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He’s at the bathroom door already, looking back at me with one question on his face.
There are a million things I could say.Fuck you. I’m never going to look at you again. You’re nothing to me.
Something else comes out instead. “I’m not afraid of you. And I’m not leaving.”
Andalso,I’m going to bring my palm tree figurine.
A satisfied smile lights his face for a fraction of a second, then disappears into something much darker. “Good.”
8
WILL
Well,that didn’t fucking work.
I’m a delusional fool.If I can just go to the warehouse. If I can just fuck Bristol. Then I’ll feel better.What kind of asshole lets himself believe any of those things? Will Leblanc, billionaire entrepreneur and consummate fuckup. That’s who.
I’m as polite as I can be on the way back to the office, but everyone in the hallway gives me a nervous smile and walks closer to the opposite wall.
Yes, itwouldbe better if I was in the warehouse by the docks venting my frustrations on someone my own size. None of them are going to let me in the front door. A ban is a ban, and Sinclair wasn’t kidding about the concussion. A too-hard step off the curb still makes my temples throb.
Or it’s the suppressed rage. I don’t know.
Fuck.In addition to anger that feels like a rolling boil in my veins, I’m even less respectable now. I want to lock Bristol in that bathroom and fuck her all day. Better yet, I want to take her to a decent bed and tie her to it so I can do an astonishing array of rough, fucked-up things to her. I swear, I can hear her heart beating from all the way across the building. I want to make her understand how much I need her with teeth and claws, not roses and engagement rings.
This is why she should stay away, but she won’t. She was a shaky mess from being used and coming so hard from it, and she still lifted her chin.I’m not afraid of you. And I’m not leaving.
That’s exactly what I wanted her to say, which means I absolutely shouldn’t have it. For everyone’s sake, but especially Bristol’s.
My brain latches onto a fantasy scenario of punching someone while simultaneously fucking Bristol, and it’s all I can do to push it out of my head when I enter my office.
“—just not correct,” Call-Me-Candy says into her phone. The tiny part of me that automatically assesses the performance of people who work for me so that I can keep my company on track makes a note of it. I didn’t hear her from outside the door, so she probably hasn’t changed her tone based on me coming back. She’s wearing a calm, mildly concerned expression as if the person on the other end of the line can see her. She might be a good secretary when she’s not trying to seduce anyone. I sit down behind my desk. Her voice follows me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help. Bye-bye.”
I wake up my computer to find something, anything, to concentrate on other than dragging Bristol to my apartment by her hair. Candy steps into the doorframe. “I just had a strange call.”
“Oh?” I don’t care, but ignoring her will probably make her double down on hitting on me.
“It was a woman.” Candy purses her lips, looking genuinely bewildered. She’s not even flirting. “Very insistent, but she had no idea what she was talking about.”
“Probably a wrong number.”
“Probably,” she echoes. Jesus Christ. Is the pause because she’s going to flirt with me or because she’s concerned? Call-Me-Candy has to look at the remnants of the bruises every day. She hasn’t asked about them, and I hope to God she doesn’t think this is the time. “Anything I can get for you?”
“No. Thanks.”
An email from Christa is at the top of my inbox.
SUBJECT:Business assets
Rumor has it you’re not happy with your superyacht, Leblanc. Everything okay?
Christa Hong, Director
Hughes Financial Services, North American division
SUBJECT:RE: Business assets
Gossip is beneath you. And I’ve never been happier.
