12
Marcus
Why isn’t she answering?
Frustrated, I glare at the phone, where a tiny notification at the bottom informs me that my text message was received and read ten minutes ago. I know my frustration is not rational—ten minutes is not that long—but I can’t control the impatience consuming me.
Why the hell isn’t she answering?
I’m still in my office, and I have a million and one things to do before I can leave tonight, but all I can focus on is Emma and the lack of response to my text. Instead of working, I’ve spent the past ten minutes staring at my phone—ten minutes that, at my current hourly rate of earnings, equate to several thousand dollars.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, three dots appear.
Emma is typing something.
I find myself holding my breath like some teen
