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“Apology accepted.” He smirks. The cold bastard smirks at me.
My blood boils in my veins, but I don’t let it show. I have dealt with a million dickheads like him in my short lifetime. Slowly looking him up and down, I count back from ten. I need this job. I need something.
“May I ask why?” I finally say calmly.
“You may not,” he replies curtly. What an absolute dick.
Ten. Nine.
My fists clench as I focus on the collar of his white shirt.
Eight. Seven.
There’s a bright red spot on it, making him seem a bitmore human, and a bit less like a cold marble statue with a shit personality.
Six. Five. Four.
He looks me up and down with a bored expression on his face. I decide, right then and there, I hate him.
Three. Two.
Not like he’s going to be my future employer, from the looks of it.
“You’ll be missing out on the best employee you’ve ever had.” I try one last time to persuade him, just so I can say I gave it my best shot.
“I doubt it.”
What the fuck is his problem? Can he not at least be pleasant?
“Whatever,” I mutter, turning around but stopping halfway through the motion, my eyes meeting his once more. His eyes are burning with anger. Anger that normally would have me stepping back for self-preservation. But, like I said, I like cheap thrills. And what is poking a bear if not a cheap thrill? He gives the appearance of someone who’d be bothered by anything out of place. “You’ve got something red on the collar of your shirt. Probably ketchup,” I say, my eyes drifting down to the spot.
I can see the war in his eyes. Stay rooted like a cold dickhead statue, or look down at his collar.
As much as I want to see which side of him will win, I’m not sticking around in his highness’s presence any longer.
“I hate red, and I don’t eat ketchup.” The disgust in his voice is clear as his eyes momentarily drop to my lips. My body instantly erupts into embarrassed flames, but like the pro that I am, I fake a sweet smile and turn away.
Then stop in my tracks.
“Are you shitting me?” The words are out of my mouthbefore I have a chance to stop them. But in my defence, ketchup is life.
I’m pretty sure my mouth is wide open as I turn back to look at him once more.
And once more, I’m met full force with the absolute male perfection in front of me. For a second there I thought for once my brain played tricks on me, that maybe the image I had in my head was better than the reality, but no. He definitely is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Pity about his rotten heart.
“I’m notshittingyou.”
“You’re missing out.” I shrug. “Just four tablespoons of the red stuff has as much nutrition as a tomato. Plus, ketchup on fries is legitimately to die for. ”
“You’d die for ketchup?” He arches his brow, cocking his head to the side, studying my face.
“People have died for less. I once saw a guy stabbed to death because he looked at another guy wrong. If I had to die for something, I’d choose ketchup over a wrong look.”
Instantly, his whole face shuts down as his whole body tenses. “I think this conversation is over, Miss Jones.”
I look down to his feet where my crumpled resume lays. I guess at least he got my name in the split second he looked at it. I suppose that’s something.
“I wasn’t aware we were having a conversation.” I smile once again. “More like you were trying to get rid of me from the moment you saw me.”
