Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

THIRTY-FIVE “Poison”

THIRTY-FIVE

“Poison”

Taylor Grey

Natalie

F reshly showered, I glance around my hotel room and decide to bide my time by packing. With the late hour, I’ve missed every available flight home and can’t manage to secure a rental car. With nothing but time to kill, I take care folding my clothes before spotting my discarded Stetson on the table. Tears I refuse to shed threaten as I think past the hurt to the raw honesty he fed me just hours ago—of how I again refused him and rejected us.

I told him I wouldn’t change my mind. He didn’t think I could or would hold my ground.

I hate that I have, while at the same time, am glad I did because screw him for being so cavalier with my feelings because his were hurt.

Stuck in the hotel but determined to make my exit as quickly as possible, I decide to do one last search in hopes of finding a twenty-four-hour rental car company and see a missed ping from Easton to a nearby hotel.

EC: Penthouse.

He must have sent it while I was showering. I note the time stamp.

He sent the message twenty-three minutes ago. A go to hell ready on my fingertips, they hover over the screen as I continue to stare at the text. My stomach twists as the thought occurs to me that maybe the invitation is just a formality on his part. Maybe he feels obligated to host me. Either way, he can take his half-assed invitation that reads more like an order and shove it up his over-privileged ass.

I told him I would see myself home, and I will. Maybe he’ll assume I’m already bound for Austin by not replying. No part of me believes entertaining said invitation is a good idea, especially with how furious I am with him. The longer I linger in his universe, the more susceptible and vulnerable I become.

Fuck my feelings. They don’t take a back seat to my self-respect.

Annoyed with myself for letting him be the victor while painting me the villain for trying to spare our parents—us—nothing but grief and heartache, I set the phone down and continue packing. I stare at the back of the phone like the ticking time bomb it is. I have got to get the hell out of here. Even if it means switching hotels for the night, I can’t give him any more access to me.

I’m not in the wrong for doing the right thing, and he’s got no right to make me feel as though I am. He’s not thinking about anyone but himself—his wants, his desires, even if they do heavily mirror my own. Once packed, I zip up my bag as my phone rattles again with an incoming text.

EC: Joel is on his way up.

Just as I read it, a knock sounds on the door. “Son of a bitch!” I roar, jumping out of my skin as Joel’s chuckle and amused voice drift in from the other side.

“Sorry, sweetheart, did I offend?”

“Tell him I already left!” I call out.

“Well, considering he heard you—along with half the hotel floor—he’s not going to believe me.”

Glaring, I roll my suitcase with me toward the door and open it. “I’m leaving,” I lie. “So, tell him I got his message loud and clear.”

Joel’s infuriating grin greets me as he lowers his eyes to the bag in my hand. “Yeah, she’s packed.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Apparently, he’s on Team Easton tonight.

“Will do,” Joel says.

“If he’s got anything to say to me, he can say it himself.”

A second later, Joel holds out the phone, and I barely manage to conceal my flinch.

Okay, that backfired.

Joel chuckles at my reaction as I take the phone and open my mouth to speak, but Easton beats me to the punch.

“Don’t make me come after you, Beauty. If I do, you won’t like it. Neither will your editor .”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Turnabout is fair play.”

“That’s so—”

“Fucked up? I agree, but I’m taking a page from your handbook tonight, and right now, I swear to Christ, I’m just the motherfucker to make good on the threat. See you soon.”

My jaw drops as he hangs up, and I glare at Joel, who has the good sense to look remorseful as he palms the back of his neck. “Shit, he kind of makes it hard sometimes for people not to hate the messenger.”

“He’s an infuriating—” I tick off on my finger.

“Daily—” Joel counters.

“Entitled—” I go on.

“At times—” Joel agrees.

“Relentless—” I fume.

“Only when he really wants something—” he tosses in.

“Selfish prick!” I finish.

“Oof,” he winces, “I felt that. So, I guess, here’s your chance to tell him?”

