“You ready for dinner? I made reservations at this spot on the water,” he told me.
“Um, yeah. I could eat. I’ll go get dressed.” I draped my legs over the chair and stood.
Frequency rose with me, giving me pause with his eyes.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Nah.” He shook his head.
It felt like he wanted to say something to me, but he was giving resistance.
“Okay. I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.” I bowed my head and ducked back inside the suite to get cleaned up.
* * *
The restauranthe chose was romantic as fuck. The water sparkled as we were set up on the deck of a large yacht. There were other people aboard, but it was some exclusive shit because we were all spread out with privacy. I skimmed my menu, and from across the table, I could feel his electric stare. It was hard not to since we were in such close proximity. He brought his glass of cognac to his lips and took a gulp.
“Did I do something to you?” He sloped forward, resting an elbow on the table while fingering the hair on his chin pensively.
Slowly I brought my eyes up to his. He wasn’t intimidated.
“No,” I answered simply, and his brow furrowed.
“Clearly, I did,” he responded.
“Maybe you feel some kind of way. I’m good,” I lied, focusing back on the menu in front of me.
His hand went up, snatching it out of my hand and setting it beside him on the table. “Then why didn’t you say anything on the drive over here? This is the first time you’ve looked at me all night.”
“Does it really matter? Why do we have to talk? This is just a physical thing, right?” Both of my brows dipped above my angered orbs.
His face absolved into guilt, and he lowered his gaze to the table. Blowing out a sharp breath, he reclined in his chair.
“This was a bad idea,” he muttered, swallowing the rest of his drink and staring off.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I responded, arms crossing over my chest.
“The fuck you want from me, Harbor!” he hissed across the table.
“I don’t want anything from you. We can skip over all this other shit and just be business partners. Does that work for you?” I asked, tilting my head.
“That’s how you want it?” he asked. “Did I hurt your fucking feelings or something?”
I wanted to reach across the table to slap him as my eyes misted. I could actually picture my hand against his flesh.
“Fuck you!” I grit my teeth and seethed. “And I’m ready to go. I’m not hungry.” I slapped my napkin on the table and rose from my chair.
Before I could walk away, he snatched my wrist and glared up at me.
“Well, I am. Sit the fuck down,” he ordered.
“Is that what this is? A dictatorship? I’m not your fucking child!”
“Then stop acting like one!” he barked, and I froze.
Yanking away from him, I shot daggers his way. I dropped down into the chair and wouldn’t look at him as he took his menu and looked over it. After he ordered, I sat there and watched him eat, my loathing for him growing with each bite he took. He was being petty, ordering more and more shit to the point where a bitch was starving.
I had to sit in my decision and pretend not to be hungry while he devoured appetizers and a steak so big and juicy my mouth salivated. Instead, I kept drinking, knowing damn well I was going to pay for that shit later. He chewed slowly on purpose, the whole time staring at me across the table intensely. The thought of smashing his plate in his face crossed my mind.
