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He interrupts me. “My dad is a fucking moron for hiring you in the first place.”
Stunned, I stare at him.
He looks like he’s waiting for something.
“Translation, you’re fired. Scram.” He jerks his head toward the door.
“E-Excuse me?” It comes out as a whisper, and I loathe the tremor in my voice.
“You. Are. Fired.” He spells it out like I have a hunk of cotton balls for a brain. “We won’t be needing your services anymore. Pack your shit and get out.” He gives the overnight bag I left at the bottom of the bed a careless kick.
Anger roars within me.
Who does this guy think he is?
“Last I checked, you’re not the one paying me. I’m not going anywhere unless your dad tells me to.” I direct all of my energy into sounding confident.
Finn thinks on his answer for a long moment before saying, “Suit yourself. He’ll fire your ass tomorrow, anyway. Even better, I’ll get to watch.”
Astounded by his cruelty, I keep up our staring contest.
“Pretty sure I told you to get the fuck out of my bed,” he hounds when I don’t move fast enough, and I snap out of it, starting to lift the blanket off my body.
Then I remember…
I’m still close to naked.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not leaving this bed—”
Until you turn around,I intend to say, but he’s heard enough, and he’s not having it. I let out a small yelp when Finn snatches the blanket off me in a single move and wraps his hand around my left ankle.
I wonder if I’m imagining the whole thing when he uses the hold he has on my ankle to yank me to the edge of the bed. There, in my panties, with my ass hanging off the bed, I realize something I’m in no way prepared for.
I’m scared of this boy.
Maybe it’s the way he carries himself.
The nothingness seeping out of him.
There’s no warmth, no kindness, no weakness to pick up on. I’m usually good at reading people, but I couldn’t get so much as a hint on this motherfucker if I tried.
I plant my feet on the cold hardwood floor and shiver when he leans over me, leveling his hard stare with mine and placing his arms on each side of my body.
He’s… breathtaking.
And not in a good way.
“You’re not leaving this bed, huh?” he asks, eyes roaming down my chest. Slowly. Shamelessly.
I can’t move.
Why can’t I move?
His focus locks onto my tank top, and I’m mortified when I feel my nipples pebbling under his gaze.
And the worst part?
He seems to notice because he smiles.
