‘Why?’ His tone is indifferent and at odds with the minute flexing of a muscle in his jaw.
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit suspect looking? I sleep with you and you give me... stuff.’
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously likebourgeois, then, ‘If you want to get to work sometime this morning, I suggest you take the dress. Any dress. I don’t understand why this is an issue. Call it expediency, or call it coercion if it makes you feel any better.’
‘Doesn’t matter what you call it, it all screams slut.’ I glance around for last night’s dress to get me to my apartment, at least.
‘It’s a dress, not a fucking diamond tiara, there’s no payment in kind here!’ His snarl startles me and my head snaps up as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s not fair it results in ruffled and sexy rather than plain old irate. ‘Wear it or don’t, the choice is yours, but the alternative is leaving the hotel in that robe. Your dress has probably gone for cleaning. And youwillbe late to work.’
‘Have you got friggin’ elves?’
‘Efficient staff. People who fucking listen,’ he growls, stalking from the room, very effectively ending our conversation. I say conversation, but it was more of a rant.
Torn between the robe and a dress, I stand stock still and indecisive. I don’t want to keep taking, it just doesn’t sit well but what else can I do? This is obviously what happens when you get decked out in some guy’s fantasy undies and don’t bring an overnight bag.I’ll add that to my learning curve.
Taking a deep breath to curb my own rising temper, I decide it’s probably more dignified to continue this clothed.Now we’re friends who fuck...and fall-out, it seems.Good job I’m not in love. Last night’s emotions were probably more to do with endorphins. But, my god, the man is so hot when he’s pissed-off.
I slip into the contents of his selected bag; a beautifully cut black shirt dress, there are even matching designer pumps in black, red and nude. I choose nude, still feeling uneasy about the whole thing but I can’t wear the vamps for school. I’m not so anxious about the expensively labelled underwear, though maybe I should be.Thisisthe third time. Is that strange? I feel a bit like someone’s Barbie doll.I wonder who does this Barbie’s shopping, though.
Not payment in kind,I intone, just some clothes. Beautiful and expensive, but clothes just the same. And at least I’m saved a near-naked walk of shame. Tying back my hair, I roll a little of last night’s lip gloss across my mouth. Taking a large, restorative gulp of air, I follow Kai’s path through the door.
‘Coffee,’ Kai announces, holding out a tiny cup and saucer. He stands in front of a previously concealed flat-screen TV on which an Arabic news channel plays; a heavily made-up female anchor, stocks and shares fluttering like streamers across the bottom of the screen.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur as I take the proffered cup.
‘I ordered a little breakfast.’ Still staring at the TV, his hand indicates the round dining table where one place is set.
‘Aren’t you eating?’ I ask, perching my bum on the edge of a chair.
‘Before the gym. When you’re ready, we’ll leave.’
He’s all business and still a bit brusque, but at least he’s no longer breathing fire. I, however, am still frowning and contemplating chucking a pastry at his head.Far out, moody, much?This mood I haven’t seen before and it’s one I won’t indulge him in.
I pick, without really eating, at my light breakfast, heavy in calories.
‘You aren’t hungry?’ he asks in a softer tone.
‘Lost my appetite.’ Funny that.
‘Do I need to feed you, little cat?’
Oh, we’re back now to the purring tone? Try in your dreams, mate.
‘Not necessary,’ I reply pointedly, tearing bits of croissant and dropping them to the plate, the plate I imagine cracking over his head.
‘Be sure to use the napkin.’
Get fu ... obsessive-compulsive as well as in a strop! I reach for a rolled napkin contemplating myownbloody tantrum, especially as I haven’t even attempted to slather it—or the tablecloth—in honey or jam. Something obscene and heavenly flickers deeply as I find myself inhaling a sharp breath. Gilding the starched, white linen is the filigree silver butterfly. Loosening the creature, I clip it to my thumb.
‘How does it feel?’ His voice is quiet but also a little rough.
‘Now or...’ I shiver, not daring to look up. ‘Hurts,’ I reply before answering the unasked. ‘Somewhere between too much and not enough.’
Without looking, I know he’s smiling from the sound of his now soft words. ‘From little acorns.’
Apparently, big freaks grow.
‘If you’re ready, we should leave.’ His voice is without emotion as he plucks a matching suit jacket from the back of a chair, threading his arms through the sleeves. From seemingly nowhere, Rashid appears, car keys in hand as, once again, I hope he wasn’t within listening distance.
