d call you back,
okay?”
“Cool, I’ll wait to hear from you. Bye, Ana.”
“Bye.” And he’s gone.
Holy cow. I ha一ven’t seen or heard from José since his
show. I didn’t even ask him how it went or if he sold any
more pictures. Some friend I am.
So, I could spend the evening with José on Friday.
How will Christian like that? I become aware that I am
biting my lip till it hurts. Oh, that man has double
standards. He can—I shudder at the thought—bathe his
batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truckload of grief
for wanting to ha一ve a drink with José. How am I going to
handle this?
“Ana!” Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he
still mad? “Where’s that letter?”
“Er—coming.” Shit. What is eating him?
I type up his letter in double-quick time, print it out,
and nervously make my way into his office.
“Here you go.” I place it on his desk and turn to lea一ve.
Jack quickly casts his critical, piercing, eyes over it.
“I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but I pay
you to work,” he barks.
“I’m aware of that, Jack,” I mutter apologetically. I feel
a slow flush creep up my skin.
“This is full of mistakes,” he snaps. “Do it again.”
Fuck. He’s beginning to sound like someone I know,
but rudeness from Christian I can tolerate. Jack is
beginning to piss me off.
“And get me another coffee while you’re at it.”
“And get me another coffee while you’re at it.”
“Sorry,” I whisper and scurry out of his office as
quickly as I can.
Holy fuck. He’s being unbearable. I sit back down at
my desk, hastily redo his letter, which had two mistakes in
it, and check it thoroughly before printing. Now it’s
perfect. I fetch him another coffee, letting Claire know with
a roll of my eyes that I am in deep doo-doo. Taking a
deep breath, I approach his office again.
“Better,” he mumbles reluctantly as he signs the letter.
“Photocopy it, file the original, and mail out to all authors.
Understand?”
“Yes.” I am not an idiot. “Jack, is there something
wrong?”
He glances up, his blue eyes darkening as
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