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“How could you?”
His eyebrows shot up.
I pushed aside the chairs in front of his desk and crossed to him, pushing him back to the glass wall. The bay opened up behind him and it seemed like there as nothing but blackness around us.
I curled my fingers into his shirt. “You bought my statue!”
He blinked. “Oh.”
I let his shirt go. “Oh? You drive me insane for days, for weeks! Then you fire me. Then you come in with some crazy Thanksgiving dinner for me.” I stabbed his chest with my finger to punctuate each sentence. I whirled around and paced away from him.
Those weren’t the things I wanted to spew at him, but there were so many secrets wrapped into my anger that I couldn’t find a way to channel my damn words.
“You came all the way into Boston to scream at me about dinner?” he asked.
“No, you moron! Because you bought my statue.” I turned back to him, his entire office between us now. It was probably a good thing, since I felt ragey enough to throw a chair at him. Or find a way to throw him out the damn window.
“It’s an amazing piece of glass. I wanted it.” His face and tone was so matter of fact that the red haze around my vision returned.
“It’s mine!” I roared.
He stepped away from the wall and straightened his shirt. “Actually, it was for sale, and now it’s mine.”
I sputtered out a breath and something resembling a growl until finally I found my words. “And you don’t see the problem here?”
“No.”
“You fired me not even a week ago.”
“One has nothing to do with the other.” He advanced toward me. “And I came with a peace offering today. But it turns out I didn’t even need it. You wanted to see me just as much as I wanted to see you.”
“No.”
“Come now, Ms. Copeland—”
“Oh, no.” I sliced the air with my hand. “No, you are not going to start that crap. I’m not your employee anymore.”
One dark brow rose. “Because you lied to me.” He calmly moved the chairs back into their correct spots in front of his desk. “I haven’t quite figured out why, or what your endgame is, but that’s not what we’re discussing.”
“It should be,” I sputtered.
Our gazes locked. “Do you really want to go there?”
I gnashed my teeth together, but said nothing.
He skirted around the chair I’d spent so many hours in, his steps measured and slow. “This isn’t about your art piece.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not.”
I lifted my chin. “I’m not a whore.”
He went stone still. “What?”
“After what we did today.”
“We had sex. It wasn’t the first time, and it damn well won’t be the last.”
