Chapter 3 #2
Riley: The new fun job? How’s that going?
Amber: Terrible because he keeps coming in
Riley: Wait? I got sidetracked. Matt is coming in on your shift days? Don’t you only work one day of the week?
Amber: Two days a week, but I picked up an extra shift yesterday. He’s come in the last three times I’ve been working now.
Riley: He comes in every time you work?
Amber: As of lately, yeah. And I just ran into him while on my lunch break at the firm. He saw me in my suit. He’s such a stalker!
Riley: You saw him just now? Did you guys talk?
Amber: A little
Riley: Ooh, this is getting good. Tell me more.
Amber: I put a raisin in his sandwich. Then he threw it at me the next day
Riley (Laughing emoji, laughing emoji, laughing emoji)
Riley: I’m stalking his team’s profile. He’s pretty popular on there
Amber: Don’t bother to tell me
Riley: Do you think he likes you?
Amber: God no
Amber: I just got to the office
Amber: Talk later
Back at the office, I unwrap my sandwich at my desk, trying to focus on the taste of turkey and bacon instead of the lingering irritation from my encounter with Matt. Mr. Robinson sticks his head out of his office, waving a file at me.
“Amber, I need you to go through this prenup with a fine-tooth comb. The Rogers case is heating up, and I want to make sure we haven't missed anything.”
I nod, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. “Got it. I'll have it on your desk by the end of the day.”
He grunts in disapproval and disappears back into his office. I sigh, push my lunch aside, and reach for the file. So much for a lunch break.
As I flip through the pages of the prenup, my mind wanders back to Matt. What's his deal, anyway? Sandwich freak much?
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.
The afternoon flies by in a blur of paperwork and client calls. By the time I clock out, my eyes are burning from staring at the computer screen for too long. I gather my things, ready to head home, and collapse on my couch.
As I'm waiting for the elevator, my phone buzzes. It's Jen again.
“You're not going to believe who just came into the Grind Stone asking about your schedule.”
My stomach sinks, already knowing the answer. What a fucking stalker! I knew the damn suit was going to intrigue him. “Let me guess. Tall, annoying, probably wearing a Honey Badgers hoodie?”
“Girl, I’m a fan now that I’ve seen him on TikTok. Did you watch the rest of the videos?”
I huff. “No, I did not. Not everyone has time to scroll on their phone, watching thirst traps of hockey players.”
“Hey, just saying, you’re missing out. Plus, it’s not only him on there. His team has some eye candy. We should go to a game.”
“Definitely not,” I mutter.
“So, what exactly is the deal with you two, anyway?”
I step into the elevator, jabbing the lobby button with more force than necessary. “Did you tell him my schedule? And there is no deal. He's just a pain in my ass who can't take a hint.”
“A very hot pain in your ass,” Jen replies, and I can practically hear her grinning through the phone. I wonder if she’s salivating at the mouth over him.
“Not the point,” I mutter.
“I told him your schedule. Saturdays and Tuesdays.”
I huff, “Are you serious, Jen?”
“Come on, Amber. When was the last time you had a little fun with a guy, huh? Went on a date? Flirted. Hell, even checked one out?”
Years.
I roll my eyes, even though she can't see me. “Goodbye, Jen,” I say, ending the call as I step out of the elevator. I don’t have time for her repetitive questions. She thinks I’m leaving parts of the story out, and I’m not. Not really. It’s fairly simple. I don’t fucking like the guy.
As I walk to my car, I can't shake the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. Why does Matt want to know my schedule? Please, for the love of humanity, do not make me push him down another flight of stairs. I’m civilized now, but if he keeps pressing, I’m a fighter.
I’m no freeze or flight girl. No, I fight.
I unlock my car, tossing my bag onto the passenger seat. As I slide behind the wheel, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My hair is coming loose from its bun, and there are dark circles under my eyes. I look tired. I am tired.
For a brief moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to not have all this pressure. To not be constantly juggling two jobs and school and trying to prove myself. To just be.
But then I shake my head, pushing the thought away. I've worked too hard to get where I am. I'm not about to let anything – or anyone – distract me from my goals.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, leaving thoughts of Matthew Pearson and his stalking in the dust. I have zero time to pay attention to whatever he is doing.
His presence in my life is like a buzzing fly that I keep swatting away.
No, he’s similar to a mosquito that keeps landing on me and drinking my blood, itching (irking) the hell out of me.
But one of these days, I’m going to let it land, let it think it has a chance, and then I’ll fucking smash it’s life away.
Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.