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I throw my hands up in the air. This is pointless. He’s an arrogant bastard.
“Well, I’m not staying. I’m taking the job in New York. How dare you think you can just wave your magic dick around and I’ll be putty in your hands?”
His glances at me. “I didn’t see you too angry last night when you were riding my magic dick,” he sneers. “In fact, you moaned on it all fucking night.”
“See?” I shake my head around in disgust. “It’s this arrogant fucking asshole attitude that turns me off you.”
He punches the steering wheel hard, and I jump. “You haven’t seen a fucking asshole yet, Olivia.” The veins are prominent in his neck. “Don’t fucking push me!” he growls.
“Stop it!” I scream. “You’re being crazy.”
“You make me fucking crazy,” he yells.
“Let me out of the car. This was a big mistake. I wish I never laid eyes on you.”
He glares over at me. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
He pulls into a parking space at my hotel. I get out and slam the door hard. He tears off into the distance. I watch the car disappear to the sound of his tires screeching, and then I look up to see everyone has stopped and is staring after him.
Hmm, that went well.
I drop my head and continue my walk of shame.
Great.
* * *
The thing about bastards is that they get under your skin. They’re like a poisonous rash.
Insidious, festering, and begging for attention.
I don’t feel like I have that I won the fight feeling.
It’s Monday afternoon, and I haven’t heard from him.
I mean, I don’t want to. It’s not like I’m checking my phone every ten minutes or anything. I pick my phone up and check it again.
No missed calls. I exhale heavily.
Asshole.
I spent yesterday afternoon with Natalie analyzing this situation over copious amounts of alcohol and tapas in a bar.
She thinks I’m being a drama queen—that his father had died, and he wasn’t thinking straight back then. She thinks him bringing me here is romantic.
She thinks this is a second chance love story waiting to happen.
I think he’s a control freak.
Part of me wishes I handled yesterday differently—that I just sat and talked to him.
Why was I so angry? I acted like a crazy person.
And why was he so fucking angry? He acted like no woman had ever asked to leave before.
Probably haven’t.
I glance at the clock and see it’s 5:00 p.m. I’ve achieved nothing today. Giorgio isn’t even here because he’s in New York working for the week. I can’t wait to tell him about my weekend from Hell.
