His Last Nerve

Cassie Mint His Last Nerve First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2023 Copyright © 2023 by Cassie Mint All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. First edition ISBN: 978-1-915735-22-5 Cover art by KiWi Cover Design This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com Contents 1. Georgie 2. Levi 3. Georgie 4. Levi 5. Georgie 6. Levi 7. Georgie 8. Levi 9. Georgie 10. Levi Teaser: Pit Stop About the Author One Georgie When Levi Laurent moves through the building, we sense him coming from floors away. Papers rustle in people’s hands, quivering with anticipation; drawers slam and desk chairs squeak. The air changes, somehow, like everyone’s holding their breath, just waiting for a glimpse of the boss. Hair is patted down, lipstick blotted, and ties are yanked straight. And when the elevator dings and he walks out, moody eyes scanning from left to right, the whole room fizzes with excitement. Today is a prime example. I press myself back against the break room door, watching the boss get mobbed on his walk across the office, the clump of his admirers jostling the cubicle walls. He doesn’t come to this floor too often—a detail which, had I known, might have changed my internship application. I want to be near Mr Laurent as much as possible. But not for the same reason as these weirdos—no. It’s so much easier to ruin someone’s life from up close. My palms are clammy, and I spread my fingers over the break room door behind me, leaning against the cool surface. Now that the boss is here, walking among us mere mortals, I can’t tear my eyes away. Can’t blink. Hot rage churns in my belly and tightens my chest, and my breaths come quicker. Just the sight of him makes me want to scream like a banshee. This asshole. This malevolent jerk. Someone hands him a clipboard and Mr Laurent stops, frowning at the top page. His sensual mouth twists, and his frown deepens. Those sculpted shoulders are tense under his crisp white shirt, and he’s several inches taller than the crowd. I hate that he’s so freaking attractive. I hate it. He doesn’t deserve that thick, wavy hair, sometimes brown or dark blonde, depending on the light. If there were justice in the world, this man would have only the thinnest strands of hair left—and he wouldn’t be allowed to go bald with dignity. He’d have to comb those strands over every morning, staring into his own dead eyes in the bathroom mirror, wondering who he was trying to kid. Is there a way to make a person go bald deliberately? Huh. I chew on my thumb knuckle, teeth digging in hard, and watch as he peels another page off the clipboard. It’s a soothing thought. Amid the cubicles, someone presses closer to the boss, like some of his talent might rub off on them. Gross. I roll my eyes and scoff under my breath. You know, the people here worship Levi Laurent. It’s completely genuine. They’d kiss the ground he walks on—hell, a few of them would probably lay flat and smooch it with tongue. Why? As if I know. As far as I’m concerned, Levi Laurent crawled out of the smokiest depths of hell. But it was startling on the first day of my internship, when I turned up in the smartest blouse I could find at the thrift store, all ready to rock and roll. I wanted vengeance, gossip, and one of those donuts in the break room for lunch. In that order. I got my donut, at least. Vanilla icing with pink sprinkles. But as for the rest? These people are disgustingly loyal, all staring after their evil boss like he hung the moon. Sure, he barks at them sometimes and they scuttle out of his way, but he’s a genius, as they sigh to me during our lunchtime gab sessions. Don’t I know that Levi Laurent will save the world with his clean energy tech? Who wouldn’t forgive a little grouchiness for that? And isn’t he so dreamy with that faint French accent? Vom. I want to learn his deepest fears, not that Angelica from legal is desperate to drop to her knees. She winked at me when she whispered that at Friday night drinks last week, like I must dream of crawling under his desk too. Listen: the only thing I want to give that man is an ulcer. I want him miserable, and I want to look into his tortured eyes so he knows it was me. That I did this… whatever ‘this’ turns out to be. The details of my vengeance are still hazy. “These figures are wrong.” Mr Laurent’s deep voice cuts through the hum of conversation, and a few admirers step back, suddenly pale. The people in their cubicles turn back to their computer screens, and the sound of hurried typing rattles through the room. Yeah, this is what happens when you worship a cruel, exacting god. You get your math wrong, and then bam! He smites you. “We used the numbers your assistant Danny provided,” a young man in a gray shirt says. He gives a sickly smile, but he’s sweating. There are dark half-moons under his arms. Levi’s mouth purses as he frowns at the clipboard again. God, a man with a full mouth like that shouldn’t go around pouting. No wonder these idiots all want to nibble his bottom lip. “Daniel gave