Excerpt from Furious: An Anger Management Novel

From Furious…the first novel in the Anger Management series.

“Let me out!”

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, chuckling as he leaned back in his wheelchair and settled in while the woman who’d been foolish enough to get herself locked in a linen closet continued to try to break the door down.

“Bret,” she snapped, which of course was not the magic word so he had no choice but to ignore her.

“I’m not kidding!” she added a minute later.

“Really?” he asked, looking for something that he could wedge under the door to keep her locked in so that he could take a break, maybe grab a soda and a sandwich, watch a movie or two before fitting in a nap for the afternoon, but unfortunately there was nothing within reach that he could use.

“No!” she snapped, sounding angry for some odd reason.

“You sound mad,” he said conversationally as he leaned back in his wheelchair, closed his eyes and settled in for that nap he’d been thinking about since that little prick that his sister had sent to disrupt his morning had started crying.

“Pissed! I sound pissed!” she snapped as she slammed her body against the door in a sad attempt to break free, but with his wheelchair locked in place the way that it was, she wasn’t going anywhere.

At least not until he got bored, had to use the bathroom, or found something vastly more entertaining than keeping her locked in the closet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, really enjoying himself.

“No, I want you to open the door!” she snapped, further expressing her desire for freedom with more pounding.

“Why would you want me to do that? Don’t you like it in there?” he asked innocently, starting to see the benefits in having an aide.

“No,” she bit out evenly, making him smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Oh,” he said, making sure to sound confused even as he continued to smile.

“Are you going to let me out?” she asked after a slight hesitation.

“Probably,” he said around a yawn and shrug, wondering if she’d notice if he rolled away for a few minutes to grab a drink.

Then again, he could probably get her to get him a drink if he let her go…

“Bret,” she bit out his name coldly, absolutely making his day.

“Yes, pookie?” he asked, deciding that she needed a nickname.

“Let. Me. Out.”

Chuckling, he flipped the locks off his wheelchair and rolled away, wondering what other fun things that he could do with his aide.

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