Abigail
Drake had a death wish. That was the only explanation for why the half with clot pole was standing next to my desk, smiling widely at me like he won the fucking lottery.
"Abby, baby." The smile on his face used to make my stomach flip. Now they just made my fingers itch to claw at his face. I hadn't seen him in a few weeks but the rage of what he did seemed to slam back in my chest in full force.
"This floor is strictly restricted to authorized staff," I bit out, clenching my teeth at the headache hitting the back of my head.
"Baby, when are you going to stop being so dramatic about this?" He whined, rushing towards me.
"Back the hell up!" my hands shot up in the air between us while my eyes glared daggers at him. "I'll pretend for your sake that you did not just call me dramatic while standing in my place of work along with the blonde bimbo you were fucking on Valentine's day!"
The bitch in question rolled her eyes. "I only told him you work here and he-"
