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“Seriously?”
I let my lip twist up into a smile again. “Yes. Seriously.”
“You really are an asshole.”
I shrug, casually sipping my drink. “I’ve been called worse. So, what can I do for you, Ms. Harlow?”
“Hart. My name is Hart. And I want my stuff back.”
She stands tall, trying to make herself appear strong. Too bad she doesn’t realize I have only just started with her.
I tsk at her. “You really shouldn’t get so attached to material items. It’s not good for your well-being.”
At my words, her eyes go wide. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
I stand from my desk, rising to my full height, over a foot taller than her, if I had to guess.
“No. I’m not fucking kidding you. Being dependent on items isn’t good for the soul. You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you? Thanking you! You’re ruining my life.”
Cue the smile.
Cue the smirk.
Cue the devil inside me who wants to swallow her whole.
“Not yet.”
“What?”
“I said, not yet. Your life isn’t ruined yet.” I wink, and the hands at her sides fist.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.”
She starts to pace the room. She reminds me of an old cartoon I watched as a child. The one where smoke came out of the characters’ ears because they were so mad.
“You won’t get away with this.”
“I already did.”
With that, she storms out. The door slams behind her, and the sound of the force she exerted echoes through the space.
For the first time in a long time, I feel anything is possible.
This will be fun. I pour another drop of liquor on the floor for Dad, watching it splatter across my expensive wood flooring. “Checkmate, bastard.”
Chapter
Eight
PAYTON
The trek back to Long Island is long and tedious.
One: Without a car, I must take the train.
