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Chapter Two
Linden
He knocks, completely out of character for him, but quickly recovers his form… barging inside before waiting for an invitation.
“Please, come on in,” I jeer, once he already has, indulging in an evil grin.
He measures every slow, predatory step taken, giving me the time we both know I can’t help but take… to take him in. And without confirming, my eyes busy other places, I’m certain he now wears a cocksure grin of his own. He’s wearing an expensive suit, a red tie adding a pop of color… and calming the overall “sinister” feel emanating from his massive stature, outlined perfectly by the black suit.
That’s right, you bastard, I’m looking. Go ahead and gloat; enjoy the only victory I’ll ever give you. Yes, I’m just as physically attracted to you today as I was at seventeen. And twenty-five. And every day in between.
Knox Morgan, rich, callous and entitled, is also, unfortunately, sleek, suave, and gorgeous. Guess it can’t hurt to tack on the rest: absolutely devastating to my libido and good sense.
He clears his throat, interrupting my ogling and forcing my eyes up to meet his. “Linden.” The smug tinge to his deep murmur pisses me off… because it’s earned.
“Knox,” I pry, my unasked question heard, just as I knew it would be. Years of practice has left us fluent in “each other.”
“Zimmerman,” he flatly begins, “whatever you’re not telling me, neither of us are leaving this room until you do,” and ends with inflated authority.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare him dead in the eyes, praying that I’m winning the fight to hide his unfair effect on me… especially when he unleashes his bossy side. “I told you, quite succinctly if memory serves; move on, not gonna happen.”
“Oh, Linden you know me better than that.” He chuckles, shoving his hands in the pockets of his perfectly-fitting slacks while rocking back on his heels. And he knows exactly what he’s doing — pseudo-thrusting his crotch at me — I’d bet all his money on the smug awareness behind it. “I don’t take well to being told no and I absolutely refuse to let you lie to me.”
“You’re so much prettier when you don’t talk,” I toss back. “And, I’m not lying to you. It will only be over my dead body, if even then, that you ever get your hands on the Zimmerman house. Chew on it, swallow, digest, because it’s the cold, hard truth, Knox Morgan. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
The words to describe how damn good that felt don’t exist. How long I’ve waited for the chance to “one up” his hoity-toity, privileged ass. Finally, not only am I on his “level” … I’m above it. I’m in charge.
“Why do you want Zimmerman so bad anyway, Knox?”
“Honestly?” he asks, taking a step closer.
“Yeah, why not?” I shrug, then fire a shameful low-blow, “Give it a try.”
“Linden,” he sighs, scrubbing at his sexy 5 o’clock shadow, “I want to buy it for you. It popped up on the market and looked exactly like something you’d buy if you started investing; flipping. The perfect starter, at the perfect price-point, to do all the little things I know you’d want to, putting your touch on it, turning it into a beautiful first home for one special family.”
Damn him straight to Hell! Instantly a riot of contradicting feelings flare inside me... cry, laugh, kiss him, kill him? I can’t see past the whole “Gift of the Magi” irony to decide. So… I don’t. Instead, I attempt avoidance.
“Go home, Knox.” I stand, walk to the door and open it for him… to exit. It’s been too long of a day; too many emotions beckoned to resurface. I’m done.
He doesn’t leave though, capitalizing on my stupid mistake — turning my back on him — by moving in behind me… close. Too close. Speaking right in my ear, deep and warm. Too deep. Too warm.
“Present the seller an offer, Linnybug. Any offer. If you want it, it’s yours. If not, we’ll rent it out or something. I just, I want to do something nice for you. Let me, please. Why you hate me, I’m not sure, but I won’t stop trying to fix it… until it’s fixed. This can be a start, Lin. You’ll have a project of your own… and maybe if I’m lucky, be persuaded into letting me take you to dinner?”
“You have no idea why I hate you?” I yell, whirling around to face him. “No, never mind, that’s a saga for another day. Preferably, one when I’m drunk, holding a baseball bat and standing next to your shiny car. As for Zimmerman, no. You will not be buying it for me … because I already bought itformyself. All by myself! I didn’t need you or your money. I scrimped, purchased a house, and I’m gonna flip the shit out of it. Without. Any. Help. Or pity from you.” Squaring my shoulders, I stab him with one final glare. “Now, please leave.”
“Why not just say that from the start?” he booms, gently pushing my arm aside before slamming the door shut. “Why even ask what I wanted with it?”
Good question. Why had I? I’m not sure, but that’s for me to know, or not know in this case, and only me. Knox Morgan is in my head enough as it is; there’s no way I’m giving him any more room in there. This conversation is over.
“Just go,” I plead, ducking under his arm to move away from him and toward my desk.
He doesn’t, of course… leave, or listen, closing in on me. Even with my back turned again, I’m hyper aware of his presence, proximity.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck tell me, just as they always do, he’s right behind me. And he too, is angry.
Confused.
Adrenalized.
