Chapter 85 Dirty Text Strangers I

• Mondays were hell. The kind of dull that pressed into your skull and made everything taste like paper, even the coffee. My screen was filled with numbers I didn’t care about, emails I didn’t want to read, and that goddamn flickering light above the copy machine hadn’t stopped since last week. I was deep in a spreadsheet I’d been fake-staring at for ten minutes when my phone buzzed against my thigh.
• Unknown number.
• You still want me in your bed tonight, Daddy?