Page 118 of The Exit Strategy

Somewhere behind us, the phone I hid in the drawer still carries the weight of Natalie’s threat, and the county tax deadline looms, while a banquet has the power to solve one problem but not the other because our past still has a thumbprint on our life.

But I’m done being a spectator in my life, so I silently vow to dismantle every lie I’ve kept hidden.

Starting with Natalie Moore.

23

MINE

JUNIE

I don’t makemistakes at work. Ever.

Yet here I am, correcting the same calculation error for the third freaking time.

And it’s not because the math is hard. Math is, in fact, the easiest thing in my life right now. No, I’m fucking up because my brain is stuck on one word and one word only.

Mine.

Not just the word, but how he said it. Low. Graveled. Throaty.

Determined.

He saidminewhile I shook apart from the sheer force of my orgasms and decided I no longer had a functional nervous system.

Fucking possessive bullshit that I have no business being turned on by.

Yet here I am.

And now I’ve been typing the same vendor reconciliation email for forty-five minutes.

I really need to get a grip.

No, what I need is for my brain to stop replaying theexact moment Cole saidtell me you’re runningand start doing basic arithmetic again. I am a professional. I have a CPA credential and a grudge against the IRS on Cole’s behalf. I can do this.

I close out of my spreadsheet. Take a deep breath, scan the area to make sure that Nana Mae isn’t once again sneaking around the corner on a fact-finding mission, and purposefully avoid looking into Cole’s open office door.

Only then do I open a new spreadsheet.

It doesn’t help that I can hear Cole on a phone call in his office or feel his gaze on me while he speaks. His voice has a flatness he uses when he’s pretending to pay attention, but it only takes one syllable for me to know he’s not.

I don’t know who he’s speaking to, and I’m aggressively not thinking about who it could be. It’s not my business. We haven’t reached thewho are you talking tostage of this…whatever this is.

Though considering the ring on my finger and the hickey just above my collarbone, I suppose the argument could be made that we are well into…this.

The lines of my spreadsheet blur before me, so I stomp out of my office and head for the coffee machine, all the while feeling Cole’s focus on me until I’m out of sight.

It’s a strange thing to feel someone watching you. And it’s really inconvenient when it reminds you of nothing but what his tongue can do to your most intimate places.

Jesus, who the hell am I?

I’m Juniper Fucking Mercer, and I do not allow men to derail my career.

Humph.

That little pep talk almost clears my head. It’s clear enough to do basic math anyway. Now all I have to do is block out all other sensory input.

Headphones it is.