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Dex scans the living room the second he walks in. The asshole has the nerve to grin as he calls out a jovial, “Honey, I’m home!”
“Don’t honey me, and this is not your home.”
“I missed you too, princess. How was your day?” he taunts, his tanned face still smiling as he throws his leather briefcase down on the first sofa he comes to.
He’s taken off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, which along with his five o’clock shadow makes him look more dangerous than ever.
“I can’t believe you kept me waiting here all day. Didn’t you see my texts? You know damn well I need to talk with you,” I remind him.
Ignoring me, he walks past me to the huge dining room table where he starts lifting several plate covers hiding the uneaten meal delivered hours before.
Dex turns and pins me with a more serious look. “Why haven’t you eaten?”
His question confuses me. “Why do you care?”
“Because I ordered this sent to you hours ago when I knew I wouldn’t be able to get free until late.”
“Why in the world would you do that?” I ask, genuinely baffled.
Instead of answering, he picks up the plate of chef’s lasagna and heads toward the kitchen. I stand dumbfounded listening to him put it in the microwave. Several minutes go by as I listen to clinking sounds and with each passing second, I get angrier.
“Are you coming back any time soon? We need to talk!”
Like an accomplished waiter, he emerges from the kitchen, a bottle of red wine and two empty glasses in one hand, a plate of pasta in the other.
“Sit,” he demands, setting the food on the table.
“I’m not hungry,” I lie. I’ve been hungry for hours, I’ve just been too upset to eat the heavy food.
Almost as if he hears my inner thought, he uncovers the Caesar’s salad and sets it at my place before grabbing the bottle opener and getting to work opening the wine. It isn’t until he’s filled two glasses with the deep red liquid that he repeats his order. “Sit… eat.”
Our eyes lock in a showdown for several long seconds. I swear I can see his blood pressure rising with each second I ignore his demand and my own pulse spikes in return. I know I’m playing with fire, but after how he treated me at The Rooftop today, I don’t really care.
I stand up straighter, pulling in a deep breath for confidence before letting him have it. “You need to listen, Dex. You don’t just get to come waltzing in here and act like nothing happened today. You went too far!
“I know humiliating me in front of your criminal friends had to be the highlight of your week, but this is still my hotel they’re staying in, and I deserve to be treated with respect. These fucking games you’re playing are going to end. It was bad enough that you debased me in private, and then in front of Z, but what you did to me today was unforgivable.”
I hate that my voice quavers with emotion. The absolute last thing I want to do is let him know how much he affects me.
I wish I’d moved farther away from him before my rant because as I stand here watching for his reaction, I catch a whiff of that pure masculine virility he exudes. It surrounded me like a haze of pheromones up at the bar earlier, clouding my judgment—I can’t think of any other plausible reason why I stood there and let him finger fuck me in public.
“Did I, or did I not, make it clear that my help comes with a price?”
“Screw you and your consequences. This isn’t some game!” I shout, hating the shrill, almost panicked edge to my voice. I take a deep breath, trying to maintain my cool so I can get through laying down my demands for the stupid contract he’s going to force me to sign.
Breaking eye contact, he reaches to pick up his wine glass, lifting it in a silent toast. He makes me wait as he takes a leisurely sip, probably meant to show my words haven’t impacted him in any way.
He steps close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath. “It may not be a game to you, but I can promise you this—I’m going to win.”
He’s tall enough that I’m craning my neck to maintain eye contact. “Only because you don’t play fair.”
Just inches away, the smile on his lips doesn’t reach his eyes. “I never said I would play fair. What’s the fun in that?” he taunts, his eyes going another shade darker before adding, “I don’t remember you playing fair when you broke the decades old contract between our families. You kicked me and my entire enterprise to the curb without blinking those beautiful little eyes of yours. I’m just making sure I return the favor.”
I can feel the panic rising in my chest. I’m a strong woman but going toe-to-toe with Dex Cohen has always tested me. It’s at least part of the underlying reason why I insisted he leave The Whitney in the first place. I can’t handle being around this level of intensity every day.
Taking a step back, I try to rally my argument. “You didn’t leave me a choice. You were taking crazy risks doing business with the kind of clientele that would never blend in here at The Whitney. If you’re honest with yourself, you know I’m right. Your father never would have allowed that gang of street thugs to move in like you did. My father was in the hospital, on his death bed, and you were already breaking all the rules he and your father had lived by for decades. I could see the writing on the wall of what it would be like after he was gone. You gave me no option but to pull the plug.”
“No option? You didn’t even come to me and try to negotiate changes. Like a scared little girl, you ran off to your father’s long-time lawyer and gave him some sob story to get him to nullify everything our fathers had built together. You purposefully waited until I was in Europe on business and had some company move my entire life out of the only home I’d known and into some fucking storage unit in Queens!”
