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“I’m not usually so forthright,” Thomas croons, arching abrow at Roxanne. “I suppose it’s the scotch. But I have to say…You look like you should be on the East Coast rather than the West, walking down a runway during New York Fashion Week.”
I’m going to fucking kill him before we even come close to a deal.
I clench my jaw, my fingers furiously gripping the back of Roxanne’s chair. In this industry, I’m used to rich men openly speaking to women this way. Yeah, it’s shitty, but when you have all the money in the world, you think you can say or do anything in the world. There’s a distinct line that separates the rich from the mega-rich, and Thomas falls into the top of the mega-rich class. He thinks he’s invincible. He uses his money as a crutch to treat people however he pleases.
But hearing him talk to Roxanne like that? It makes me want to commit murder. It makes me want to rip his old ass out of the chair and beat his fucking face in.
“I’m flattered,” Roxanne grins, placing a hand over her heart. She bats her eyelashes, playing along with the charade.
I know her better than this. If she wasn't trying to make me jealous, she would have already told this perverted motherfucker off. I’m half a second away from telling him to go fuck himself.
“But I do love my job,” she continues. “I mean who else gets to say they’ve met Thomas Walton? Real estate mogul of the West Coast.”
You gotta be fucking kidding me.I need to put an end to this torture. To hell with the business deal.
“Now you’re the one flattering me,” Thomas purrs in a husky voice. “Have you spent much time in California?”
“I’ve been to San Francisco, but this is my first time in San Diego,” she replies before taking a sip of her martini. “It’s a beautiful city. I can’t get over how nice the weather is.”
“You’re here for the weekend, yes?” Thomas asks.
“Yes,” she nods. “We fly out on Sunday.”
“Well, if you have some free time and would like a tour of the city, I would be happy to show you around,” he grins, swirling a meaty finger around his glass.
That’s it. That was my last fucking straw.
I’m done listening to this shit. I need to get the hell out of here before I kill someone and spend the rest of my life in prison. Before Roxanne has a chance to reply, heated words fly from my lips like steam.
“Aren't you married, Thomas?” I ask in a low, deadly tone.
His eyes snap up to meet mine.
“Excuse me?” he asks, looking completely shocked.
“Is that a ring on your left hand? Or am I imagining things?” I ask, arching a brow.
“What are you implying, Elliot?” he scoffs. “That I’m unfaithful to my wife because I’m being hospitable to my guests?”
“I’m just asking you a question,” I shrug. “Isn't that what these dinners are for? To break the ice before we get into business. To talk about life, marriage, kids…You know, all the things a family man like you prides himself on.”
He narrows his eyes, shooting me daggers.
“Are you trying to insult me?”
“I’m sorry,” I reply sarcastically, pursing my lips together and lifting a hand up in surrender. “I wasn't aware that talking about your wife and kids would be an insult to you.”
His hand clenches around his glass.
“I don’t talk about my private life with customers,” he sneers through gritted teeth.
“No, I get it,” I quip, nodding my head. “You probably don’t talk about your business meetings with your wife either. Sheprobably wouldn't be happy to hear a play-by-play of your conversation withmyassistant.”
A tense silence washes over the table. Roxanne inches closer to me, her lips a breath away from my ear.
“Elliot,” she warns through clenched teeth.
As much Roxanne hates me, she wants to secure this deal as much as I do. And I’m risking ruining it for both of us by calling Thomas out.
