Truth be told…
My hand is itching to slap someone right now.
Preferably someone blonde haired and damn infuriating. Someone like Vanessa Monroe.
Or… Hawthorne. Whatever the hell it is.
For the past twenty minutes, she’s been sitting in the chair in front of my table, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she hums an annoying tune that I don’t recognize.
All I’ve done is ignore her and focus on my work in front of me… Or at least try to.
Vanessa won’t f*****g leave.
She lets out a groan. “This is boring.” And the next thing I know, she lifts her legs up and rests them on my desk, crossing one ankle over the other.
I clench and unclench my fists, resisting the urge to do something not very lady-like in this moment.
“Get the hell out of my office, Vanessa,” I grit out.
She rolls
