Dennihy, Monday's the earliest. Take it or leave it.”
He hung up, and she heard the phone clatter against his desk as if he'd tossed it.
Lissa was so angry that her head was hot, her hands in fists and aching for a punching bag. Of all the people in the entire fucking world, it had to be Dennihy. The slimeball who'd tried to get into her pants and then tried to get her fired when she rejected him in no uncertain terms. The dickwad whose desk had been the final resting place of her crumbs, in whose office she coughed like crazy whenever she got sick and had once rubbed fingers all over his phone and keyboard right before she went home with a stomach virus.
There wasn't a drop of Thor in Mark Ranger. He was all Loki, and only the ugly, cruel, avaricious, evil parts. Did he even know the depths to which he'd hurt her? That he'd taken advantage of her hope, her openness? That he'd lured her into playing a game that she was doomed to lose? They were so compatible, from careers to hobbies to ability to quote all the best superhero movies. He was, up until five minutes ago, the most perfect man she'd ever met outside of books.
And he was just a big, fake asshole.
A supervillain.
Lissa spun on her bare heel and was just about to quick-walk to her office and deploy a lovely little Trojan her team had given her for Christmas into the Art Department server when Mark's door opened and nearly hit her in the butt.
“There you are. Thor cordially offers to make you a grilled cheese—”
She was already walking away, furious, her eyes stinging. How dare he pretend like nothing was wrong, like everything was just fine and he was both adorable and thoughtful?
“Melissa? What's wrong?”
She shook her head and moved it up to a jog, hating with every uncomfortable, denim-rubbing step that she had to be reminded that he'd destroyed all her panties.
When she heard him hurrying behind her, she sped up, darted into her office, slammed the door, and locked it.
“Lissa?”
“Go the fuck away, you raging bag of dicks!”
“Did I do something wrong? Can I come in and talk?”
His voice was muffled through the thick wood. She sat at her chair, pulled out her keyboard, and waited for her desktop to wake up.
“No. Go away so I can ruin your life.”
“Can I ask why?”
Lissa had tried and failed to type her password. Three times. Her hands were shaking, and she could barely see through tear-blurred eyes. She looked up at the door.
“ Nailed it. Nothing else to do. That's the good thing about a snowstorm . Sound familiar?”
Silence.
“I said does it sound familiar, motherfucker?” she shouted.
Silence. And then a weird zip and click, and her door opened. Lissa jumped to her feet.
“What the unholy fuck, Ranger? Fucking me over isn't enough? You have to break into my office, too? Your ledger is officially red. Nothing but red.”
Mark held up a credit card. “If you call swiping a plastic card under the lock breaking in, then I guess I'm back in Loki mode.” He put the card back in a black wallet and shoved it into his kilt pocket before stalking to her desk and wrapping his fingers around the edge.
“So you were listening in?”
“To you promising to sell Dennihy my porno on Monday? Um, yeah.”
If she hadn't been watching his face carefully at exactly that moment, she might've missed the truly extraordinary riot of expressions that crossed his features. Surprise, horror, and rage, swiftly followed by understanding and his impish grin.
“Did anyone ever tell you that spying was dangerous?”
Scowling, Lissa pretended to shoot her cuffs, then extended a middle finger right at his chest. “Boom,” she muttered. “I can't believe you had that conversation, like, ten minutes after 'nailing it'. I mean, do you even... I really thought...” She hung her head and ground a fist into the desk. “It doesn't matter what I thought. Go away. I'm going to tell Dr. Horne and get you fired. And buy a little Loki action
He hung up, and she heard the phone clatter against his desk as if he'd tossed it.
Lissa was so angry that her head was hot, her hands in fists and aching for a punching bag. Of all the people in the entire fucking world, it had to be Dennihy. The slimeball who'd tried to get into her pants and then tried to get her fired when she rejected him in no uncertain terms. The dickwad whose desk had been the final resting place of her crumbs, in whose office she coughed like crazy whenever she got sick and had once rubbed fingers all over his phone and keyboard right before she went home with a stomach virus.
There wasn't a drop of Thor in Mark Ranger. He was all Loki, and only the ugly, cruel, avaricious, evil parts. Did he even know the depths to which he'd hurt her? That he'd taken advantage of her hope, her openness? That he'd lured her into playing a game that she was doomed to lose? They were so compatible, from careers to hobbies to ability to quote all the best superhero movies. He was, up until five minutes ago, the most perfect man she'd ever met outside of books.
And he was just a big, fake asshole.
A supervillain.
Lissa spun on her bare heel and was just about to quick-walk to her office and deploy a lovely little Trojan her team had given her for Christmas into the Art Department server when Mark's door opened and nearly hit her in the butt.
“There you are. Thor cordially offers to make you a grilled cheese—”
She was already walking away, furious, her eyes stinging. How dare he pretend like nothing was wrong, like everything was just fine and he was both adorable and thoughtful?
“Melissa? What's wrong?”
She shook her head and moved it up to a jog, hating with every uncomfortable, denim-rubbing step that she had to be reminded that he'd destroyed all her panties.
When she heard him hurrying behind her, she sped up, darted into her office, slammed the door, and locked it.
“Lissa?”
“Go the fuck away, you raging bag of dicks!”
“Did I do something wrong? Can I come in and talk?”
His voice was muffled through the thick wood. She sat at her chair, pulled out her keyboard, and waited for her desktop to wake up.
“No. Go away so I can ruin your life.”
“Can I ask why?”
Lissa had tried and failed to type her password. Three times. Her hands were shaking, and she could barely see through tear-blurred eyes. She looked up at the door.
“ Nailed it. Nothing else to do. That's the good thing about a snowstorm . Sound familiar?”
Silence.
“I said does it sound familiar, motherfucker?” she shouted.
Silence. And then a weird zip and click, and her door opened. Lissa jumped to her feet.
“What the unholy fuck, Ranger? Fucking me over isn't enough? You have to break into my office, too? Your ledger is officially red. Nothing but red.”
Mark held up a credit card. “If you call swiping a plastic card under the lock breaking in, then I guess I'm back in Loki mode.” He put the card back in a black wallet and shoved it into his kilt pocket before stalking to her desk and wrapping his fingers around the edge.
“So you were listening in?”
“To you promising to sell Dennihy my porno on Monday? Um, yeah.”
If she hadn't been watching his face carefully at exactly that moment, she might've missed the truly extraordinary riot of expressions that crossed his features. Surprise, horror, and rage, swiftly followed by understanding and his impish grin.
“Did anyone ever tell you that spying was dangerous?”
Scowling, Lissa pretended to shoot her cuffs, then extended a middle finger right at his chest. “Boom,” she muttered. “I can't believe you had that conversation, like, ten minutes after 'nailing it'. I mean, do you even... I really thought...” She hung her head and ground a fist into the desk. “It doesn't matter what I thought. Go away. I'm going to tell Dr. Horne and get you fired. And buy a little Loki action
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