Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Heat burns my cheeks, and I draw a calming breath that is barely calming at all. I decide right then that I could easily tuck my tail and run out of the door. I do the opposite. I march to his desk, stand in front of him and press my hands to the wooden surface. “I chose yes, not no. It was a choice. If I’d wanted to say no, you’d have stayed in your lane. There is a difference between A and B.” I turn on my heel and march toward the door.
“Like there’s a difference between being a bastard and acting like one?” he challenges.
I halt, fingers curling into my palm again. I spin around and face him. “Exactly. And for the record, you are a bastard, Tyler Hawk.”
“Then we achieved something tonight. You finally understand me.”
Indeed, I think, only even in this moment, as angry, hurt, and humiliated as I am, that thought feels flawed. For now, though, I open the door and exit to the hallway. But I do not go home. I will not run. I’m going back to the party just as soon as I make sure I’m not wearing my makeup on my forehead.
Chapter Thirteen
Bella
I enter the bathroom with my thoughts racing. He’s a bastard, but Tyler’s still my boss. I step in front of the mirror and take one look at my swollen lips and catch the edge of the counter. Unless that changes tomorrow, I think.
I shove aside that brutal thought with the same fierceness I all but begged Tyler not to walk away from me. Irritated at my line of thought, I shut down any negativity in my mind. I simply can’t allow myself to go down the wrong rabbit hole, at least not when I’m here at the office. I know me, and if I do that, I will fall apart, even if only momentarily. With a need to be cool and composed, even if it’s a façade of cool and composed, I quickly wipe away the lipstick on my chin, reapply a fresh pink shade, and fix the mess that is my finger fucked blonde hair. I try not to think how close I came to being wholly fucked by Tyler Hawk because I might as well have been. I had my leg on the man’s shoulder and his mouth all over me. Okay, I’m going to freak myself out. It’s time to leave.
I head for the door only to realize my nipple is not in my bra. Of course, it’s not. I right the wrong, at least this one. There’s no saving me from most of what I’ve allowed to happen, or as Tyler put it himself, the consequences, whatever they may be, of what I allowed to happen. Drawing a deep, calming breath, I pray Tyler is still in his office, and exit the bathroom. The coast appears clear, but I hurry to the elevator and punch the button over and over, glancing at the corporate office door several times as I do. As if either of those things will assure Tyler doesn’t exit from the lobby before the elevator opens.
Finally, the car dings, the doors open, and I enter the elevator. I punch the rooftop button and hold my breath as I’m slowly sealed inside as if I’m in a horror movie and the monster might catch me. I’m fairly certain though I’m my own monster in this case because as Tyler said, I didn’t say a proper no. I didn’t say no at all. Once I’m secure and alone, I lean on the wall and let out a breath of relief, only to inhale the distinctly masculine scent of Tyler’s cologne. He was just in the elevator, which means he either left the building or he’s upstairs, where I’m headed. Lord, help me, but I’m not going to hide from this. I will see him again. I will face him again. I will hate him again. I will work with him again.
In the midst of this parade of sentences starting with “I will,” Tyler’s words play in my head. “This is about control,” he’d declared, and did so before I ended up mostly naked.
I’ll analyze the real meaning of his claim to control later when I’m alone and can fully realize the tiny bubble of anger reforming inside me.
For now, there is another ding, and the doors to the elevator slide open. I straighten, exit, and leave behind the scent of Tyler, or so I think I do. Instead, the scent clings to me. It was never the elevator that smelled of Tyler. It was me. I quickly reach inside my purse, grab my perfume and douse myself with Chanel No. 5, hoping I don’t choke anyone to death with the freshly sprayed perfume meant to hide the fact that I’ve had my boss all over me.