Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Thane

Around midday, I retreat to my office, fucking fed up, slamming the door behind me harder than necessary, rattling the windows and crystal decanters around the room.

I sit at my massive mahogany desk and stare sightlessly at the piles of documents that need my signature. I reach for my pen to get it over with, but then stop halfway.

My hand curls into a tightly clenched fist instead.

It’s not the paperwork. It’s not the meetings. It’s not even the people who are too stupid to string a complete sentence together today.

It’s that she’s not here. It’s that her laugh isn’t echoing off the marble floors of my apartment or office. It’s that I don’t know if she’s okay. It’s

doors of that I don’t know if she’s thinking about me at all.

An idea that’s reckless and impulsive strikes me, and I reach for my phone. Only to realize..

I still don’t have her fucking number.

A vicious sound escapes my throat that’s a half–growl, half–snarl

Griffin chooses that exact moment to knock lightly and stick his head inside. He’s clearly a man with a death wish today.

“Need anything, sir?” He asks it like he’s offering to fetch me coffee. Or a firing squad.

I glare at him so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t burst into flames where he stands. But Griffin, blessedly, doesn’t flinch. Instead, he smiles—a small, sly thing that he quickly buries underneath a fake cough.

“Maybe,” he says with mock thoughtfulness, “you should consider diversifying your investments, sir, Put some assets somewhere…more fulfilling.”

narrow my eyes at him, before barking, “What the hell are you babbling about?”

He shrugs innocently. “Just thinking aloud, sir. Must be the air in here. It’s…tense.”

I don’t answer, because I don’t trust myself not to rip him a new asshole, no matter how unwarranted it might be.

He disappears again, closing the door softly behind him, leaving me alone with the buzzing silence and the acrid taste of longing burning the back of my throat.

I sit there for a long time after he leaves, my jaw clenched to with an inch of my life, staring at my useless, empty phone, while the clock ticks too loudly on the wall.

Every passing

second feels like a tiny betrayal. And every passing hour without her feels like a slow bleed i can’t stitch closed.

I clench my fists so tightly that the leather on my chair’s arms creaks under the strain.

Harley, what the hell are you doing to me?

Harley

By the time I finally lock up the bookstore on Monday night, my body feels like it’s been through a minor war. Or a major one. Who knows

anymore?

My head throbs, my feet ache, and my soul feels…splintered into a million and one pieces.

The drive home is a blur of red traffic lights and songs on the radio that all seem suspiciously hellbent on reminding me I’m alone.

This is fucking stupid. I’ve been alone plenty of nights before. I like being alone. I’m good at being alone.

1.3

I kick off my shoes by the front door, dump my purse on the small hall table, and drop my keys in the ceramic dish beside it. Then, I move or autopilot as I heat a microwave dinner, pour me a glass of wine, and put on a mindless reality show about hunky men with roses, none of which hold a candle to my weekend’s dark and brooding houseguest.

Halfway through eating the sad excuse for a lasagna, I find myself staring at the empty cushion beside me on the couch, like an idiot, as my brain helpfully supplies the image of Thane sprawled there Saturday night with his long legs, brooding gaze, and heat radiating off him like a second

as I fell asleep on him during our movie.

Shaking my head to clear my musings, I put my fork down and push the tray away. “Nope,” I matter to myself. “We’re not doing this.”

1 clean up the kitchen like it personally offended me, then try to lose myself in a book that had me salivating three days ago. Twenty minutes later, I realize I’ve reread the same page six times without absorbing a single word..

Not to text him. I don’t even have his number, which is probably a good thing, judging by the reckless impulse that’s currently vibrating through

1. me.

Still, the temptation burns–this stupid, aching urge to reach out somehow. To bridge the canyon–sized gap between us.

I let out a breath that’s half growl, half whimper, and flop backwards onto the couch.

Maybe he’s busy. Perhaps he already forgot about me, Maybe he’s back in whatever perfectly polished life he has that doesn’t have space for sarcastic, emotionally constipated bookstore owners who keep accidentally falling asleep on him.

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify