“Would you like a glass of water?”
I shake my head.
“This shouldn’t take too long.” Thomas smiles, shark-like, showing off his perfectly straight, unnaturally white teeth.
I don’t buy his happy to help bullshit for a single second.
Thomas McAvoy – whose uncle is the CEO of the very company he works for, or at least I’m pretty sure it’s his uncle according to the quick google search I did on the walk over here – is just like every other obnoxious, I-shit-gold, suit wearing, prick I’ve ever met. I doubt he’s ever heard the word no in his entire life; not to mention the amount of crap he must get away with having a member of his own family on the board of directors to cover up his errors.
The shit wearing faux grin etched across his features tells me he knows it too.
“So, how do you know Calla?”
I pull my gaze away from the tall windows, the city of London sprawling out before them, the murky waters of the Thames glistening under the summer sun, to narrow my eyes at Thomas.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked how you knew Calla.”
Fingers steepled together in front of him, Thomas meetsmy stare, unblinking. Anxiety bubbles up inside my stomach, threatening to spill into my throat, but I push it back down.
“That’s a strange question.”
Thomas shrugs.
“I met her through the company.” I flatten my lips, rearranging my face to hopefully look unbothered. “She showed me around the apartment I’m hoping to lease.”
“That’s all?” he presses. This is how he must coerce people; pretending to be friendly and then, when their guard is down, striking like a poisonous rattle snake.
“Of course.”
“Hm.”
His hum slices through me, burrowing under my skin. I clench my jaw, feeling the muscle there tick and pop. I shouldn’t rise to him, I know I shouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean I can stop my tongue from firing his question right back at him.
“How doyouknow Calla?”
Thomas laughs; this smug sounding laugh I itch to—
“Calla and I go way back, mate.”
His answer makes my teeth grind even further. I’m surprised Calla would go for a smarmy prick like him, but what do I know? I’m just somebody she slept with twice before we parted ways.
Swallowing down my ire, although apparently not well enough, for the words that escape me, I gesture to the papers splayed out before Thomas. “I’m not yourmate.Now, where do I need to sign?”
“Just here… Mr Millen,” Thomas McAvoy practically spits my last name as if to make a point whilst also jabbing a stubby finger to a single dotted line, four pages in, that I somehow managed to miss.
Grabbing the ballpoint pen from the table, I scrawl myname angrily, all sharp points and hard slashes. I take a step back, sucking in a mouthful of air-conditioned oxygen, the taste metallic at the back of my throat. I need to get out of here.
I’m almost panting with anger;whyI’m not so sure. There’s just something about Thomas McAvoy that’s gotten under my skin. Maybe it’s his smugness, maybe it’s his tight-fitting suit and his gold ring encrusted fingers. Maybe it’s the way he spoke about Calla so familiarly.
It’s the last one bothers me the most.
I move further away, towards the frosted glass door, willing my heart rate to calm the fuck down.
“Are we done here?”
“Certainly, Mr Millen.” Thomas stands, making a show of tucking his seat beneath the large table, before the crosses the space I’ve put between us. “I’ll show you out.”
