Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“You didn’t say thank you.”
My cheeks warm even though it’s ridiculous to have my manners rebuked by someone as heinous as him. “Thank you,” I say as drolly as possible.
He smiles, his eyes glinting with pleasure. “You’re welcome.”
I squirm because I can tell he’s thinking about last night, and that’s so uncomfortable I want to crawl out of my skin. “Leave now, please. Before I have to make a scene.”
He doesn’t move a muscle. “You won’t make a scene, Hallie, and we need to talk about these empty threats you keep doling out. Don’t you know you only undermine your own effectiveness when you make an empty threat? Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“I’m trying to get you to leave,” I cry, more frustration coming through than I intended. “Don’t you understand that? I would say anything to get you away from me. I’m not measuring my words carefully and thinking through consequences, I’m throwing anything I can at you to try to make you leave. Please leave. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to talk to you. I am furious and hurt by what you did last night, and I am also agonizingly powerless to take you down for it and painfully aware of that fact. It is humiliating and horrible, and I just want that feeling to go away.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I see sympathy gleaming in his dark eyes.
I know tears glint in mine.
Huffing, I grab the cloth napkin on the table and dab at the corners of my eyes so my makeup doesn’t run.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I feel stupid for crying, especially in front of him, but my emotions surged and I couldn’t help it.
“I’ll leave if you want me to,” he says, his tone much gentler.
I wait for relief to hit me, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because I don’t trust him, so I won’t believe he’s really leaving until I’ve seen with my own eyes that he’s gone.
I have to say something to acknowledge he’s spoken, so I murmur a watery,” Thank you,” as I put the napkin down on my lap.
“But I want to see you again. Tomorrow. We’ll have dinner.”
For a split second, my heart stops.
It’s the shock.
I don’t know if it’s the suggestion, or the calm, certain way he says it, as if he knows this is going to happen and I should just climb on board and enjoy the ride.
I meet his gaze, so stunned I forget to be embarrassed. “Are you insane?”
He shrugs, seeming to have recovered from the momentary lapse of having a conscience. “Maybe, but not in a way you should be worried about. When you’re as rich as I am, it’s called eccentric.”
“I am not having dinner with you.”
“You are,” he says immovably. It’s not cocky in the sense that he’s so arrogant he doesn’t believe he can be turned down. He seems almost understanding of the fact that I haven’t given in yet—but also damn sure I will, and this is just a dance we have to do first.
It’s just like last night, but somehow even odder because we’re not in a private dungeon in a depraved sex club; we’re in a beautiful, public ballroom decked out for a wedding.
“No, I’m not,” I say, my tone firmer.
“You are, one way or the other.”
My spine straightens at the subtle threat in his words. “What does that mean?”
“Remember a minute ago when we were discussing the syringe and all that? I’m having dinner with you tomorrow evening whether you accept my invitation and get into the car I send for you or not. It’s your call. I would prefer we do it the easy way since I was already pretty hard on you last night, but if you want to do it the hard way, we can.”
“You cannot make me have dinner with you. And honestly, if you keep harassing me like this, I will have to go to the police. It’s not an empty threat this time, last night I was just trying to stop you, but now—”
“You’re still just trying to stop me. You won’t. You’re wasting your energy, sweetheart.” He flicks a glance at my salad. “Are you a vegetarian?”
Startled, I look at my Caesar salad, then back to him. “No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“If you’re determined to be difficult, I’ll have to hire a private chef to make us dinner at home. Can’t risk you acting out in public.”
I laugh at the sheer absurdity. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t agree to meet you in a restaurant so you think I’ll come to your house?”
“It’s a penthouse and you will. We’ve been over this already.”
He’s unbelievable. I don’t even know what to say to him, honestly. “You’re crazy.”
“If you want me to leave, this is the way. If you want me to stick around, you can keep resisting. Both choices will have the same result: you will come to my home tomorrow and we will have dinner together. I say this with 100 percent certainty, and I can assure you, I’m right.”