"Wanna share mine?"
"You have your dinner here?"
"Ah, your father—" I bite the inside of my cheek. If I tell him his father got me food, that would sound weird, right? "I ordered food which just got delivered," I lie.
"You ordered food?" He narrows his gaze on me.
"I knew I was going to be working late, and I didn’t eaten lunch, so—" I raise a shoulder.
He seems like he’s going to protest, then nods. "Sure. Why not?"
I pull him in the direction of my table. "Let me get you another chair." I grab the one pushed up against a corner of my cubicle, and place it next to mine. "Sit."
He seems dubious but slides into the seat.
"Wonder what’s in here?" I pull out the cartons stamped with the logo of a restaurant that specializes in Indian-Chinese food.
What the—? How does he know I’m addicted to Indian-Chinese food? A particular kind of fusion cuisine popular in the subcontinent and available from a select few outlets in London. And he ordered from the one that’s my favorite. My fingers tremble. He’s messing with my head. Bet he’s having fun with whatever game he’s playing with me. And that’s all I am to him—a game. He has no compunctions about desiring me, no matter the forbidden nature of our relationship. He’s playing with my life, my career, my connection with Isaac—all of it—and he doesn’t give a damn.
"You don’t know what food you ordered?" Isaac’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I glance at him from the corner of my eyes.
Shoot, I knew I shouldn’t have said that aloud and trust Isaac who’s normally only half present when he’s with me to notice what I said.
"Of course, I do.” I tilt up my chin. “ I just forgot because I’m so tired. And hungry. You know how absentminded I can get."
His muscles stiffen. He narrows his gaze on me. "Lena, you are the most put-together person I know. You’re very focused, very ambitious, very driven—the exact opposite of me. It’s why I was so attracted to you."
"And I you." I turn and take his hands in mine. "I like the fact that you’re easygoing and don’t take things too seriously. I like that you give me my space, and let me be."
"Maybe I’m giving you too much space, eh? Maybe I need to be more demanding of you."
He reaches over and tugs the container of food from my hand, then places it on the table. He turns and takes my hands in his, then tugs me forward. I fall against his chest. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me even closer. "Kiss me," he says in a hard voice.
I plant my palms on his chest and try to push away, but his grasp tightens.
"Does it turn you on when I’m rough with you? Do you prefer it when I don’t give you a choice? Would you rather I demand your attention, Lena? Is that it?"
"Isaac, stop, what are you doing?"
"What I should have done a long time ago. You think I’m a pushover, Lena? You think I like the fact that I don’t make enough money to keep a roof above our heads?"
"I never said that, Isaac."
"But you implied it when you all but forced me to ask my father for help."
"I did it because there was no other way out."
"You could have asked your family to help out."
"They’re in LA, and not exactly rolling in money," I protest.
"And my father is," he retorts in a flat voice.
"I had no idea how well off he was until we reached his home, and you know that."
"And now you’ve lost all respect for me because we’re living under his roof." His jaw tics.
"Isaac, please. I’m not judging you at all. This is just temporary, until we get back on our feet."