Page 55 of Final Proposal

“Yes, you do.”

She steps into me, her finger hitting my chest with each word. “No. I. Don’t.” I snort and shake my head at her. It seems that’s more than enough to set her off. “You are the most pigheaded, frustrating person I have ever met.”

“Me?” I kick a piece of wood. “Everything has to be your goddamn way. On your time frame. And God forbid I value your opinions and input—”

“What are you—”

“I don’t take orders from anybody, Sinclair, least of all you.”

“Tough shit. You’re stuck with me.”

Therein lies the problem.

“Tough shit?” I counter.

“You heard me. You can take all of your I’m-A-Sharpe-I-Rule-The-World bullshit and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

I laugh. Head back, body shaking. She’s like a ball of fire in a pixie’s body and God, how I want that body.

So why is she like that with me and not her prick of a fiancé?

“You’re a real piece of work, Elle.”

Her smile drips with sarcasm much like her words do when she speaks. “Yep. Sure am. I’ll gladly take this piece of work and actually work instead of purposefully avoiding you at all costs like you do me.”

“Perfect. Please do. But your feet have to be moving in order to do that so . . . run along.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“You know what? Never mind. I’m going to stay right here just to piss you off. Since you don’t like me—”

“Don’t like you?” I bellow as I drag a hand through my hair and take a few steps away from her. “Don’t like you? Jesus fucking Christ, Ellery, all I can think about every day, every goddamn moment, is how bad I fucking like you.” I turn to meet her eyes. “How bad I fucking want you. But I’m trying to respect you. Respect our partnership. And the fact that you’re engaged to that pretentious prick who was here earlier. So excuse me for staying the fuck away from you, for avoiding you, but Jesus, a man can only take so much.”

She stands before me, a disaster of a mess. Hair sticking out of her ponytail, drywall dust on her cheek, a scratch with dried blood on her arm, and just blinks at me like I’m fucking crazy.

Well, it feels that way.

“What did you just say?” she whispers.

“You heard me.” My voice is ten times louder.

“No, actually I didn’t.”

“I called your fiancé a pretentious prick who came to mark his territory for all to see while walking around here like he owns the place when in fact, it’s you who does. Me who does. That’s what I fucking said.”

“He’s not my fiancé.”

My laugh is loud and mocking. “Yeah. Sure. That’s not what the newspaper said at the I’m-an-Asshole-Architect-of-the-Year award ceremony the last week.”

Ellery looks at me with a clarity I haven’t seen before. “He’s not my fiancé. I went with him so he could save face.” To save face? Pretentious and a fucking pathetic excuse for a man. She takes a few steps toward me. “But that’s not what I meant when I asked you what you just said. Say it again.”

“What? That he’s a pretentious prick?”

“No, you stubborn ass. The other part.”

She’s close. Too close. I reach out to pick a piece of drywall from her hair as I rack my brain to remember the word vomit I just spewed.