When it was near the original time to get off work, Tiffany felt mild aches flaring up all over her waist, shoulders, and back. She leaned onto her chair, feeling a little burned out.
Desperate, she sent a text to Jackson: ‘Are you sure we’re supposed to work overtime tonight? Can I say no? Like, I think I’m about to fall apart. Can I request for leave? If you don’t reply to me, I’ll assume the answer is yes.’
Tiffany had expected the man to be too busy with whatever was occupying his time to spare her any attention, yet his reply was lightning-fast. ‘No overtime? Only if you join me at the hotel. It’s this, or stay in the company. Choose.’
The term “hotel” cued Tiffany to jump into more risqué imaginations, however, when part of her mind reminded her of her pregnancy, her eagerness dissipated. She replied to him a little guiltily, ‘Why do you want me at the hotel, hmm? I’ll be upfront, I’m not into casual sex. And also, we broke up.’
To her shock, Jackson’s next reply came from calling her immediately. “Are you a dimwit or what? Or are you implying that I’m that kind of person? Look, whether you accept my bargain or not is up to you!”
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