While I was lost in thought, Mark stormed in and pushed the door open.
"What are you doing standing around like that?" he demanded. "This place is a mess! Are you just only going to stand there?"
I was holding a sweater my mom had knit me years ago. A few silent tears began to fall. Mark extended his hand to shove me, but he paused when he saw the tears on my face. "Come on, there's no need for all that just because I gave you a little feedback. Is it necessary to cry like this?"
"Chloe's injury happened on the job," he went on, matter-of-factly, "and as her boss, it's my duty to show a little concern."
His voice softened only slightly. "You're going to be the boss's wife soon. Surely, you can't let yourself get jealous over a newbie like her."
And with that, he walked past me, acting like everything was perfectly normal.
Work? The image of that torn stocking in the photo flashed in my mind. So that was where they were "working" together—right on the bed. I could only imagine how wild it must've gotten if it landed them both in the hospital.
I pulled away in disgust when Mark tried to touch my shoulder. He frowned and threw a secondary bank card at my face.