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“That’s it, Orange Theory. You had a paleo phase but that didn’t last. Now you’re vegetarian, but mostly just on weekdays. You hate driving. You take Ubers everywhere. You spend most of your time with your friends, Sara and Robyn, and your roommate, Cassidy. You love to eat out at—”
“Stop it,” I snap, finally losing my temper, and it only makes his eyes brighter and his smile larger. “What’s this proving? That you stalked me?”
“No, filthy girl. It’s proving that Idoknow you, because there’s so little to know. I haven’t been stalking you. I dug all this up in an afternoon. There wasn’t much to find. It was all safe, boring, and clean.” He pushes off the window and stalks toward me. My heart’s racing as I back up and bump into the door behind me. He keeps coming, closer and closer, until he stops inches in front of me. “That’s all you are, Brice. Safe and boring and clean.”
“Stop it,” I say but without force. “I like safe and boring and I don’t have to justify myself to a sick freak like you.”
“I am a sick freak, you’re right, and you need a sick freak right now. You need me to feel something. If you agree to be my wife, I can promise that you’ll have a better life than you ever could imagine—” He holds up a finger. “But only if you obey.”
My mouth falls open. The idea ofobeyingthis man is ludicrous, it’s absurd, it’s grotesque and digesting and—
It’sfilthy.
And a strange excitement runs down into my core. It’s a wild, stupid tingle, buzzing between my legs as his lips part slightly, showing his straight teeth and a glimpse of his pink tongue. His dark eyes smolder into mine and my knees are trembling. He’s big, muscular, bold and dangerous, and everything I always thought I hated. I can taste dirt in my mouth. But he’s right, the taste of that dirt is so much more distinct than anything else in all those four years at school.
Why do I hold onto him like that? It was one moment, one mortifying, painful moment. He dominated me, embarrassed me. Why can’t I get it out of my head?
Because some sick piece of mewanted it.
Not the way it happened. Not the actual event—no, that was traumatic and awful.
It only came to me afterward when I was home in my dorm and safe with the shower water running and the bathroom door locked. It only came to me when I found myself, legs spread, fingers exploring my body, trying desperately to calm myself down, only to find my mind wandering back to Carmine over and over. I only realized that the danger, the excitement, those disgusting words, I only realized howfucking excitedit made me, and I’ve worked hard to keep that part of my mind locked in a tight little box.
Now, with Carmine standing here and looking at me like a hungry wolf, I feel like that box is cracking open.
“I’m not playing your game,” I whisper even though I desperately want to, even if only to find out how I end up losing. This is wrong, it goes against everything I’ve been taught, and I’m not going to give in to this monster no matter how much I want to.
My life is safe and comfortable and orderly. And Carmine is the opposite of all that.
He’s pain and danger and chaos.
“I don’t think you have a choice. Your grandfather is putting on a very nice show, don’t you think? The cane’s a nice touch.”
I grimace and say nothing.
He continues, “I understand you aren’t going to throw yourself at me. Frankly, I wouldn’t want you to. I enjoy watching you squirm too much for that.”
“I’m glad we both agree this is never happening.”
“Have dinner with me, filthy girl. One dinner.”
I grind my jaw and shake my head. “No.”
He leans forward, one hand over my shoulder, holding me there without touching me. My lips tremble. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“I can’t.” But I can. And I should. If not for my grandpa and my father and my family, then for all the people that work for this company. Am I really that much more important than all of them? Should they suffer instead of me?
“One meal. Best behavior. Come with me tomorrow night. We’re running out of time, filthy girl.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Filthy. Girl.”
I hate the way his lips form those words. I hate the shiver of excitement that runs down my spine.
“One dinner,” I say through my teeth. “And if you’re a pig, if you’re disgusting, if you step out of line—”
“You can scream and throw your drink in my face. Imagine the memorythatwould create.”
