Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
While Valentine’s Day gave us a boost, we’re nowhere near out of the hole.
“Maybe we can cut more corners and test out some direct delivery options soon,” I say. “A new thing for the spring.” I remember how that kind woman on the subway hinted I could shake off my gloom just because it’s a new year for new beginnings. Yeah, well, the new year has come and gone. We’re on the verge of a new season, winter sliding into spring, and I feel as stuck as ever.
No longer glum, but…mad.
“Jenni?” Margarita pops around the other side of the door. “That Markus guy is here again.” She cringes as both Jenni and I groan.
“Again?” I stand up, ready to give this guy another piece of my mind about how often he wants to come by and harass us.
“Easy there.” Jenni’s eyes pop open wide as she holds up her hands. “I’ll talk to him this time.”
I smirk, remembering how appalled she was the last time I went off on Markus, only a few days ago.
She heads toward the front of the bakery, and I slump back into the chair. The mention of his name riles me up, but just as fast as the mama-bear rage rises to defend the bakery, exhaustion drops in behind it.
“Maybe you need to, I dunno, nap back here or something.” Margarita frowns at me and shrugs. “You’re so testy lately, ya know?”
I do know. And I’m not sure what to make of it anymore. If this was the fresh aftermath of finding Roman sleeping with my best friend, then this anger would make sense. Margarita’s right, though.
“I’m sorry.” I tighten my ponytail and sigh again. It seems like no matter what I do, I can’t catch my breath fully. “I’m just so stressed lately.”
“Cuz you got a lot on your plate, Lil.” She pats my shoulder sympathetically. “But chill, boss girl. I’ll be Jen’s backup if that guy gets snippy again.” She winks and leaves.
I lean back on the chair and stare at the calendar pinned to the wall.
So much has gone down since the holidays that it seems natural for the stress to pile up and burn me out. Yet as I zone out and half hear Jenni’s voice in the distance while she deals with Markus, my eyes drift to the rows of squares on the calendar. The red and penciled circles marking important dates. All the weeks that have passed since the start of the year.
All that time since I saw Anton.
Since I felt him so deep inside of me.
Proving that I’m not frigid at all.
Oh, my God…
My stomach drops as I count back the weeks, then the days, and I gasp again.
“Oh no…” I cover my mouth with my hand, stunned that this could be behind how fast my temper flares lately. I’ve been feeling extra mean, but maybe it isn’t stress I can blame.
“If this isn’t PMS…” I whisper to myself.
Shaking my head as I think back through the days and weeks, I know that’s not the culprit I can blame in this instance.
It can’t be PMS if I’m already late for my period. It feels so cliché to blame my anger on all of it—the breakup, the betrayal, my parents’ medical stuff, and their bakery nearly closing while a loan shark scrambles to grab every penny he can from us.
But if this is a hormonal thing going on, the numbers and dates aren’t lying.
I’m late.
Seriously late.
All the nerves from that morning come rushing back—when a driver told me Anton had already left the vacation house and arranged a ride for me. I’d woken up with a slight twinge of regret that we’d had unprotected sex. Those worries flood me again now.
Oh, God.
I shoot to my feet, wide awake, adrenaline and panic fueling me. Dizzy and maybe a little delirious with the wild thoughts racing through my head, I snatch my purse and ignore how unsteady I feel.
Without stopping to grab a coat or to even tell Rob, Margarita, or Jenni that I’m running out to the closest pharmacy, I wind my way through the kitchen and bakery.
“You!” Markus stands on the other side of the front counter, glaring at me. He points his finger at me as I come into his view. “You’re the ‘supervisor’ around here, aren’t you?”
I have no time for this.
Literally none.
My heart bangs against my ribcage and I barely catch my breath. That’s how panicked I am.
“Yeah, you better look scared, little girl,” he snarls smugly. “You think you can avoid my calls and voicemails?” He takes a step toward me, and that little dose of predatory attitude is the switch I didn’t need flipped.
“Fuck. You.” I flip him the middle finger for good measure. “I don’t have time for you.”
“Then you make time, girl.” He scoffs and gives me a once over, as if he finds me lacking. “Because when I say we need to discuss the details of our agreement, you stop, drop, and listen.”