing it. I take everything I can reach and whip it over my head. Some things I even turn and aim with. Like the jar of relish? It smashes against the cabinet. The bottle of ketchup? Right into the kitchen. The pickles? Right at the ass kisser, who dodges it with a skilled sidestep, like he’s used to moving out of the way of flying objects. The jar cracks open when it hits the living floor, and I smile when the pickle juice seeps into the throw rug.

Enzo wants to keep me here, he can keep me here, but he isn’t going to like it.

The entire carton of eggs gets thrown over my shoulder. They crack, spilling everywhere. Vegetables fly across the room. The milk is poured all over the floor. Juice cartons get crushed under my foot, squirting out and splashing the walls. I even pull out the plastic drawers and throw them into the living room. The ass kisser dodges those too, pulling his phone from his pocket and moving out of view.

“Go ahead, call him!” I scream. “I don’t care!” I pull out more things and throw them at him. Moving to the cabinets, I swipe everything off the shelves. The bag of flour is tossed behind me, the powder filling the room. Coughing, I pause for a second, realizing I’m not doing enough damage. I open the drawers and put my weight on them so they crack and do the same with some of the cabinet doors. I throw glass dishes. Plates. Empty the silverware drawers. Dump the olive oil into a drawer I haven’t broken. The oven door is yanked open, and I stomp on it until it’s bent.

I grab the sugar, the cocoa powder, a bottle of soy sauce and hurry out of the kitchen.

“We’ve got a problem, boss,” is all I hear from the ass kisser as I pass him, moving down the hall.

I burst into the spa, because obviously this rich prick has his own spa, and go right for the hot tub. Sure, this is probably a bad idea. I’d like to use it one day, but oh well. He’ll just buy another one. I dump the sugar, cocoa powder, and soy sauce into the water, dropping the bags and bottles in too. I turn it on to make a nice little mixture. It bubbles up, the water quickly turning into what looks like a giant vat of hot cocoa. The smell is not so nice.

Glancing around, because I need to do more damage, I find a wall of lotions and oils by the massage bed. I grab as many as I can hold and run up the stairs.

Ass kisser is tucking his phone into his pocket as I head up.

“Miss Delise!” he calls, his heavy footsteps coming after me. I move faster, heading right for Enzo’s office. “That’s a bad idea!” he calls after me.

“Fuck you!” I scream, drawing out the words.

I reach for the knob, dropping a bottle as I push the door open, but smiling when it cracks open. All but one bottle of oil falls to the floor. I twist the cap off the one in my hand and flick it so the oil spills all over. Before I’m able to get the last of the oil out, the man gets me into a bear hug, lifting me off my feet.

“Put me down!” I shriek, flailing my arms and legs and dumping the bottle of oil behind me, hoping to get it in his eyes.