The following morning, Dean arrived at the office only to find a pair of red-bottom heels facing him. Brooklyn was already there waiting in his chair, feet propped on his desk, scrolling through his emails as if she belonged there. It took everything Dean had to hold back his anger. But another confrontation seemed inevitable.
“Morning,” she said, not looking up.
Dean bristled. “Brook? What are you doing here? This time of morning.”
“Making sure you’re not wasting time,” she replied breezily. “We have a wedding to plan. You need to focus on the more important things.”
Dean faced her, with frustration written all over it. “I have work to do. A company to run. I can’t talk cake talk all day with you.”
She tossed her hair and stood up as he watched her pace back and forth in his office.
