Myron's POV
The ice in my glass had mostly melted. I swirled the watery whiskey around, not really tasting it. My eyes were stuck on my phone, lying dark and silent on the bar. Come on, ring. Why hasn't she called? Every second felt like an hour. This was taking too long.
Then—BANG!
The door to my living room flew open and hit the wall. I jumped, almost spilling my drink. Tiffany stormed in. Her hair was a mess and her fancy dress looked like she'd rolled around in a dirt pile. She marched right up to me and just stood there, breathing heavy, like a bull about to charge.
I looked at her, then looked away, taking a slow sip of my drink. I didn't have time for her drama today.
She let out this huge, dramatic sigh that sounded like a tire deflating. She looked down at her ruined clothes.
"What is it, Tiff?" I asked, my voice flat. "I'm waiting for a very important call. I can't afford to be distracted right now."
