“No,” I say again.
“Get up, we have a deposition,” he says, not taking the hint that when I said no, that was me, having the final say.
He’s staring at me. And I’m staring at him. And what we have here is a stare off. I count my breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
There is no way I’m losing this stare off. Not after he rejected me. I would never let myself live it down.
“I’m out of here,” Brad says before I hear the scraping of the chair against the floor. I still don’t take my eyes off Xander until Brad comments, “No stars.”
This comment halts our staring content. “It’s not fucking Uber, you douche,” Xander says, spitting the words out. Brad, to his credit, which is already in the red, doesn’t respond as the door swings closed behind him.
When Brad is long gone, Xander turns back to me and I cave under his expression.
“I don’t want to,” I say, sounding more like a distraught teenager than the kind of woman who doesn’t give a fuck. “I’m not doing it.”
“Yes the fuck you are,” he says, harsh on every consonant. “Let’s go.”
I reluctantly stand because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you can’t win an argument against a damn fucking lawyer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Xander directs me to sit in one of the swivel chairs surrounding the mahogany table in the boardroom of his office. Hanging on the beige walls are three large gold frames, each with a portrait of an old white dude. They’re painted like they’re fucking royalty.
We’d walked past the whimsical older lady who looks like she’s been the receptionist since prehistoric times, and who’s also the mother figure of the office and knows everyone’s secrets. A knowing smile had passed over her face as she said, “Boardroom one is ready for you.” Xander had thrown her a grateful smile.
Clearly he has only one thing on his mind: his fucking job.
Or is this his pro bono work?
Great, I’m his charity case.
And now, I’m standing in boardroom one, which reminds me a lot of Principal Holland’s office. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is where Xander’s corporate clients come to circle jerk about how successful they are.
Still, with two other lawyers sitting in the boardroom, I do what Xander says and take a seat. I gave up my right to resist when I left the caféwith him—willingly—even if I was dragging my feet the entire way up to level thirty-four.
I’m introduced to both lawyers, and one of them, Liam, takes a seat next to me. He emits a warmth that makes me wonder if we’re going to do good cop/bad cop.
I briefly glanced over the deposition preparation papers before deciding I’d get my job back myself. Good cop/bad cop was one of the tactics lawyers are prone to using to elicit responses.
I look at Xander, who stalks around the table and takes a seat opposite me.
He’s seeing red.
“So you’re definitely the bad cop,” I say, cocking my eyebrow. A laugh escapes from the lawyer sitting next to him. Jake, I think it was. I’m assuming his role is to be the court reporter in this scenario because he starts typing. I feel a small victory, but it only lasts a second before Xander’s straight-set face blooms into a mischievous smirk.
“Why, am I destroying your focus?” He volleys this quip like he didn’t even have to think up a witty comeback. It’s just there. On the tip of his tongue. My body heats up as he raises one eyebrow, challenging me.
Yes, you’re destroying my focus, but no way I’m admitting that to him.
He scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, knowing exactly what he’s doing, and immediately a core memory of Xander flutters behind my eyes.
Him, on top of me. His arms, caging me in. My teeth, scraping the skin of the small tattoo on his bicep.
