Motherfucker.
I stalk out of the elevator the moment I can, swiftly walking away, each tap of my heels a chorus of fuck you.
"Morning!" the receptionist says cheerfully.
I smile genuinely, repeating her words. Because I'm a nice person, unlike him.
"Morning, Mr. Cullen," she says once I've passed.
With my back still to him as I walk away, he doesn't utter a single word.
It makes me irrationally livid.
"Group meeting in an hour," I hear him say.
To her, to me. I don't know.
I have sixty minutes to decompress until I have to see him again.