‘What? Why? Which? At least that’s some variance overwell,’ I drawl, referencing her discomfort at the dinner table Friday evening. ‘Perhaps if you’d close your mouth for a minute and listen, you’d find out.’
‘Well, excuse me for feeling a little pissed at being blindsided. I’m entitled.’
‘Sadly, yes. But I blame that on you being a millennial.’
‘That’s it. I’m out of here.’ She jumps to her feet and begins to gather her bags. Her movements are jerky while her mouth moves with unspoken insults.
‘Do you know Mark Jones and Luke are related?’
‘Don’t know, don’t care.’ She throws the strap of her purse over her shoulder, grasping the handle of the satchel tight.
‘Mark is his stepfather and close to retirement.’
‘So?’ Her arm tautens with the weight of the bag as she slides it from the table.
‘I want this company. The controlling stake.’
‘What has this got to do with me?’
‘Everything and nothing, I suppose. It depends on the choices you make in the next few minutes. Because I want this company, Olivia, and you’re going to help me get it. By marrying me.’
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by her response again, yet I am as she bursts out laughing.
Chapter 10
OLIVIA
‘Are you high?’ He doesn’t answer unless you count the way he glowers at me. ‘I’d need more than a million-pound to persuade me to marry you.’
‘How much?’ he answers baldly.
‘Double your net worth. Hell—triple it!’
His smile bears a hint of cruelty as he relaxes against the sofa, propping his arms along its back. ‘You obviously don’t know what I’m worth. Financially,’ he adds as I open my mouth to deliver my estimation. And it wasn’t numerical.
‘Like you have a high opinion of me. So let’s just call it even.’
‘You mistake me. I wouldn’t be offering to marry you if I didn’t esteem you.’
‘Your flattery is unnecessary.’ Even that delivered in the vein of Mr Darcy, the extra brooding addition.
She is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me
... so I climbed out of the car and left her with her panties on display.
‘You made it quite clear on Friday evening how little you think of me.’
My skin prickles with awareness as his gaze suddenly slides over me. I’d like to say it’s with a sense of revulsion or disgust from the recognition that he’s blatantly playing with me, but it’s not. Damn his haughty manner and looks, and damn my reaction to them even more.
‘So this is what’s important to you? You’re feeling spurned.’
‘You can’t put a price on people,’ I reply, choosing not to answer his assumption. Choosing not to give him the satisfaction of an answer either.
‘Have you thought or considered any other reasons as to why I left you when I did?’
‘I haven’t wasted my time on that night, or you.’ Even if my currently spotless home disputes those words. He smiles as though silently calling me on my bullshit, and my mouth opens without my permission to make good on my lie. ‘You’re a prick.’ And with that, I turn on my heel and stride for the glass door.Please let me find how to open it.
Immediately, I hear his footsteps behind me, their echo filling my chest with a tightness I don’t recognise.An excitement. A thrill.My own feet move faster across the expansive shiny resin floor, my heart and stomach a mass of jangling sensations as I reach the opaque glass where my approximation of the opening is concealed. But Beckett’s hand reaches the glass before my outstretched one does.
