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Summer
CHAPTER 7
“Steve, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“Summer, you’re better than that…type,” all he needs to do is pick the invisible lint off his lapel.
His smug, condescending attitude makes me so mad. It also strikes a very raw, very painful nerve inside of me. And gets all of my defenses on alert.
I’ve lived with these types of men all my life, my father was this kind of man, he was the king of superiority complex. I hate them. Ever since the incident between him and Rock, Steve’s been acting like he owns me.
No one owns me. Not anymore.
“Steve,” I give him my most polite and demure voice. I’m an expert at it, it’s who I’ve had to be for the past almost ten years. “Rock is just a customer who was kind of enough to call someone to repair my refrigerator the other day.” Fifty-six hours and thirty-eight minutes, actually.
But I don’t need to give you any explanations.
“Now why would he do something like that?” he asks absently as he glances at his two-thousand-dollar watch.
I also know a thing or two about luxury items, my father, the whole Club wouldn’t be caught dead with anything else.
Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because he’s nice, thoughtful, considerate, a gentleman, even in all of his black and with all those tattoos? Obviously things you’d have no clue about.
“Maybe he was just being a good neighbor.” I mean it sarcastically.
Steve is testing my last strand of patience. Which surprises me. I’d be able to go for hours, days, months, I’ve gone years bouncing comments like this off me. I had to. If I hadn’t, I’d have strung myself up from the nearest beam and hung myself. But Steve? Right now he’s pushing all of my buttons, some of them I thought I’d finally disconnected. Apparently I didn’t.
“Neighborly, him? Don’t be absurd! I’m quite certain he hasn’t a clue about being a ‘good neighbor’. People like that aren’t neighbors. They’re the kind you lock your doors to when you see them coming into town,” he sniffs haughtily.
Ooooooooh! What a snob!
I grit my teeth and count to ten to calm my temper.
He’s a customer, be nice, he’s a customer, be nice, he’s a customer, BE NICE, I repeat this over and over and don’t reply until I’m certain I’m not going to tell him to get out and never come back.
Finally, when I think I can behave myself, I let out a slow breath.
“Thank you for your concern,” I give him the comment he expects just to shut him up. It’s something I’ve been programmed to do.
Tell them what they want to hear, do what’s expected of you. Be what you’re supposed to be. Don’t argue, don’t complain. Do. Not. Fight.
The insincerity burns my tongue.
It’s hypocritical.
It’s not what I feel.
When he looks me in the eye with smug satisfaction like he’s won, bile rises to my throat.
Still, I bite my tongue.
“You’re welcome, Summer,” he smiles arrogantly. “It’s understandable how you could be so easily influenced by a man like that. He’s intimidating to a woman like you. I forgive you.” he pulls his jacket sleeves down by the edges. I want to pull every perfectly combed hair out of his pompous head. Forgive me?! “It’s so cute that you’re playing at this,” he waves his hand through the air motioning to his surroundings, to MY coffee shop, as a look of disgust crosses his face, “but surely you can’t be serious about all of it. About,” he looks around at MY customers, “being that,” his voice drops as he flicks his hand at me.
Oh, no he didn’t!
I plaster another perfect smile on my face. “You’re right, Steve.”
He smiles confidently at me. “Excellent, I knew you were bright.”
