Page 13 of Violent Little Thing

It worked out well, him taking over.

Last year, the Cowgirls had lost twenty-two out of the thirty games that they’d played. This year, however, they’d been doing much better—most likely because Beau wasn’t anywhere near as toxic as Seraphina.

“Are you going to go in?”

I turned to look at Birdee who was, surprisingly, also late.

“Thinking about it,” I muttered.

“You should report him to HR,” Birdee mused.

Birdee had nothing to worry about. She was an integral part of the team. She helped perfect the formula for the food that Great Dane made.

Meanwhile, I was nothing more than a glorified gopher.

I’d put more miles on my truck in the last year than I had in the three years since I’d purchased the truck upon discharging from the Marines.

I hated driving.

I especially hated driving when I had to drive a truck as big as mine.

The only good thing I had going this week was that I had a good excuse for not running errands.

My phone vibrated, and I didn’t have to look down to know that it was Chris.

He called me every morning while he was in the shower so that we could go over his day.

I wasn’t even sure why he had an assistant. Everything that he had me doing could be done by him.

Yet, that didn’t happen.

God forbid he pick up his own dry cleaning or run to the store and get coffee because he ran out.

“Hey, Boss,” I said cheerily, even though I felt anything but cheery.

“Hey, darlin’.”

I gritted my teeth.

I hated being called darlin’. And he knew it.

It was so condescending, especially when he aimed the word my way.

“What can I do for you today?” I asked sweetly.

Birdee snorted and punched me in the hip, pointing at the door to let me know that she was going inside.

I followed her, but at a much slower pace, leaning my bike up against the light pole that was in the middle of the front walk and locking it up.

When I got to the door, it was to hear Chris grunt.

I wasn’t sure that he was masturbating when he was on the phone with me, but I had a ninety-nine percent positivity rate that he was. I mean, he called me from the shower, and there were always rhythmic sounds going on in the background that made me think that he was.

Not that I ever called him on it.

I needed this job.

“You can just hang out at the office today. Maybe Herschel needs some help,” he said. “I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”