Chapter Six
Brielle
Friday is a battlefield.
I make it through most of the day without speaking a single word to Asher. The morning is a haze of emails, conference calls, and the nerve-wracking certainty that he's trying to drive me mad.
He doesn't put the plug in. He doesn't mention it at all, in fact. But I catch him watching me from the corner of his eye, hisexpression unreadable, his fingers drumming on his mahogany desk.
I ignore him.
I ignore the way his gaze makes my skin pebble. I ignore the way my pulse jumps when he smirks. I ignore everything except work, and for a while, it feels like I'm winning.
"You can't ignore me forever," he finally says, his voice a wicked murmur.
I arch one brow, snort, and go back to typing.
His soft laugh echoes in the corners of his office like it's whispering from the pits of hell.
At four o'clock, the office empties for happy hour. I stay at my desk, typing out a memo with more force than necessary. It's almost peaceful. Almost. I even let myself pretend, just for a minute, that I'm completely alone.
Asher ruins that illusion in record time. He leans back in his chair, his hands behind his head. The pose is calculated, meant to look casual but actually designed to display every inch of power he possesses. "We're working late."
I stop typing to turn to him. "Uh, you have fun with that," I say. "I have plans."
"You have a report due on Monday, and you haven't touched it."
I grit my teeth. "I'll do it over the weekend."
His eyes narrow, his expression predatory. "You'll do it now."
Something in me snaps. Maybe it's the way he hasn't touched me today. Maybe it's the way my head aches from clenching my jaw all damn day, or the way my body is so keyed up I could scream. Maybe it's that I'm tired—so fucking tired—of letting him win.
I slam my laptop closed and stand up so fast my chair rolls across the floor.
"Go fuck yourself, you psychotic bastard," I say, so loud and clear it echoes off the walls.
Asher doesn't react, not at first. He just stares at me, letting the words hang between us.
Then, very quietly, "Say that again."
I square my shoulders, more than ready for this fight. "You heard me the first time. Go. Fuck. Yourself. Psychotic. Bastard."
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
He's on his feet before I can move, crossing the space in three strides. I lunge for the door, desperate to escape, but he's faster than I could ever hope to be.
He catches me by the wrist and yanks me back, slamming the door shut with his free hand. The click of the lock is a threat and a promise.
I twist, trying to wrench free. "Get off me, Asher."
He pulls me flush against his body, pinning my arms at my sides. His mouth is at my ear, his breath warm. "What's wrong? Too afraid to insult me and then deal with the consequences?"
I dig my heels in, refusing to be cowed. "You don't scare me."
He laughs, an unholy, dark sound that sends lava into my veins, as his grip tightens. "Liar."
I manage to elbow him in the ribs, but all that does is make him grin like the psycho he is. He spins me, slamming my back to the door. His face is inches from mine, his eyes feral.
