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Holy shit.
The Alistair I knew was dark and brooding, sure. He had demons, and a malicious edge to him. And yeah, he was a dick.
But the man standing before me, towering over me with a malevolent energy almost literally radiating off him, is pure wrath. He’s not dark; he’s Darkness personified. And brooding doesn’t even remotely come close to describing the viciousness etched into his face as his ice-blue eyes carve into me.
He was a switchblade when I knew him at school. The tall, stoic, cold man standing in front of me today is a fucking broadsword. A weapon of mass destruction.
Death, on a pale horse.
The moment drags on, and the utter silence of his office feels like a shroud. I can hear the rhythmic ticking of a clock on one of his shelves, seemingly in time with the thudding of my pulse in my ears.
Alistair turns away, strides easily back over to his desk, and sinks into his chair. He leans back, stroking his jaw with one hand as he drums the fingers of the other on the edge of his desk.
“I’d ask whose dick you had to suck in order to get this highly coveted position without so much as a single fucking interview.” His smile turns brittle. “But I suppose we both know the answer to that.”
My jaw clenches. “That’s…”
“Not fair? Unkind? Un-pro-fessional?” he snaps coldly.
“Inappropriate,” I fire back.
“You’re a lawyer—sue me. And while you’re at it, try and forgive my dislike for hiring completely inexperienced whores for positions in my firm they neither qualify for, nor deserve.”
Terrified as I am, I still bristle at his words. It’s “the French in me”, as my mother would say, and there’s no stopping the heated retort that flies from my mouth unbidden.
“You don’t get to speak to me like that,” I hiss.
Alistair barks out a loud, menacing laugh.
“No?”
“No,” I mutter, feeling my face heat and my insides churn as his gaze zones in on me.
“Or what, Eloise?” Alistair says icily. “Or you’ll tell your hubby?” His lips curl dangerously. “You’ll go tell Massimo all the mean widdle names I call you? Or maybe you’ll just make some shit up. We both know how gifted a storyteller you are.”
My face burns, and as much as try and resist, my eyes drop from his, looking down at my hands as they twist in front of me.
“I—”
“You what,” he snarls. “Is this a fucking apology I’m about to hear? Have you practiced this in front of the mirror, Eloise?”
I don’t have to think very hard to know what he’s talking about.
“I…” I shake my head, picking at my cuticles.
Be the bigger person. Offer the olive branch.
“I… I had no right to spread that rumor about you.”
“No shit,” Alistair barks coldly. “That rumor almost kept me out of law school.”
My teeth rake over my bottom lip. “I… I’m sorry.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” he deadpans.
“Listen, Alistair?—”
“No.”
