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"You're going to have to learn to tolerate me eventually, princess."
"The more you talk, the less I want to tolerate you."
I smile, genuinely amused. "At least you're honest." I cock my head to the side, curious if she'll answer me. "Why do you hate me so much?"
"Just get me the forms, Coby," she sighs.
"Not until you answer my question."
She stares at me for a long moment, her expression rife with irritation. And then she softens slightly. "Why do you think I hate you?"
"Uh, maybe because you can't even stand to be in the same room with me?"
"I don't hate you," she whispers. "I've never hated you."
"Then what's the problem?"
"There isn't one."
I climb from my chair, circling around my desk to her. I don't know why I do it, but I get up in her personal space, crowding her up against the door. "You're a beautiful little liar," I growl, my lips inches from hers.
"Back up."
"We both know you can't stand me. Did I really fuck up that badly the day we met?" I took one look at her that day and lost my head. I didn't know she was Keegan's sister at the time. I just saw her fawning over his art, and knew I wasn't letting him put his hands on her. I acted like an asshole. I thought eventually she'd forgive me for it, but she never has. I guess maybe she never will.
"Back up, Coby."
I run my fingertip down her cheek, fighting a groan. She's so fucking soft. "I wish like hell I knew how to fix it, princess."
"You can't," she whispers, her voice shaking.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I fucked up so badly that I broke it beyond repair. That doesn't mean I have to like it.
It's fucking eating at me. But I can't force her to forgive me. If I could, I would have done it by now.
"You shouldn't come to work here," I mutter. "The last thing either of us needs is for you to be here every damn day." She deserves better than this place, and she damn sure deserves better than me.
But if she follows through on this, I'm not going to be able to stay away from her. I feel it in my bones. Whether she hates me or not, I'm going to try like hell to make her mine. Even if it destroys everything.
"Go to hell, Coby," she growls, reacting like I slapped her. Yet again, she's got it all wrong. She thinks I don't want her here when I'm trying to tell her that she deserves better. But I don't try to explain. She wouldn't hear me if I did.
"I'm already there, Elodie," I say, turning and walking away.
Chapter Two
Elodie
Coby Kaiser is the biggest idiot I've ever met. Unfortunately, I'm the second because I managed to fall in love with him anyway. It wasn't even supposed to happen. The day I met him, I swore to myself that I'd stay far away from him.
My resolve lasted all of five minutes. I've spent the last two months haunting the shop day and night just to catch glimpses of him. It's driving me crazy because he's a complete jerk. Whenever he speaks to me, it's usually to growl at me.
He complains about my clothes or my makeup or my hair. In short, he treats me like the sight of me annoys the hell out of him. I should take the hint and spare myself the broken heart, but like I said, I'm the second biggest idiot I know because I keep coming back here anyway.
And now, I've taken a job here.
Apparently, he really hates that idea.
According to him, he's in hell because I'm coming to work here.
Well, I hope the flames burn that stupid, hot glower from his face because I'm taking the job anyway. He can go fly a freaking metal kite in a storm.
"Hot, cranky jerk," I mutter, moving to his desk to rifle through his crap for the tax forms Slade needs me to fill out. Coby stormed out without giving them to me. I don't know if he plans to come back or not. Who knows with him?
I plop down in his chair, and my gaze lands on his sketchbook. I flip it open, rifling through the first few pages. Despite how mad I am, I can't deny how talented the man is. I don't think I've ever met anyone who can draw like he does. Keegan is an amazing artist, but not even he is a match for Coby. There's a reason so many awards hang on his walls and his paintings hang in galleries around the country. He's insanely talented.
It's annoying, really.
I'd prefer it if he sucked at something, but no. He's basically perfect. I mean, aside from the fact that he's a complete grouch. Obviously.
I grumble to myself and close the sketchbook before pulling open the top drawer on his desk. It's full of protein bars and art supplies. I start to close it, and a small square card catches my attention.
