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“I don’t give a damn what’s written about me.”
“You should.”
“That’s what I hire you people for.”
I shrug, indifferent to the sarcasm dripping in his tone. “It’s not my job to inform you that the world thinks you’re an ass.”
“You’re a real ball buster, you know that?”
Self-important.
“You’re probably right. But I’m not going to be insulted by some washed-up has-been with a massive chip on his shoulder!”
Double shit!
I can feel the anger radiating off him and wait for the beat of three before continuing. “Maybe you should just try staying home for a few days. Do a detox. Learn to knit.”
“Fuck you.”
I laugh and throw in a huff for good measure. “Is the rock star getting his knickers in a twist because someone finally has the nerve to tell him how it is rather than just smiling and bending over like a good little muppet?”
Prick.
“You could probably benefit from a good bending over.”
“Fuck you!”
I can sum up this man in three words.
“If you like.”
Arrogant. Self-important. Prick.
“Listen,Mr. Korkmaz.” His name falls from my tongue like poison. “I’m not here to be your friend, or anything else for that matter, so don’t think that this is a work with benefits kind of thing, because I can promise you,shaggingyou would be no office perk.”
“Then I really don’t know why you’re here.”
“I’mherebecause I’m the person who’s going to try to do everything in her power to ensure you honour your contract and preserve what’s left of your reputation.” My tone crushes the intimidation he’s trying to pull on me and I glare at him defiantly. “But if we’re going to work together you should know that I won’t take any of your bullshit. If you act like a prick, I’ll call you a prick. I won’t be spoken down to; I don’t appreciate sexist comments… and I will not answer to anything other than my name!”
He stands up suddenly, leaving the conference room chair spinning behind him. His stony expression flickers with contempt. “This isn’t going to work.”
It takes everything within me to not sneer back at him like he disgusts me as well. “Excuse me?”
“This—” He waves his hands back and forwards between the two of us and annunciates slowly as though he was speaking to a child. “—isn’t… going… to work.”
“Why? Because I refuse to let you speak to me like a self-important wanker?”
I swallow hard. I can’t believe I just called Kaan a wanker, but then again, I called him an alcoholic and a washed-up has-been all in the space of five minutes. Boundaries have been well and truly crossed either way.
“Do you insult all your clients like this or is it just me that gets this very special treatment?”
“Actually, no.”
“I’m flattered then.”
Even in my five-inch heels I only reach his shoulder, but I stand up, crick my neck up and look him square in the eyes. “You’re right. This isn’t going to work.”
I’m definitely going to get fired for this next-level approach.
