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SIX
“Miss . . .” The man hesitates as I climb inside the Rolls Royce and stroke the leather. He’s the manager here.
The sales associate panicked and bolted when I bent over to check out the trunk of the car. It’s clear the manager hates me; it’s in the distasteful way he watches me moan as I touch the car. It’s not meant to be pornographic, I promise, but it’s just so sexy. I’m imagining all the ways I could fuck in it when he steps closer. His stern lips are tilted down, and his small eyes narrow farther. His receding hairline isn’t hidden by the comb-over, and the slight beer gut can’t be disguised by his designer suit.
“We would prefer if you didn’t sit in the car just yet. As I was saying, we have a waitlist on vehicles at the moment. Maybe we should sit and talk. I’m assuming you’re using your daddy’s or husband’s money? We would need their permission before we continue.”
My hand stills on the leather, and anger flows through me at his assumption and the cocky way he watches me.
I see my new guards frown. Dal even steps forward as if to deal with the threat, so I gracefully climb from the car. I’ve been looked down on a lot in my career, called names, and treated like trash, a whore, a child, and a fuck toy. I’ve taken it all in the name of my career, but it’s clear this man doesn’t know who I am, nor does he care. He saw what he wanted to when he looked at me and assumed that a man must be buying because obviously, women can’t earn their own way, especially enough to buy his fancy cars, which he probably can’t even afford himself.
The prick.
The old me would politely explain then feel angry and scandalized and rant when she got home, but not the new me. The new me wants to cause chaos and see this chauvinistic, fuckwit meat sack on his knees, begging for my forgiveness.
“You assume wrong,” I reply slowly, straightening to my full height. There’s a flare of annoyance in his eyes when I tower over him in my heels. Men tower over me all the time, using their height and weight to their advantage, so I use it now on a man who no doubt comments rude shit about women online. He seems like the keyboard warrior type.
He sniffs, eyeing me in disgust.
I slide my hand down the car, making sure to leave a handprint, and then I slip past him, purposely hitting him so he stumbles back a step, and then I turn and take in the brightly lit dealership. There are ten or more cars here. They are all perfectly placed on pedestals and polished to perfection. The glass lets out onto the main road filled with expensive sports cars of the rich and famous, since we are in the classy part of town. Champagne mixed with fancy food sits to one side, ready to be served, and there are screens everywhere, showing dramatic footage of the cars in action. There are men milling about in suits, but only one female, who sits at the desk, watching the man I’m talking to with anger in her eyes. Clearly, she doesn’t like the sexist pig either.
This place is too flashy, too showy, and I want to fuck some shit up. I want to paint the walls, turn on some music, get drunk, and dance on the cars, but I’ll settle for embarrassing this asshole.
“How much for all these cars?” I question, propping my hands on my hips. Others are staring now, mainly workers. Some are whispering, and one has his phone out, showing someone else a picture—no doubt it’s of me.
“Look, miss, maybe you should leave.”
“I said, how much?” I demand, and then I point to the woman working behind the desk. “You, I bet you know. I am sure you have to do the work around here anyway. How much for all of them?”
She hesitates, looking at her boss, so I step in front of him. “Don’t look at this pompous idiot. Please, could you find out how much?”
She grins, hiding it as she ducks her head and types. I wink at my guards. Astro is grinning widely, and Dal is glaring at the man. Raffiel is near the door with his arms crossed, watching me with a blank expression, but I see his lips twitch, and I want to scream in victory. Cillian is covering his smile with a fake cough.
“Ninety-nine million,” she calls. “Give or take a few numbers.”
“Good, I’ll take them all,” I tell her with a grin and look back at the manager. “Make it happen.”
“I don’t think—” He sputters, and I narrow my eyes.
“No, clearly not,” I finish for him, watching him turn even redder in embarrassment. I stroll over to the champagne and tip a glass back before shoving an hors d’oeuvres into my mouth and feigning gagging. “Fuck, this shit is nasty.” I look at Astro, who’s moved closer. “Have you ever tried overpriced fancy food?”
He shakes his head, and I shove it into his mouth.
He stills but chews slowly, wincing thoughtfully. “It’s rank,” he comments when he swallows.
Turning to the manager who is just gaping, I snap my fingers. “I don’t have all day. I’m a very busy woman. Do I need to call your daddy or husband to get the work done?” His mouth snaps shut. “No? Then get me my fucking paperwork and cars.”
“I—” He tugs on his suit as I take another sip of champagne and wait for him impatiently, but he just continues to stutter.
“I want all the commission to go to her.” I point and then narrow my eyes. “Understood?”
He flounders and flushes as I turn away once more and slide into the nearest car, stroking the steering wheel as I grin at Dal. “How do I look?” I strike a pose.
“Magnificent,” he murmurs, and I flush under the compliment, even as I wink at him in thanks.
“Want to fuck on the hood?” I tease, watching his eyes flare. Why is teasing them my new favorite pastime?
“Miss Harrow?” another sales associate says nervously. The young man treads closer, shooting Dal a worried glance. “Could I have an autograph?”
