Page 31 of Final Verdict
“What?”
“You work at the library now.” He shrugs. “No mopping, just dusting and sweeping over there. Go on, now.”
I leave the room and head to the elevator bank instead, anxious to confront Jameson about this, but Mr. Brice emerges from the closet.
I sigh and leave, walking out of the building and across the street.
Are you purposely avoiding my phone calls and texts?
You’re starting to sound like a stalker, Scarlett…Don’t make me sue you. (I’ll win)
You know what I mean.
I don’t.
Is this because I’m twenty?
It’s because of A LOT of things.
Name five.
After you pick up a broom. How’s the cleaning job going?
I stare at his message in disbelief—half hurt, half confused about him throwing this job in my face.
Okay, Jameson… FUCK YOU.
I don’t fuck minors.
I’m NOT a minor.
You might as well be.
I groan and half-ass dust the bookshelves that look like they haven’t been touched in over a decade.
I take a seat near the corner and simply wait for a sign of life before pretending to clean again.
In the middle of mime-cleaning the windows, I spot Jameson walking out to his car with an assistant close behind.
She begins placing boxes into his trunk, so I take my chance and rush downstairs.
His assistant is returning inside as he’s sliding behind the wheel, so I open the passenger door and slide onto the seat.
“We need to talk, Jameson,” I say.
“I’m too far removed from my high school days.” He looks over at me. “Surely you can find someone else to discuss mean girls and crushes.”
“I’m in college, asshole.”
“Thank you for finally admitting to what I already discovered days ago,” he says. “Good to know you’re dropping the marketing career angle—unless you want to hold on to that one?”
I gasp.
“Oh?” He glares at me. “You thought I wouldn’t figure that out, too?”
“I was planning to tell you about that...”
“When?” he asks. “When I was balls deep inside you?”
