Try as she might, Marigold couldn’t find it in herself to focus. And lord knows, she’d tried. The harder she forced herself, the more the numbers and figures staring back at her blurred into incomprehension. What would normally take her most of an afternoon now seemed like it would be a multi-day process.
Lovely.
With a withered sigh of frustration, she closed the folder and dropped her head against her folded arms. It wasn’t any bloody use. The afternoon she’d planned to spend catching up on the latest orders and budget for The Blank Page was clearly not happening. And forcing herself wasn’t making it any better. Might as well give up the ghost.
Leaning into the padded back of her desk chair, Marigold opened her eyes and let them stare blankly at the ceiling above her. And even that she couldn’t focus on. Her mind had one thing, and one thing only, that it wanted to extend any effort at all on. Tom.
Their flirtation at the pub two nights prior had been exhilarating and, if she were completely honest more than a touch overwhelming. Tom was every single bit as charming and lethal as Mollie had always gushed that he was. Doubly so when intoxicated. And they’d clearly both been.
