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“I’m thirty-two.”
“Yeah, that’s old.”
“Thirty-two is not old.”
“Whatever,” I say quickly, and when he grips the steering wheel with both hands so tightly that his knuckles turn white, I’m only now comprehending the fact that I’m still sitting in a car with an older man who just happens to be very rich, and famous, and who also has the ability to snap me like a twig if he so desires with the way his muscles are currently bulging.
I reach for the door handle and push it open, but before I can jump down, a warm hand touches my elbow, stopping me.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks softly. There’s no malice in his voice this time, but I don’t like where this conversation is headed.
“Doing what?”
“You know what I mean,” he says, glancing over my shoulder when a group of teenage girls start talking loudly and laughing on the covered stairwell of the building on the opposite side of the road.
I yank my arm away, trying not to notice the way my skin flames with heat where his fingers just touched my elbow. And I think he regrets touching me because he stares down at his hand for a few seconds with a look on his face that I don’t quite understand. He takes a deep breath, holding it in, and then looks back at my apartment building again.
“If it’s not about the money, then…why?”
I groan, shaking my head, searching for a calm I don’t seem to have in me right now. Talk about going around in circles. I swivel in the seat again and climb down from the Jeep into the pouring rain. My feet hit the puddles hard when I have to jump because the stupid thing is so bloody high off the ground.
“Thank you for the ride home, but like I said, I’ve got somewhere to be and I–”
“I don’t give a fuck where you’re supposed to be,” he says, all trace of humor dissipating into thin air. He climbs out of the Jeep and races around the front, not seeming to care that he’s getting wet. His eyes are darker than they were just moments ago, and I don’t like being alone with him anymore, not with him looking as angry as he is right now.
I feel like I’ve been taken for a ride, quite literally in this case.
He leans in closer, despite the rain still falling hard all around us. “You are trying to ruin my career, and I’d like to know why. You owe me an explanation at the very least.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“You don’t owe me?” he says. He’s practically seething. He pinches the bridge of his nose and seems to be controlling his breathing. “How the hell can you look me square in the eye and say those words right now?You don’t owe me?I beg your fucking pardon?”
“You heard me,” I spit back at him.
Ugh. I should have known better than to get in the car with this guy, and I have the worst feeling that I’m about to start crying again.
My eyes feel hot and horrible against the cold wind that blows against my face. I’m tempted to slam the door behind me as I spin on my heels and walk briskly toward the apartment building, but that would be juvenile. Despite the way the famous rock star is glaring at me like he wants to see my stiff corpse wrapped in a blanket and tossed over the side of the Brooklyn Bridge, I don’t want him to think I’m throwing a hissy fit.
I only get halfway across the parking lot when I hear heavy footsteps quickly approaching from behind.
“Wait up!”
He’s running after me. Shit. He’s really not letting this drop. Not that I can blame him, not entirely. But dude, come on. I’ve got stuff to do.
I turn around just as the footsteps stop behind me. “I told you I can’t –”
“Shut up!”
“Did you seriously just tell me to shut up?”
“Yeah, I did. So, shut the hell up!” He hisses out a sharp breath. “You need to listen to me, and you need to hear what I have to say to you.”
I sigh and look down at the soaked pavement for a split second before I look up at him again. The rain is coming down even harder now, and I’m absolutely saturated. My skirt is sticking to my thighs and I’ve completely given up on not starring in my very own peep show. My nipples are hard, cold, and strained against the thin fabric of my blouse.
Great.
Reed’s shirt is plastered to his chest as well, and through it I can make out the outline of his well-defined muscles. He runs his fingers back through his drenched hair, and water drips from the ends.
