Page 20 of Riding the Sugar High

His jaw tenses as he looks down, his lips pulled into a rigid line.

A movement in the corner of my eye has me looking past him and into the corridor, where Primrose is hiding against the wall, fearful eyes staring at me.

So maybe sheisa little eccentric. If anything, it makes me dislike her less.

“If there’s nothing else...” I point at the door. “I have a day of meaningful work to look forward to.” I snap my finger. “You? Still crunching numbers at the loser factory, right?”

Aaron flips me off, and as he opens the door, he mumbles a “Fuck you” as if he wasn’t clear enough.

“Oh, hey.”

He looks over his shoulder.

“Is Josie working the morning or afternoon shift today?”

“Afternoon.” He turns to face me, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Without uttering another word, I close the door.

Primrose is slinking back down the hall when I call out, “Hey, giant red flag. Wanna come out here for a minute?”

She stops, lips pulled into a little frown when she steps toward me. “Yeah? What is it?”

I huff out a chuckle, and as I’m about to speak, there’s another knock at the door.

With a groan, I swing it open. Kyle and Simon are standing on the other side, eyes widening as they land on Primrose.

“What the f?—”

Nope.

I slam the door closed, then focus on Primrose again, awkwardly standing beside the couch. “Hungry?”

“A little,” she says, studying the door with taut brows.

I walk to the kitchen, then open the cupboard. “Oats okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Who were those people?”

“Kyle and Simon. They work here.”

“Oh, all right.” She sits at the table behind me, and once I’ve put milk and oats into the pot, I set the coffee machine. We’re both silent as the bitter aroma takes over the kitchen, the low purring of the machine turning louder as the carafe fills.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she mumbles eventually.

I turn to her, apple and knife in hand. “Hm?”

“I didn’t threaten his dogs.”

Yeah, no shit. “So why does my brother think you did?”

“I don’t know. Because Derek is a liar? And...” She looks down at her nails. “I might have said I hoped his dogs would eathim.”

“Given the right opportunity,” I say as I cut up another piece of apple, “they probably would.”

When I throw another look over my shoulder, there’s a sad little pout on her face. “Did you slash his tires?” She shakes her head, so I continue, “Hack his phone?”

Her eyes meet mine. “I had to.”