Oh, yeah. Mine. Because when I started reading Love in the Time of Cholera last week, that i***t Florentino was sending love letters to Fermina, and I knew it was Shay’s favorite book, and it seemed romantic.
Now that I’ve finished the novel, hand-writing letters seems like only something a man with no self-control and an unhealthy fixation on a woman who’ll cause him fifty years of angst would do.
I told her those romance novels were bullshit.
I pick up the phone and dial her extension.
“Shay Sanders speaking.”
“Good morning, Ms. Sanders.”
She exhales the smallest, shakiest breath, then clears her throat. “Good morning, Mr. McCord.”
“What are you doing in so early?”
“Trying to get a head start on the week, sir. Also…I couldn’t sleep.”
God, her voice. Why does her voice do things
