Rebecca
Oh, hell no!
Words cannot describe how utterly pissed I am.
Here I am, being the perfect girlfriend, bringing my so-called boyfriend lunch. And what do I see?
Some bimbo with legs so long they seem to have their own gravitational field straddling him in a white robe that's barely clinging to her shoulders. For a second, my vision goes fish-eye. The world narrows down to their faces—his, impassive as always; hers, flushed and hungry, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I want to scream. Or smash the glass. Or set the whole goddamn studio on fire just to see if anyone would notice.
"What do we have here?" I snarl.
The bimbo looks up from her pose, eyes sparkling with mischief as she slowly straightens, the silk robe slipping just a little more off one shoulder.
Marcus barely blinks, but his jaw tightens.
"You are interrupting," the bimbo says.
I step closer, voice low and cutting. "Oh, I am sooooo sorry."
