Page 41 of Whispered Promises

“Seems such a waste.” His reply is careful and direct, almost predatory, and my discomfort increases. “I’ll finish yours.”

Grabbing the container, he grasps the fork I’d left inside, spears a piece of the meat, and pops it into his mouth, keeping his eyes on me.

The fork I just used…is inside his mouth.

The move would feel intimate if any of the guys did it after dinner, but here with Peter? It feels invasive and wrong.

I fight to hold back the shiver that wants to roll through me.

Clearing my throat, I retrieve my laptop and start typing a couple of email responses as I wait for him to finish, wishing I was anywhere but here. Once he finishes eating, we finalise the rest of the applicants, selecting the ones for me to contact and arrange interviews with. As I head back to my desk, my shoulders slump with exhaustion.

I’m ready for today to be over now.

SEVENTEEN

MAX

“Are you still staring at your phone? When I left to take a shit, you were staring at it. Now I’m back and you’re still staring at it,” Sean berates, trying to lean in and swipe the device from my hand. “You’re either pussy-whipped or staring at tits. Is it someone’s tits? Lemme see,” he tries again, and my hackles rise.

Normally I brush off all their macho-bullshit—being in construction, you get used to all the testosterone and lewd conversations—but the need to sink my fist into his face has my teeth grinding.

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t say that shit,” I grit out, my fingers clenching tight enough around my phone that it creaks audibly.

The twat tips his head back and laughs loudly. The sound does nothing to calm my raised hackles.

“Ooh, looky here, boys. Maxi has a girl. That’s definitely what someone who’s pussy-whipped would say. Must be a gold-dipped cunt to have you staring all doe-eyed waiting for her to message you.” His face is smug as he leans back in his chair, throwing a chip into his mouth and chewing like a fucking animal.

I try to brush off his words, but the comment about waiting for her to message stings, because fuck, that is what I’m doing.

Rosy left me on read.

For four bullshitty hours. I get that she’s working, but apparently, I’m needy and can’t wait that long.

Exhaling deeply through my nose, I remind myself that I can’t smash the fucker’s face, no matter how much I want to. I need this job and future ones too, so I can’t risk getting a reputation. Grabbing the empty plate from my lunch, I stand up.

“I can see why women think you’re such a catch and are flocking you everywhere you go…” I say, then glance around. “Oh, wait, there aren’t any.”

I deserve a reward for the patience it takes to walk away. Maybe Rosy will give me a kiss, or I’d even take a response.

Disposing of the food scraps in the bin, I slide the empty plate onto the stack of dirty ones and leave the canteen. I pluck the hard hat from my head and scrub a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. Before I can shove it back on, a chime sounds from my pocket, and I’m startled enough that it takes a second to juggle the hat to avoid it falling.

Gripping the phone tightly, I swipe and unlock it, immediately opening the message.

Rosy

I’m sorry for only just replying. Work has been hectic :( Hope you had a good morning too. Also veto little chimp. Where do you even come up with all these nicknames?

Fuck, I’m grinning so wide my face hurts. She’s too stupidly cute. Without hesitation, I press the call button and hold it up to my ear, listening to the dialling tone.

“Hey,” she answers in a sexy, breathless tone, and I don’t realise I’m holding mine until I exhale in a rush. I wonder if she would be opposed to recording it for me, so I can have it as my morning alarm.

“Hey, honeybee, what are you wearing at that secretary desk job of yours?” I ask in a low, husky voice.

Giggles peal out down the phone. “Max,” she admonishes. “My job is not like that. I’m wearing very boring office clothes. It’s actually depressing.”

I can hear her pout from here, and I can imagine how much she must hate it when she usually wears all the colours and quirky shit. It shouldn’t work, but on her it does.

“So we haven’t vetoed ‘honeybee’, that’s good to know. I bet you look hot still. Do you wear glasses too?” I groan, picturing her in a figure-hugging skirt, with a skin-tight shirt, and a pair of dark-rimmed frames.