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He throws his hands in the air, turning away from me. “Forget it, okay? Believe I’m an ass or a conceited playboy or an arrogant rock star. Believe anything you want, I don’t care. Just leave. We’re over.”
“Maddox, don’t do this.” I reach for his arm to turn him around. “Why aren’t you—”
“It’s done!” he yells, pulling his arm away. “Okay? It’s over. Go back to running a piece of your daddy’s company, Baby Mavin. Leave me alone. You knew who I was when you hired me.”
I don’t know if he could do or say anything else that could slice through all my emotions and force a mixture of disdain and heartbreak worse than what he just did. From calling me the nickname I hate to telling me I’m basically running just another piece of my father’s business, or doubling down that it was all an act. That he was the King of Bad the entire time.
His words, combined with my new round of emotions, snaps something inside. I swallow down any pain I’m feeling, focusing on the animosity that’s rising.
“You’re right,” I whisper out. It takes everything to keep my voice steady. “I did know who you were when I hired you. And guess what? You’re walking out of this building the same way you walked in. As nothing but a self-absorbed, self-entitled asshole. You’re fired.”
I half expect him to argue. To tell me I can’t fire him, or that tonight’s show is just about to start, or to even tell me he’s going to sue my father’s company. But he doesn’t do any of that. He keeps his steely green eyes on me, and I watch his jaw clench. Then, with a curt nod, he hurries past me and out of the room.
