“Whatever. While I’m here, let’s at least make the most of the evening, yeah?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, threading his fingers through mine and tugging me in the opposite direction.
“Again. No,” I said, struggling out of his grip and continuing to the exit. I made it out of the conference room door, glad for the silence. The chatter of the room was oppressive, like a black cloud weighing me down. With every step closer to the car, I felt the tension leave. “Thanks for showing up, but there is no way I can act like you haven’t been a complete asshole. I want to go home. Alone. Now.”
“So, you’re embarrassed to have me by your side? You’d rather be on a date with some fancy, pretty boy than a man who actually gives a shit about you?” His tone was hurtful and harsh, cutting through my distress and turning it back to anger.
“Embarrassed? You know what? Yeah, I am.” I stopped in the entryway, crossing my arms and giving him a once over. The knees of his jeans were covered in dirt, while his hat and boots had mud splatters.
“What of it, Hansen? Did you bother to read my messages? Where I asked if you had any formal attire and were free to stop by? Or did you just race over here half-assed, thinking it was okay to show up with mud all over yourself?” I hissed, thumping his chest and then sidestepping him before he could respond.
“Why don’t you tell me how I’m feeling again? Or perhaps tell me how I should act? Grateful, right? Should I be grateful you’re here, saving me? I just want to go home. So be helpful or get out of my way.”
No matter how upset he was, even suggesting that I was shallow and embarrassed was uncalled for. My chest ached, knowing my first reactionwasto judge him by how he looked, but that ache gave way to something darker as I watched him glare at me—almost like he was purposely picking a fight.
“Is that what you want? For me to be out of your way?” he called, not bothering to lower his voice. The heat of the summer night made my skin tight and achy, but it was his words that left me chilled. His temper had always been short—his mouthknown for spouting off nonsense he’d regret later. I had no desire to let him finish his train of thought. It would only lead to us saying things we couldn’t take back.
“Seriously, Emma? The least you can do is talk to me after the way you treated me.”
“The way I—”
I stared at the ground, then turned to face him, not caring that we were in the middle of the road heading toward the parking garage. If he wanted an argument—he’d damn well get one. His fists were clenched by his side while a bead of sweat dripped down his temple. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to reach out and brush that droplet away, thanking him for being here. I could tell he came straight from a job, forgoing the shower and clean clothes for my benefit, but then reality snapped back into place as he scowled, arching a brow.
He crossed his arms, and it took me a moment to realize he was waiting for me to finish my thought. “Well?”
“Well. What, Miller? What do you want me to say? There are millions of words in the English language, but I couldn’t begin to string enough together to express how much I want to hit you with a chair right now.”
“Don’t hold back. Tell me more. Tell me how embarrassed you are to be seen with me.”
“Cut it out! There’s no need to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.” I stomped my foot and shook my head, turning and heading to my car, not caring if he followed. “Just leave me alone.”
“Emma?” he called, rushing forward to place himself between me and the parking garage. I picked up the pace, hurrying across the street so at least my chance of getting hit by a passing vehicle dropped from probable to not likely.
“Are you trying to pick a fight? Or are you just too thick to realize that some things don’t revolve around you?”
“You are the one who texted me in a panic, remember?” he said, pulling his hat off and squeezing the rim between his large hands. The material squeaked, and I watched his knuckles turn white, remembering how cherished I felt when he used those same fingers to caress my arms and ask if I was okay. The feeling of annoyance mixed with gratitude—like oil and water bubbling in my stomach as I watched him.
“Yes. I did. And you’re the one not respecting my wishes when I said I wanted to leave. Am I disappointed you showed up in freaking dirty jeans and a ball cap? Yes. Am I irritated you couldn’t be bothered to check your phone to read my additional messages before you showed up? Yes. Am I grateful that your first thought was my welfare? Of course,” I said, stepping close enough to rest my palms on his chest.
His heart thudded rapidly against my hand, and I pressed harder, needing to feel the solid strength of him. “But stupidly picking a fight with me and insinuating that I’m nothing more than a stuck-up bitch who puts more stock in appearances than personality is not something I’ll tolerate. Now, go away.”
“I wasn’t insinuating anything, Emma,” he growled, pushing away from my touch.
Fine.If he wanted to be a sanctimonious asshole, far be it for me to stand in his way. “Great. Super. Real mature. Way to make me glad I texted, even though you couldn’t be bothered to do anything that was remotely beneficial.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh? Would you rather argue about something else? Perhaps thatDie Hardis a Christmas movie, or if you should wish someone good night or good morning if they fall asleep after midnight?”
“No. I was only trying to—”
I interrupted him with a low snarl, not bothering to hide my irritation. His lips parted like he was ready to continue his trainof thought, but I squinted as I let my gaze roam over his features. His dark eyes were wide and panicked, the irises shrunk down to a barely visible ring.
We’d argued and made up and held one another through good and bad, but the times his eyes had bored into mine like they did now were few and far between. It was overwhelming—like every crevice of my soul was under scrutiny as I searched his face.
My traitorous brain labored under the illusion that he was only acting like a douche because I bruised his ego, but regardless of his motives, I refused to be his punching bag for his insecurities.
“You’ve said plenty, Miller. No need to repeat. I’m a stuck-up bitch, embarrassed by you and your dirty fingernails. Go take a shower and leave me alone. You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”
