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Bea nods, taking over for me as I squeeze past her and head toward the back room. My eyes continue to roam the space, trying to find Kay, hoping for a moment alone with him, hoping forsomethingto relieve this insatiable ache he’s cursed me with.
If I can’t find him, maybe I’ll just take matters into my own hands.
Pushing open the door, I immediately flinch back at the sight of two people making out, real hot and heavy, a tangle of limbs and bare tits that cause me to look away, but the familiar shoulder shape makes me glance back.
It’s Kay. And he’s got a Malibu Barbie wrapping her legs around his waist, her dress pulled down to expose pierced nipples. Our eyes lock. Mine widen. He doesn’t even have a hint of remorse in his, but at least has the courtesy to drop his hand from her tit.
“Hello! A little privacy!” Barbie whines.
“Um, sorry, sorry…” I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m processing so many things at once that I still haven’t brought myself to leave. My legs won’t seem to move.
Barbie whispers to Kay, who’s looking at me with a blank expression, “Is she dumb or something?”
That triggers me into reacting. “Because I’m sureyou’vegot every screw tightened in that bleached head of yours,” I shoot back. “Enjoy his cock. He has Gonorrhea.”
“Ew!” Barbie pushes him back just as I walk out the door.
My heartbeat is roaring over the music in my ears as I storm toward the elevators, my vision going red.
So stupid, so stupid, so stupid,I chant to myself as I enter the lock code and press the button. Looking over my shoulder, I see Barbie leaving the back room, swishing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. I meet Kay’s eyes across the distance, and his expression turns to something fierce as he barrels his way toward me, towering over most of the patrons.
I know one thing for sure: he isnotabout to enter this elevator with me. I won’t allow it.
Thankfully, the doors slide open just in time for me to close them on his face. “Talia,” he snarls, too late.
Silence echoes in my ears. Somehow, it’s worse than DJ-what’s-his-face’s horrible mix. I’d take a remix over this deafening ringing as my heart slams in my chest, heat rising up to the top of my head. I’m never this out of control. I usually have such a good handle on my emotions, and theonetime I let them slip, it bites me in the ass. It takes everything in me not to sink to the floor, but I’m not about to give Kay that satisfaction.
I’m going to give him something much worse.
As soon as the elevator doors open, I head to Kay’s office and try to find a good place to start. The threads of my control are slipping by the second, a rage so visceral quaking through me at my own stupidity that thought I wasdifferentto him. That the moment we shared actuallymeantsomething. He spent so much time trying to convince me.
I should have known better.
All I am is another toy to him.
I swipe all the paperwork off his desk with a sweep of my arms. My breath is coming heavy, and I think I’ve finally lost it. I think the thing that’s finally made me snap is Kay Beckett.
I shouldn’t even waste the energy on feeling so jealous or angry at him being with someone new. He never lied about who he was.
Somehow, that makes it so much worse, because it still makes me look like an idiot.
My chest is heaving with each heavy breath I take. I feel heat rising to my cheeks as I look down at the mess I’ve made. I want to make more.
Heading to the small shelf that houses his collection of expensive liquors, I pick up a bottle by the neck when a deadly calm voice sounds from behind me.
“Don’t you dare.”
Kay’s standing in the doorway, hair mussed, eyes wide with sheer intensity as they land on me.
“Talia.”
He says my name like a caress, like the kind he gave me during our shared night, firm and sensual and suggestive of silk sheets and pleading.
I drop the bottle. It shatters on the floor at my feet, the liquid splashing onto my boots and pooling around me as I keep my eyes on him. He says nothing, doesn’t even flinch. I pick up another bottle and he crosses the room in two long strides, grabbing onto my wrist with a force that causes an ache between my legs, making me hate him even more.
He rips the bottle from me with his free hand and sets it down, pushing my back against the wall as he does, pinning my wrist above my head. It’s the only form of physical contact, but that doesn’t mean I’m not keenly aware of every line where our bodies are only separated by a thin amount of space. The heat is unbearable.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he asks in such a casual tone, devoid of any of the affliction of his feelings he once showed me, that I begin to further question ifanyof it was real, or if it was all just one big game to earn his prize.
