The look he shot me expressed he still believed I was a stripper; that this getup was a caught-in-the-rain waitress costume and I’d soon be taking it off. Though it seemed he wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t interested. He returned his attention back to his paperwork. Tension tightened his shoulders, frustration evident in the muscles beneath. He looked like he really could use a woman’s touch.
Too bad it wasn’t going to be me.
In my quest to touch everything in sight, I meandered over to the pole in my chucks, ran a finger down it, and then looked at the pad of it as if I was inspecting for dust.
“Why so glum?” I asked. “Did Daddy disinherit you?”
His gaze flashed to mine. “You’re shitty entertainment.”
I laughed. “That’s probably because I’m not here to entertain you.”
The man looked like a gentleman, but he was so bluntly rude and quick in return to my taunts I was beginning to enjoy myself. It wasn’t often men surprised me.
His eyes scalded my skin as I grabbed the pole and slowly spun around it in my wet, spaghetti-stained T-shirt.
“You’re lucky you even have a father,” I said. “Mine left me with too many daddy issues.”
“I can tell.”
“Ouch.” I pouted and touched my heart. Walking to
ward him, I pulled myself up onto the table and sat on his paperwork. “What are you working on?”
His annoyance was so heady it filled the room like smoke. I suddenly needed oxygen; to escape this room before hot flames licked at my skin. But a cool spark of adrenaline swayed me.
Sadly, irritating this man was the most fun I’d had in a while.
Meeting his stare head-on, the urge to glance away tugged at my nerves. Now so close, his eyes glittering with displeasure, it felt like an illegal act to hold his gaze. He was the kind of handsome that made a girl’s breath slow. The kind that rushed all the blood in her body to the tips of her toes.
He was a Picasso behind a wall of glass, the ticket to look upon it too expensive for me to afford.
All of his flaws must be condensed into his personality, because, as far as I could see, there wasn’t a visible one in sight.
Luck sure was an unfair bitch.
He sat back. “Why explain it when we both know it’s over your head?”
I raised a haughty brow. “I’ll have you know I was at the top of my class at Brighton High.”
He recognized the name of the shittiest public school in Chicago. “A difficult feat, I’m sure.”
I leaned back on my hands and sighed like I was reminiscing. “Although, that’s mostly because I fucked my chemistry teacher.” That was a lie. The bastard had cornered me in his classroom and shoved his hand up my skirt. I understood my psyche. I used my painful past experiences to shock and, therefore, feel like I had control of them.
In short, I was a mess.
His expression tightened in disapproval. “Who taught you to talk like that?”
“My mom,” I said seriously.
“Charming.”
“What? Can’t say ‘fuck’ from that pretty boy mouth of yours?”
“What’s on your neck?”
I tilted my head to give him a better view, purposely swinging my long, dark ponytail in his face. I bit my cheek to hold in the smile when he evaded it with a look of annoyance.
The tattoo on the nape of my neck was a geometrical triangle. No, it didn’t mean anything. I just loved the design.