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I frown. “Wait, I just?—”
“And I said no. A, you don’t, under any circumstances, dictate to me what to do. And B, I don’t, as a rule, listen to opportunistic backstabbing whores.”
My face turns to fire as I glare at him sharply.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Which part, specifically, Eloise,” he growls, “do you take offense to? The whore part, or specifically the opportunistic and backstabbing descriptors?”
“You—”
“I always like to be precise, which is why I ask.”
I bristle as he sneers a cold, malicious smile at me.
“I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be.”
“Well, there’s the door,” he rasps, jabbing a finger past me. “Problem fucking solved.”
“Come on, Alistair!” I bark back. “We’re adults, okay!? What happened when we were kids is…regrettable. But given that we both have to be here, how about we act like grownups about it?!”
I was half expecting to be cut off by some biting remark. So when he actually lets me finish without interruption, the ensuing silence hangs awkwardly, my eyes darting over his face like I’m waiting for the comeback.
The seconds tick by until slowly he raises his brows.
“Oh, was that the whole thing? I was waiting for you to launch into the next stanza of your grandiose speech.”
I grit my teeth as I look away. “You are such a fucking asshole.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” he snaps. “Or is it pot, meet whore?—”
“Stop calling me that!!”
“Or what?!”
He lurches out of his chair, his face livid as he slams his knuckles onto the edge of his desk.
“Or what, Eloise?” Alistair hisses viciously. “Or you’ll go cry to your husband?”
“Maybe I will!” I hiss back.
“By all means, go ahead.” He smiles. “And then I’ll tell him all the ways you took my cock.”
The words hit me like a slap in the face. And, mortifyingly, like a zap of electricity through my core.
Goddammit, do NOT let your thoughts go there.
No.
Alistair is a bastard and a supreme asshole. And it was one night, ten fucking years ago. But even as I try to talk myself back from that edge, and desperately tell the heat on my face to abate, he starts to move from behind his desk. My skin shivers and prickles to goosebumps as his eyes narrow on me and he moves toward me again.
“Please, Eloise,” he growls. “Please run and cry to Massimo. He doesn’t know, does he?”
I look away.
“Does he.”
My eyes close as I drag in a ragged breath of air, the nearness of him closing my throat. “What do you think?” I whisper.
