“Yup. Thanks for the orgasm. I’m done now. You can leave. We’ll hash this out later,” I retort, tossing his own lines back at him.
I swing open the bedroom door and turn to face him.
He stands there, looking confused as hell, as if he’s taken a direct hit to the gut. “Lexi, dammit, I’ve already said I’m sorry. Whatever you want tonight, it’s yours. Hell, I was into it as much as you were. It’s been too damn long since I’ve felt anything remotely good.”
“Aw, that’s sweet, but we don’t always get what we want.”
When he keeps standing there confused, I tighten my grip on the door handle. “Are you suddenly hard of hearing?” I throw his own words back at him yet again. “I said leave. Now.”
His eyes sharpen, turning into cold blue slits, jaw set like he’s chewing on gravel. Man, he looks pissed.
“You’ve never been told to leave anywhere in your life, have you?” I force myself to stay firm. “Should I fetch a megaphone to make it crystal clear?”
He glares at me, anger etched on his face as he heads for the door. “Fucking whiplash is what you give me, Lexi Sullivan.
“Me? That’s rich,” I scoff after him.
“This is exactly why I don’t fuck the same woman twice,” he mutters.
“Finally, something we can agree on.” Although that didn’t come out right.
He stops in the doorway, giving me one last hard look. I half expect him to start up again, but he just turns and leaves, thankfully not slamming the door behind him. Thank god Grace sleeps like the dead.
I lean back against the now-closed door, letting out a slow breath.
Doesn’t feel too great being shown the door, does it, Connor? Now you get it.
I don’t know why he’s so pissy. It’s not like he’d have stayed over at Maison du Leak anyway. Not unless he’s starring in some “secret billionaire slumming it” show.
I wait for the rush of victorious smugness to hit me. I landed the final punch—outplayed Casanova at his own game. Tonight, I was the one in charge. Point for team Lexi.
But the victory doesn’t feel sweet. Instead, it feels like I’ve lost something valuable.
THIRTY-ONE
Connor
“It’s time we pay the cunt a visit,” I say to Jim. The file on Deano Johnson is spread out on my desk. Jim, being ex Special Forces, doesn’t bat an eye at my choice of words. Nothing shakes him.
Jim gives a nod. “How nice do you want us to be, boss?”
“Friendly enough to ensure he enjoys a vacation in the hospital. Then we can hand him over to the cops,” I answer. “Let’s not go overboard, no need to kick off a full-fledged conflict. Just a clear message about the boundaries concerning my assets from here on out.”
We have enough dirt to bury Deano. He may not be the top guy, but he made off with my car. Now, he’s going to serve as the warning. The message is clear—stay away from my stuff.
That includes my cars. And Lexi.
“Consider it done. Anything else, boss?”
I lean back, my gaze sweeping over the cityscape. Somewhere below is Vallure PR, too small to see from this height. Insignificant.
“We still got eyes on Miss Sullivan’s place? No gaps in coverage?”
“Yes, boss. Around the clock, just like you wanted. Nobody gets close without us knowing,” Jim assures me.
I exhale slightly. One less weight on my mind.
I’ve got to make sure she’s safe. It’s been a week since she kicked me out of her apartment. A week since that sassy mouth got under my skin. Feels like forever since someone’s got to me like that. I mentally salute her audacity for daring to put me in my place. I had to physically restrain myself from tossing her onto that tiny bed and taking her right then and there when she threw my own words back at me.
