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“What do you mean by this? What way will it be?” My eyes are narrowed and my arms are crossed like it will shield me from him.
“We go back up there and we act like this didn’t happen, understood?” He gestures upward.
Through the haze of my anger, I can see how important this is to him. I’m right. Jonah wants more and he’s putting up a wall. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad. If I weren’t so foolishly hurt. Just like I was with Eric. Just like I was with my mom.
“You were the one who begged me to let you show me pleasure,” I remind him.
His eyes flash. “Well, I sure as hell regret it now.”
Hurt lances through me, but I still my face. If he can be cold, so can I. Even though I crave the cuddling after sex, the closeness. I am not an against the wall quickie kind of girl. “Good. I regret it too.” I lift my chin.
His eyes glitter. He smells like sex and he looks every inch the cruel, arrogant billionaire. “Thompson. I’ll never touch you again. Not even if you beg.”
“I would rather eat dirt than beg you.” It’s true.
“That can be arranged,” he says shortly, and stalks out.
* * *
Jonah ignores me for the rest of the day. He keeps his door shut and barks orders at me over the phone or in short emails with no punctuation. I leave his stupid sandwich outside his door, and I don’t spit in it, which takes an admirable amount of self-restraint.
I’m raging mad. Foolishly mad. So mad I want to quit. Anger and shame are a heady mix in my gut. I do everything he asks of me with ruthless efficiency before he can even think to follow up.
I pull out my phone and email Paul at the diner, who agrees to an interview. I’m excited to feature the diner in the paper, maybe drum up a little business for them. And for us. Readership was down last week, even with the photo of Jonah driving traffic. I check the page stats like I do at least five times a day, then the comments.
“Good lord,” I mutter as I scroll through the comments I have to approve. The website’s filter picks up potentially inappropriate phrases.
Yes, Daddy - Marc L
That one makes me laugh, so I hit approve.
I’d let him work me out any day - Rachel M
I roll my eyes and reject the comment. People seem to go wild when there’s a level of anonymity. If we showed full names, I’m sure the comments would be tamer.
One woman commented “that jaw,” and I have to agree. I flick back up to the photo. Those angry lips went down on me like I was precious. Breakable. No one has done that for me before. Jonah’s focus was all on me for those twenty minutes, and I felt like I could fly. But then his reaction. Shame makes my stomach knot. The way he shut down after. The look on his face, like he immediately regretted his actions.
If he hadn’t jumped up, I would’ve kept going. That has to be the very worst part.
I just have to survive until the weekend. Just a few more hours, and then I get a whole glorious weekend to myself. And that means avoiding Jonah.
28
Jonah
The sight of my locked door pisses me off to no end. It’s not that I want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to hear the occasional conversation between employees. But I’m the boss. I should be able to open my damn door and intimidate people if I want to. Instead, I’m choking down bites of a sandwich that tastes like sawdust and reviewing the notes Callie sent me for my three p.m. meeting.
Really good notes. I make an angry slash, underlining the education and work history of the investor we’re meeting with. Somehow she dug this up. Ms. Cahill went to the same high school as Miles. A fact we can use when getting her to invest with us.
Callie probably used nefarious methods to get the information. All reporters for those gossipy papers are the same. They’ll do anything to get ahead. She’s too fucking competent. And why are you so mad about that? And too pretty. You didn’t feel that way when she was panting your name.
That swishy hair. Perfect for wrapping around your hand.
An annoyingly hot body. That ass you fantasized about in the shower.
Stupidly plump lips. The ones you wanted to taste.
And that’s the thought that makes my brows draw down and my fist clench. I’m not tasting anyone’s lips. I don’t kiss. A hot night of release does not need to involve kissing. Or feelings. Or seeing the woman in question more than a few times.
