Page 22 of Unleashed

Kids are cute, but they’re disgusting.

As if she can sense my presence, Maren’s head snaps in my direction. Her eyes narrow, and she scowls. Just like she always does when she realizes it’s me. “Can I help you?”

“No. I’m not in need of help.” For some reason I’m amused that I know something she doesn’t know I know, and I find myself invading her space. Propping one hip against her desk as I snag a pen from her organizer. “I just came to tell you I’m replacing the temp handling supplies.”

Her brows lift. “With who?”

“With whoever you choose.” I click the pen open, inspecting its felt tip.

“Whoever I choose?” She snorts. “I don’t work for the temp agency anymore.”

“That’s good, because we don’t use the temp agency anymore.” I think I want a pen like this. I like the shape of the barrel. “I have five people coming this afternoon to interview for the various temp spots that are now vacant, and I would like for you to sit in and tell me who you think can handle the supplies best.”

Maren’s brows pinch together, like I’ve confused her. “Why?”

“You were the best person we ever had in that position, and I trust your judgment.” I stand. “Interviews start at two.” I turn, happy to have yet another task off my list.

“Trevor.” Maren snaps out my name.

I turn, expecting her to argue. To tell me finding a new supply clerk is not her job.

Instead, she holds out her hand. “Give me my fucking pen back.”

I slowly walk to her and gently place it in her open palm, making sure to drag my fingers over her soft skin as I do.

Maren sucks in a breath as her hand clenches around the pen. She yanks the appendage away from me, clutching it against her chest.

It takes everything I have not to smirk. She thinks she can pretend we aren’t going to fuck again, but her reaction to my touch proves that’s a lie.

So I give her a wink, feeling pretty fucking good about my odds. “I’ll see you at two.”

8

Maren

“He wants you to help pick the next supply clerk?” Brooke seems as suspicious as I am over whatever Trevor is up to. “Why?”

“Probably just to annoy me.” That seems to be the reason behind everything Trevor does involving me. He knows he gets under my skin, and just can’t resist the urge to worm around while he’s in there.

“You don’t have to help him.” Brooke gives me the out I knew she would offer. “I’m sure he can figure it out himself.”

So am I. Trevor might be annoying and aggravating and a huge pain in my ass, but he’s not an idiot. He’s very, very good at his job. Which means, he probably doesn’t actually even need my help. He probably only invited me because I bitched about the temp.

“Actually, I think I’m going to go.” Not because Trevor asked me to—definitely not that—but because it’s an opportunity to annoy him the way he annoys me. “And he can’t be mad about whatever happens. He literally came and asked for it.”

Brooke’s eyes close as she tips her head back toward the ceiling. “Can’t you two just call a truce or something?” She drops her head to one side, eyes meeting mine. “I get that he’s obnoxious, but you instigate him at every opportunity.”

I scoff. “And he doesn’t instigate me?” I swear the man knows exactly how to piss me off and doesn’t miss an opportunity to do it.

“I didn’t say he didn’t.” Brooke’s tone is as calm and patient as she is. Probably why she’s still my friend. “But one of you has to be the adult in this situation.”

“And it has to be me?” I get that she doesn’t fully understand what she’s asking me to do. Even Brooke doesn’t know the full extent of what I went through as a kid, but I’ve been an adult for forever. Even when I was five, I was making grown up choices and carrying grown up responsibilities. I’m fucking tired.

And I’m fucking done.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s not going to happen.” I grab a notepad and pen—the same one Trevor tried to steal—off my desk. “If he doesn’t have to be an adult, neither do I.”

I turn away, making it all of five steps before spinning back to my best friend. “I love you.” It sounds just as aggressive as everything else I’ve said, but I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at Trevor.