When Joel’s phone rings in my hand, I go to answer it just as he snatches it out of my grasp. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.” He turns and strides toward the elevator as I glare at his retreating back the whole way, a ‘traitor’ on the tip of my tongue. But he’s not a traitor. He’s Easton’s people, not mine, no matter how much I want to claim him.

When the doors slide open, Joel turns to see me fuming in the hall and mouths a quick “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head emphatically, refusing to let him off the hook.

“Properly,” he mutters into the phone, “I would say somewhere along the lines of a bull in a china shop,” he reports of my temperament, scratching his temple in obvious discomfort just before the doors slide closed.

I slam my room door shut and fume while pulling my phone up to call and read Easton the riot act. Unable to compose a text to convey the thousand and one insults I want to hurl his way, I drop my phone and fist my hands.

“All right, you son of a bitch,” I snap, “you want a fight. You’ve got one coming.” Opening my suitcase, I pluck the navy dress bag I packed last minute and unzip it. Though already showered, I take my time getting ready, hoping to tick both Joel and Easton off by making them wait.

Furious, even though I’ve given myself ample time to cool off, I paint my lips a glossy nude and slide into a form-fitting, shimmering white V-neck dress. The cut bares inches of my midriff, connected only by tiny gold loops on each side. The deep cut also gives ample glimpses of side-boob while remaining classy in fit, hanging a few inches above mid-thigh. It’s my ‘dressed to kill’ dress, and right now, there’s a real possibility of that turn of phrase becoming a reality.

Satisfied with my makeup, I grab a thin gold chain from my jewelry bag as an afterthought. I decide it pairs perfectly with the dress after I clasp it around my waist, flicking the two small chains at the end that dangle over my exposed navel.

After taming my curls into larger ones with my iron, I slide on my blue suede Louboutin’s. Satisfied with the look I plan to neuter Easton Crowne in, I grab the small clutch which matches the red soles of my heels before tucking in my phone and travel wallet. After walking through a few shots of orchid perfume, I march out of my hotel room, mind set on making Easton pay.

Once downstairs, I find Joel parked opposite the circular drive. As I approach, he reads my ready-for-war expression, his eyes dancing down my armor as he holds open the wrong door. Shaking his head with a grin, he closes the back passenger door and opens the front before I slide into the car. He lingers there as I buckle in, knowing I’m none too happy with him, which he clearly finds amusing.

“Don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not.”

His smile broadens. “You’re a stunning liar, and to be frank, he’s going to shit himself when he sees you in that dress. It’s the perfect choice.”

Unable to help it, my eyes soften. “Thank you.”

“Natalie,” he sighs, gripping the top of the door. “He may seem entitled at times—and maybe he even acts like it, but he’s tried since he’s become aware not to be.”

“I hear you, and I know that about him, but let him defend himself, okay?”

Joel nods and lingers a bit longer. I can tell he wants to speak up again on Easton’s behalf, but he shuts the door instead.

Deciding to keep Joel out of our newly declared war, I ride in silence to the hotel feeling the restless energy bouncing off his frame. He’s nervous for Easton, or for me—probably both. Either way, this is our battle, and he’s respecting the boundaries. When we reach the hotel, the valet beats Joel to the door. I grab his hand and thank him as Joel joins me and walks me toward the entrance while I mentally go over my battle plan, which is straightforward—to enjoy myself.

It’s the best revenge.

Walking around like a forlorn and lust-sick puppy isn’t going to do me any favors. Reacting to his tantrum and giving him the attention he wants won’t either. If he’s intent on forcing me to a party, that’s precisely what I intend to do, party . Joel stops just outside the door of the hotel. “Just give your name at the door. I’ll let them know you’re on your way up.”

Swallowing, I look up at the towering skyscraper. “You’re not coming?”

“I’ll be around if you need me,” he assures with a wink before heading back toward the idling SUV.

So, the asshole’s not even going to allow me my only ally? It’s clear he wants me vulnerable. He’s probably enjoying every second of this.

Game on , rock star.