Were they?Shit. They were.
“Just makeup allergies,” I huffed.
I was dying on the inside. The rejection was nibbling away at whatever confidence I had left. How could he do this to me?
Max stepped into my en suite bathroom, returning with a box of tissues, which made me want to cry again. He handed it to me silently.
I plucked one out, dabbing the corners of my eyes. “See? All better now.”
On the seventh day after mynothingwith Ransom, the bastard showed up in a tux at my suite’s door. I opened it for him, clad in a black vintage Victorian cap-sleeved corset dress. The sleeves were white silk, and the hem of the corset was embedded with little flowers.
“Wrong room,” I announced chirpily, slamming the door in his face. He slipped his shiny loafer between the door and the jamb, blocking me from closing it on him.
He shouldered past me, barely glancing at my face. He headed straight to the alcohol cart, pouring himself three fingers of whiskey.
The chutzpah of the man.
“No way I’m letting you drive under the influence.” I closed the door reluctantly, wondering where Max was. Had he gone already? Without saying goodbye?
What do you expect? You used him to get back at his boss.
“We’ll be driven there.” Ransom downed his drink, slamming the empty glass against the cart. He checked his watch. Frowned. Then looked up, his eyes accidentally landing on my cleavage.
“What’re you wearing?”
“A dress.” I picked up my purse from the kitchenette counter, flinging my hair to one shoulder. “Does my skin look okay? Had to descale myself after you touched me.”
“Someone doesn’t handle rejection well.” But his voice held no venom. He looked tired, agitated, and generally unwell.
“It would have been a rejection if you told me you weren’t interested the next day.” I smiled sweetly. “But what you did is called running away. I never pegged you for the hysterical type, but that’s people for you. We’re an unpredictable species.”
Astonishingly, Ransom didn’t verbally whip me for my last barb. He shook his head, grabbing his phone and wallet. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Finally, we’re on the same page.” I rolled my eyes, stomping to the door. He followed me, his tall, narrow frame shadowing mine.
The drive to my parents’ mansion was silent. Mom and Dad sent out one of their drivers, which meant Ransom and I didn’t have the chance to bicker loudly. Just as well. I was exhausted from overthinking what had happened between us, and wasn’t looking forward to coming face-to-face with The Wicked Witch of the South and her sleek-haired fiancé.
Ten minutes before our scheduled arrival at my parents’, Ransom glanced over at me from the other side of the Escalade. “You’re not to leave my sight tonight, Princess.”
“Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think? After going MIA for seven days.”
His eyes flicked to our driver, then narrowed back at me. “Some of us have real jobs to do.”
“And yours is to take care of me. If you can’t handle it, hand back the monthly checks.”
“Weekly,” he corrected coolly. “And you were in safe hands with Max.”
“They were warm, too.” I let loose a malicious grin. “Not to mention…creative.”
He crossed his legs, looking at me with easy mockery. “He didn’t touch you.”
“Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. You’ll never know.”
“I do know, because there are cameras everywhere. Remember?”
I did now. God, I hated the man.
“Don’t mistake his lapse of judgment for a trend.” Ransom shook his head.