"In the privacy of our home, where no one will know if we have separate bedrooms."
"Do you think I’m tempted to touch you? Let me clear up any confusion, once and for all. I have no interest in you, except for the fact that you’re going to be my employee until such a time that you deliver the baby."
He says 'the baby' in the same tone of voice as one would say, remember to pick up the dry cleaning.
"So, I was right." I tip up my chin. "You’re an asshole."
He shrugs. "Do you want to get your lawyers to check the papers before you sign them? Or you can sign them as-is. I don’t care either way."
I squeeze my fingers around the arms of the chair I’m seated in. It’s a comfortable chair, actually. No doubt, he wants to lull whoever he’s meeting into a false sense of security. But he doesn’t fool me. Nope. N-a-h, I know exactly the kind of man he is. Someone who will reach his goals, no matter who he has to hurt or what he has to sacrifice along the way. Well, he picked the wrong woman this time.
"I am not Lila. I’m not going to let you push me around."
"Oh?" He turns to the computer in front of him and proceeds to scan whatever is written on the screen.
"I already told you I haven’t agreed to this arrangement."
"And you and I both know you’re going to. I suggest you put aside your vacillations and focus on planning the wedding, which you now have precisely " —he looks at his watch— "three days to plan."
"Three?" I shriek. "Six days. I have six days. That’s one-hundred and forty-four hours, asshole."
He laughs. The bastard actually laughs at me. "Just testing you." He smirks.
Jerk!I draw in another breath and shove the anger deep down into my stomach. Pain flashes in my guts, then fades away.
"I assume you still want to go ahead with that circus you’ve planned?"
Circus?He called the work I’ve put into planning the most epic ‘wedding of the century’ a circus? Bastard. I squeeze my fingers together, then set my lips. "It’s not a circus, you clown. It’s a gorgeous destination wedding. Also, you told me I could plan the event however I want. My dream wedding, remember?"
"How can I forget?" he says in a tone that implies the exact opposite. Then, as if it’s an afterthought, he adds, "Of course, I could always change my mind, and we could elope."
"What?" My heart slams into my ribcage. My pulse buzzes like a dragonfly caught in a net. "All the preparations are made. Influencers and the press are expecting exclusives from us. The event plans are in full swing… We can’t elope. That would—"
"Unless you sign off on this contract..."
I draw myself up to my full height. "Are you coercing me?"
"I’m simply stating a fact."
"You’re a son of a bitch."
"And your future husband." His grin widens.
"Fuck you."
"Not unless you ask me nicely."
Anger swells in my chest. My pulse rate speeds up. I so want to take that contract and tear it up, but I can’t. And he knows it. Oh, I’d so love to turn the tables on him. One day, it’ll be me holding all the cards, and then... We’ll see how he feels.
I lean over, grab one of his pens, then pull the contract over and initial it. "There." I throw the pen down on the table. It bounces off, hits the floor, and rolls toward the wall.
I glance up to find his jaw hard, nostrils flared. A vein pops at his temple. He’s pissed. Oh, good. A dull thud of satisfaction coils in my chest.
"Pick it up," he says in a soft voice.
"No."
His gaze narrows. "What did you say?" Anger and a strange sort of excitement emanate from him. His eyes gleam. Color flushes his features. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was excited. What am I thinking? I don’t know him at all. Maybe heisexcited. The hairs on my forearms rise. I take a step back, then jut out my chin.