“What? No! What do you take me for?” I ask and hope to God she doesn’t reply. “This is the other room I want you to work on,” I explain. “I thought one commercial and one domestic might give you more scope.” I lie because I have actually put no thought into this.
These are your places, your own personal spaces my stupid fucking inner monologue states smugly.
“Oh, okay,” she replies still floundering.
“So, is that a yes?”
I am relieved when she nods. If she had said no I would have just made a complete dick of myself.
“Could we talk?” She shifts from one foot to the other, nervous once more, an action which is pretty cute, but has nothing on the lip thing and the whispering.
When did cute even enter my vocabulary? With a metaphorical kick for myself I refuse to be drawn on it.
“Talk?” I know I sound hard and cold at her use of that one word.Talkis normally woman speak for arguing, haranguing, nagging, pushing.
“About us, our relationship?”
Yeah, woman speaktalkis what she meant; pushing, check.
“Relationship?” I slam the bedroom door shut making her jump before stomping back to the lounge.
“Yes, relationship,” she repeats with a whine to her voice as she follows me.
Nagging, check.
“Miss Carrington let’s get something straight here. We don’t have a relationship. You are a sub-contractor, an employee,” I sneer. “Please don’t let a casual fuck confuse the parameters here.” I immediately want to take those words back because I have done it again, made her face do that thing where it seems to crumple before me with nothing but hurt in her eyes, but I can’t take them back, so I add to them. “Look, last night was good, great.” I add the last word, sounding as though I have somehow paid her a huge compliment. “We were both at a loose end, one night, but don’t read any more into it than that, I’m not. In fact, I imagine that later when we both do the same thing again, we won’t give another thought to each other.”
There is no doubt in my mind that I am a complete bastard as I see the words sink in. I have essentially just called her a tramp and she is clearly pissed about it.
“How dare you?” she snarls as she pokes my chest with one of her delicate index fingers. “I am not like that. You might fuck anything with a pulse, but I don’t. Last night was the first time that I’ve done that, and the last if you are the typical calibre of one-night stands I am likely to encounter.
“So you say,” I snap, somehow believing her words but ignoring that belief and the side of me that is telling me to apologise.
“I meant our working relationship; what should I call you? How should I remain in contact, times, dates?” she explains. “I have never met such an arrogant, conceited arse in my life. I was also planning on apologising for the kissing in your office that was unprofessional and again I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Haranguing, check.
I swear there are actual tears in her eyes and she’s even more beautiful than before. I am seriously fucked up in the head to find her distressed state attractive.
“Look, this won’t work, I can’t work here, for you. I’ll tell Mr Peterson I’m not up to it and leave it with Sean. I won’t embarrass you or tell him we’d met before.”
I stare at her and think I must have misheard her. Is she really going to tell her boss that she isn’t up to the job she has been desperate to get for eighteen months, admit that she is destined to be a receptionist when it’s clear that she is capable of holding her own in the field she is qualified in and has talent in spades?
“Goodbye, Mr Harding,” she says, and I know if I let her leave now, I will never get another chance.
“Miss Carrington, we have a contract in place, Christian and I, and you are part of that, so unless you want me to sue for breach of contract you will be in my office at nine in the morning, prompt.”
Fuck, she truly hates me now, I can see it in her eyes and under different circumstances I would encourage her to unleash it and then fuck the rest of it out of her with some seriously hot and angry sex that would see her calling my name in spite of herself.
“You disgust me,” she says calmly, too calmly I decide as I detect ice in her eyes and voice, not that I don’t understand her hatred because I hate myself right about now.
“Not enough that you wouldn’t have let me fuck you spread eagled across my desk though,” I retaliate and can hardly believe the gasp she lets out, although the gasp is more expected than the punch that lands squarely on my jaw almost rocking me off my feet.
Instinctively, I hold my face but am more concerned that she’s hurt her hand because that had to have hurt her as much as me. Glancing down I can see that her knuckles are red, already turning blue and swelling. I really can’t believe that she punched me, not slapped me like women have been known to do before, but a punch, a real, proper punch. A punch I deserved.
She is seriously fucking feisty and nowthatis possibly the cutest thing about her, that she can and will punch me. That final thought makes me laugh until I see she has taken my laughter to be directed at her.
“I hope whoever is unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of your charm tonight has a dose of the clap to pass onto you.” Her eyes flash gold with fury as she turns to leave and attempts to use my private lift but once inside realises she doesn’t have the access key so now, even more furious she leaves the lift and opts for the door that takes her to the office floor, pausing only to throw a final insult at me. “Pretentious too,” she says with a derogatory look at my lift.
