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He raises a brow. “Bloodthirsty, Thompson?”
“Maybe I’m becoming more like you.”
His fathomless eyes are intent on mine when he says, “Whatever you want.” My heart thuds in response. “I’ll buy up his debt and call it due, purchase his apartment building and kick him out, ruin his career.”
“Why?” I whisper. My blood is rushing in my ears. Why would you do this? You hate me.
His brows lower. “I don’t like people who prey on others. Men who wrong women are the lowest of the low.”
Disappointment curls through me. Stupid, Cal. Don’t let yourself think you mean anything to him. But after earlier, I can’t help but soften. It makes me an idiot after he humiliated me. I’m sure of it. But instead of a cruel boss, I now see a man whose silky black hair pressed against my hands, whose lips caressed my knee as he asked for forgiveness.
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience. And I don’t mean your behavior earlier.”
He winces. “I deserved that. But yes, I am.” He reaches for his beer.
I jerk it back out of his reach. “I’m going to need more than that if you want to earn your beer.”
“Thompson,” he growls. I shiver at his tone. “Give me the beer.”
“Give me more than a one word answer.”
“You’re determined to drag it out of me, aren’t you?”
“I am.” I tip up my chin. I want honesty from Jonah Crown, and this is the only time I might have any power over him.
“Don’t push me.” He glares at me through narrowed eyes.
“I’m not scared of you. You like me.” I poke him with my toe again, and quick as lightning, he reaches down to grab my foot. My heel comes off in the process, and warm fingers wrap around my ankle as he pulls my foot into his lap.
“Take that comment back.” His eyes spark and my breath catches. He’s so unbearably handsome, and this is a side of him I haven’t seen. Another one.
“Is it so bad? I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” I wiggle my foot and his grip tightens. The more annoyed he gets, the more I want to laugh.
“Thompson.” His voice is gravel. “I do not like you.”
“Sure.” I wink. “You don’t like me. Got it.”
“You don’t like me.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t,” he shoots back. I have to laugh.
“Are you annoyed because I don’t hate you? That’s absurd.” I shake my head at his glower.
“You have no sense of self-preservation. I exist to torment you. And you want to be my friend.”
I shrug. “And yet here you are with me in a diner, giving me a foot massage.”
He looks affronted. “I am not giving you a foot massage.”
“Feels like you are, what with the way you’re digging your thumbs in.”
He immediately loosens his grip and just to needle him, I say, “Oh yeah, a little to the right.”
“Thompson. You and I could not be more different. We are not friends.”
“Not friends definitely grab each others’ feet.” I give another little wiggle and he hisses a breath.
