Page 90 of A Vicious Love

I stepped toward him.

Of course he didn’t move. One of the only living men with permission to sit in my office while I wanted violence and make it worse on purpose.

“Tell me again how little you care,” he said. “I almost believed you on the third attempt. The fourth lost me.”

My grip tightened around the glass.

“You want to know what I care about?” I said. “I care about a hotel wing burning because some soft-bellied fuck decided Crow fire looked good on Veil.”

“Mm.”

“I care about business.”

“Of course.”

“I care about not having Damius breathe down my neck because the Bellemeres are playing replacement games with blonde cousins and old debts.”

“Ah. We’re back to Sienna.”

“We are not back to Sienna.”

“We never left.”

I threw the glass. It shattered against the wall behind the sofa, whiskey and crystal spraying over black marble.

Harrison looked at the broken glass.

Then at me.

“Very calm.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You don’t give a fuck,” he said, lifting his own drink.

“I threw a glass because your voice annoys me.”

“My voice has annoyed you for twenty-eight years. Most glasses survive.”

I moved toward him again.

The office door opened before I reached the sofa.

Marcel walked in. He took one look at the glass on the floor, Harrison on the sofa, me with blood pressure somewhere near murder, and sighed.

“No,” he said.

Harrison pointed at me. “He started it.”

“I did not ask.”

“He’s ranting about not caring.”

“I gathered.”

“He says the merger is basically over.”

Marcel’s face changed.