Punching

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I'm still annoyed as shit, all week

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I'm still annoyed as shit, all week.

Trying to not step on Charles toes' and frustrating nobody but myself.

How is this supposed to work if I don't even go in the garage?

Why did I ever say that?

Why doesn't he give a shit?

I don't know. I'm cracking.

Charles must have asked me one hundred time the last week if anything is wrong. So when an hour before race day his manager asks me to find him, I'm hot.

So I'm supposed to live at his convenience now?

His beck and call?

Hm.

Displeased, I knock on his door. "What?" I ask as soon as he swings it open, much to his bewilderment.

His lips pull into a straight line, "Come in?"

"Why?"

I'm full on throwing a temper tantrum, and I know it. He knows it too, and he's not pleased.

"Amelia, just fucking come in." He demands, obviously over it.

But so am I.

Regardless, I do as he wishes. He lets the door close behind him with a deep sigh. "What is it?"

"Nothing." I say, as I have all week.

He should be bright enough to figure it out.

The fact that he hasn't only annoys me more.

"Damn it, just tell me now. You've been acting like a child all week." Charles runs his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated.

He's not the only one. His tracksuit is only half on, and he's looking way to sexy for my liking right now.

"A child?" I come back, offended. No holding back now. "You're the one who didn't want me here over a situation I can't control." My tone every inch accusatory.

He has the audacity to roll his eyes.

"I never said that." He retorts.

And well, he's right.

But he didn't not say it.

He just agreed. Just let it slide all week long.

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