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“Oh.” She glanced away, nothing cryptic in the way her face scrunched in concern. “I see.”
I turned to face her, getting the feeling that she had something on her chest. "Not that it’s really any of your business, but I was promoted a few hours ago."
"And you're already getting the VIP treatment?" The smile on her lips didn't get near her olive eyes. "You must be something special."
It was obvious that she meant another word that started with an 's'. Before I could open my mouth to respond, she dropped her volume to a low, confidential level. "If you want a piece of advice, enjoy the perks while they last."
My nostrils flared as I crossed my arms against my chest, suddenly feeling bare and exposed in spite of my pricey frock. "I don't remember asking for anything from you."
She held her hands up, feigning innocence. "I'm just trying to help, sweetie. I thought you'd want to know that Mr. Whitmore's assistants don't have a very long shelf life and to stuff your swag bag while you can."
Now, I'm a simple girl who generally has a 'make love, not war' view as far as violence goes. I've only been in one fight my whole life and it lasted all of ten seconds when I bitch slapped Mindy Kennedy for ripping the head off my Barbie in the second grade. But this woman had me imagining all the ways I could wipe the smug satisfaction right off her face.
"Get. Out." The words came from behind clenched teeth which I thought should have been a dead giveaway that she was approaching the danger zone. Infuriatingly enough, she just stood there, like she didn’t understand English.
"Is there a problem, Miss Montgomery?"
"I said, GET OUT!"
With an hmph, she finally got the message and turned to exit--but not before Jacob threw open the dressing room door. I was clothed, but my arms still wrapped around the front of my body instinctively. Sleek and composed, only his eyes moved, narrowing in displeasure.
"What the hell is going on in here?" He looked back and forth between us like a parent scolding naughty children.
Neither of us said a word.
“I said, what is going on in here?”
What could I say without sounding juvenile? That I’d fallen for her ploy to get a rise out of me? That I was screaming like someone with no class because she hurt my feelings? I felt the anger seeping from me like air from a balloon and hung my head.
When Skye stepped forward, I expected her to throw me under the bus, but instead, she tried to smooth everything over. "Just a small misunderstanding, Mr. Whitmore." She gave me a smile that said, ‘play along’. "Maybe we should give Miss Montgomery some time to-"
"That'll be all," he snapped, dismissing her without another look. He turned to the side and allowed her to leave before shutting the door and turning his ire back on me.
"What was this misunderstanding about, Leila?"
"N-Nothing," I mumbled, still not looking him in the eye.
He snapped his fingers. "When I talk to you I expect you to look at me. I will have your respect."
I raised my chin, shooting daggers his way. "Respect? Like you snapping at me like a dog just now? Or how about your revolving door policy?"
His jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"
"Skye told me how you change your personal assistants like underwear. I better enjoy all of this before you throw me out like trash, right?"
His cerulean eyes flashed with something that looked a lot like hurt before they hardened to sea glass. He blazed forward and I gasped as he backed me against the wall, essentially pinning me in place.
I wanted to say something smart, but my brain couldn’t work with him so close to me. The heat of indignation melted and arousal quickly took its place.
His tone was harsh but I felt his lust thump from behind its Armani prison. "I don't appreciate being talked to as if I were the one in your employ."
Staring at him, feeling these powerful, damnable feelings made me want to drop to my knees and submit wholly to him, but the bullheaded part of me wouldn’t let me back down.
"W-Well, I don't appreciate being treated like being in your employ
is tantamount to prostitution.”
The side of his mouth crept upward. "Prostitution? I never called you a prostitute, Leila."
