"Is that a joke?" I lower my brows.
"What do you think?"
"I think..." I stroke my chin, "that you like how I wear it."
"I hate it."
"Good." I knock my knuckles on the table. "I'll keep it."
She shoots me a look that is so hate-filled, that I chuckle.
"It’s not funny." She makes that sound—the one between anger and frustration, that I heard yesterday—deep in her throat.
My dick twitches.
How would she sound under me? When I am balls deep inside her melting pussy, while squeezing her beautiful tits? My groin hardens. Fuck. Get your head in the game.
I thrust out my chest, "It is from where I am."
"Have you always been such an arrogant prick?"
"Watch it, now." I glare at her. "Your idle prattle has ceased to amuse me."
"You know what’s really not amusing?" She moves forward to stand in front of the table, then slaps her hand on the table, "That I let myself be subjected to the toxicity of your presence. "
Our height difference is such that even with my being seated, she has to tilt her head back to peer into my face. She really is petite, and exquisite. Made to be broken, to be put on a shelf and taken care of, then taken down on occasion, to be admired.
It’s a compulsion of mine. To collect objects that elicit extreme emotions, which I admit is something that doesn’t happen often with me.
That’s no explanation for what I do next.
I tap my fingertips together, "So how are you going to put up with shadowing me for a week?"
8
Summer
"A... week?" I squawk. I didn’t heard that correctly. "You mean seven days?"
He raises his eyes skyward, "She can count."
Jerk. I swallow, press my knees together, "I won't do it."
"Why not?" He drums his fingers on the table. "Don't you need this gig?"
"I do."
"Then?"
"My uh—my," I twist my fingers together. How do I put this without giving away more about myself? How…? "My personal circumstances don’t allow me to—"
"Ditch him."
"What?" I stare.
The ego of this guy. I mean, it’s not possible he’s managed to get through life with this attitude, is it? Does everyone he encounter bend to him? Do they?
He rotates his foot, clad in Italian leather shoes.
"Time you got rid of whichever lover boy you're seeing."
My eyes bug out, "You’re joking."
"There you go again, presuming to know what I mean."
I throw up my hands, "You’re speaking in riddles."
"Good, one way for you to put that ol’ brain matter to good use."
Anger thrums at my temples. My pulse pounds. Adrenaline laces my blood. "I’ve never met anyone quite like… like… you." I raise my palm, bring it down.
There’s a blur of motion, and the next moment, he looms above me. His fingers lock on my wrist.
"Let me go."
"Your answer first, Pink."
"Don’t call me that."
"I’ll call you what I want, when I want to, and you’ll answer to it."
"No."
"Yes."
Obnoxious ass. I stare at his face, searching for something… anything that would give me a clue to why he is acting so unreasonably. "Were you born this way or did you become such a repugnant beast along the way?"
"You don’t get to ask the questions."
He tugs me forward and I squeak. My nose bumps his. That dark edgy scent of him envelops me. Moisture pools between my thighs. Hell. How could someone so horrible smell so delicious?
"Your boyfriend—"
"What about him?"
"Drop him."
Not that I have anyone currently. And if I did, would I do as he's commanded?
Yes.
Yes.
"No." I jerk my head.
He lets go of my wrist only to wrap his fingers around my nape. I flinch.
"You will do as I say."
My nerve endings crackle. That hushed tone of his voice… the angle of his head, the intensity with which he peruses my features, holds my gaze, ripping me to shreds, cutting straight to the core of me, that frightened little girl who’s inside of me. Bet he knows how much of a loser I am inside. One who has never managed to get her own way. I’m not going to give in now. If I do, the alphahole will win and I’ll never… never give him that satisfaction; not unless it is on my own terms.
"Oh yeah?" I tilt my head, "And if I don’t?"
"Hmm." His eyes gleam, "You sure you want to know?"
The hair on my forearms stands on end. This is a trap. Every single action of his since he walked into this room has been carefully calculated to put me on edge, to unbalance me, to ensure that I am so angry that I’ll lose my composure. Don’t say the obvious, don’t. I toss my head. "Bite me, motherfucker."
He peels back his lips. His white teeth flash. Wow. The sheer enjoyment on his face? It changes his features, transforms him into what he might have been as a boy. Full of life, excitement, ready for the next challenge… which in this case, is me. I pull back. "No, don’t —"
He lunges forward. The next moment I am splayed across the length of the table, my breasts crushed against the hard surface. "What the—?" I struggle and he leans his heavy arm on the small of my back. I jerk my hips, push up on my toes. A weight behind my knees pins me in place.
"Let me go, bastard."
"Nice of you to have spotted my true lineage, and on our first meeting."
I huff. Don’t say, it , don’t. "Technically, it’s our second meeting."
"Don’t correct me." He yanks up my skirt.
Cool air assails my skin. I freeze. No way, he isn’t going to… "Unhand me."
He pauses, "Did you say 'unhand'?"
Is there a glimmer of laughter in his voice. I angle my head and he increases the pressure on my back, holding me immobile.
"You wouldn’t dare…" My chin trembles.
"You should realize that I don’t take kindly to dares." He cups my butt and my thighs squeeze together. I clench my fists at my sides. When I get out of here, I am going to file a sexual harassment lawsuit. I am going to sue the living daylights out of him.
"Won’t work," he growls.
"What?"
"Whatever you are plotting."
I freeze.
"Everyone in this office will support me. It’s your word against mine, and yours doesn’t count for much."
My guts clench. The sheer audacity of this man! Does he really think he can get away with what he is doing? "The cameras."
"None in this room."
"From the entrance to the building?"
"I’ve ordered them wiped already."
"The bar yesterday…" I bite on my lower lip. Of course, he owns it and everyone there, as well. "Fuck you."