Page 108 of Dirty Player
“Oliver—”
She called to me again and I turned. “What?”
“My purse?”
I tossed it to her and shook my head. “I’ll handle it. I just don’t have the time. Not right now.”
“You let it go too long and you’re screwed, you know.”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “I already am.”
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
SHANNON
It’d been a full twenty-four hours since I’d been to Oliver’s hotel room.
The pain wasn’t any better. I’d slept like shit, but had orders to fill and work to get done, so I’d dragged myself out of bed early in the morning to get to Stamped and start working.
I’d already changed my entire life after one horrific breakup. I couldn’t let this dream of mine fail, despite wanting to lament my inability to find a decent man.
“You know,” Melissa said, getting my attention from where she’d been perched on my worktable for the past few hours trying to keep me company. She’d brought her laptop with her and was working on some website designs for a few clients, but mostly she was talking, trying to keep me from not thinking about Oliver and the blonde.
I turned to her. She was holding a pair of pliers, opening and closing them repeatedly. A scary, maniacal grin on her face. “I really liked Oliver. Liked how he was with you. But this little tool is giving me some great ideas.” She winked at me.
I looked away and back to the metal bands laid out in front of me. I had to string them with charms before I finished embellishing them. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I don’t want to talk about him, either. Or talk to him.” I heard the squeak of metal as she squeezed and played with the pliers. “But hearing him scream while I wrap these around his balls—”
“God,” I said, unable to stop the laugh at her description. “Stop, Melissa. Please.”
She dropped the pliers and picked up her laptop. “I just wanted to see you smile.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my work. “You’re a nutjob.”
“That’s what I was talking about. A smash-and-crush nutjob.”
I glared at her out of the corner of my eye at the same time a bell at the front door rang. We weren’t opened for business, wouldn’t be until Thursday, but I had deliveries scheduled.
“Can you go take care of that, please?” I asked as I began twisting a fine piece of sterling silver.
“Sure thing, hooker.”
I snorted as she walked out of my office, listening to her quick feet take her down the hallway.
She was back within seconds, and when she spoke, her voice had lost its playfulness.
“Holy shit, Shannon.” She grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, her eyes wide and her hands trembling. “Bethany Carlson is in your store...looking for you.”
Who?
“Who? What?”
“Bethany Carlson. Famous country singer?”
My eyes bugged out and I dropped my tools, my bracelet forgotten. “What the hell? Me? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Melissa breathed, the awe clear in her voice.
