Chapter Seven #2
I peered around, catching my breath after sprinting here in my heeled Louboutins. “Where is everyone?”
“I decided to cancel the meeting to tend to more pressing issues.” He didn’t look up from his laptop screen. “Namely, your part of our deal.”
He made me drop everything, leave in the middle of an important conversation about my mother’s future, for a meeting he’d canceled?
“I loathe you,” I said quietly. Coolly. “I truly do. I will honor our agreement. I will marry you. But I will also make your life miserable. You’ll be so unhappy, you’ll regret the day you ever met me.”
“The drama .” He sat back, yawning. “I forgot the downside of a tight, young pussy is dealing with the person attached to it. Your theatrics don’t impress me.”
“Don’t deal with me then. Cancel our deal.”
“My coffee?” he asked wryly, snapping his laptop shut. He dragged a thick contract across his desk and perched it over his laptop.
I plucked his coffee order—black, filtered, unsweetened—from the cup carrier, setting it by his elbow. He set his red pen down and reached for it, bringing it to his lips. He stopped before the rim touched his lips.
“Did you spit in it?”
“No.” I waited for him to take a sip before adding, “So if it tastes different, that’s why.”
Tate chuckled deviously, popping open the lid of his coffee and dragging the cup across the table to where I was standing.
“Go on then.” A daring glint sparkled behind his pale eyes.
I stared at him, aghast. “Go on, what?”
“Spit in my coffee. You know I’m very particular about my brew.”
“I was kidding . It was a joke.”
“Well, I’m not. It tastes off. Spit in it.”
“You’re depraved.”
“You’re delectable.”
“ What ?”
“Thought we were listing each other’s obvious traits?” He cocked a brow.
He was being purposefully crude.
Very well. I wasn’t going to be the one to bow and cower out of his twisted game. He wanted to play? I’d one-up him.
I knew Tate thought of me as prim and proper. And to be perfectly honest, that was the only side of me I’d given him.
But I too harbored secrets. Some of them dark and big enough to suffocate me to death.
Palming his coffee cup, I tilted my head down and spat in it. I handed it back to him. “There you go.”
He took a large sip, closing his eyes and tilting his head back with a groan of pleasure. “Hmm. Much better.”
His smoky, husky moan reverberated through my entire body.
Was this what he sounded like when he came? When he was deep inside one of his world-famous supermodels?
“My mother is settling quite well at the hospital, by the way. Cheers for asking.” I took a seat two chairs down from his spot at the head of the table.
I flipped my notebook open, as I always did when Tate and I were in the same room and I knew I was about to be bombarded with tasks and demands.
“She better hang the fuck on to her life at least until I sample the goods.” Tate took another swallow of his drink, giving me an appreciative once-over. “I’m certainly not doing this pro bono.”
A part of me wanted to strangle him. The other wanted to shove his head between my legs to shut him up.
Unfortunately, I knew he’d enjoy both options, so I settled for neither.
“Speaking of.” I tapped my chin. “Why is the hospital staff so fidgety around me? What did you do?”
“I ensured our deal would be fruitful and long-term.”
“How?” I pressed.
“By explaining to Dr. Stultz I will see that his department gets defunded and his license revoked if he doesn’t cure your mother.”
My jaw went slack. “That’s wildly unethical.”
“Unlike getting someone kicked out of a dementia program to make way for your ailing mother?” He arched a mocking eyebrow. “Sweetheart, don’t lecture me about morals. I see through your Goody Two-Shoes charade, and rest assured, I approve of that ruthless side of you.”
I was beginning to second-guess our arrangement.
Tate wasn’t a predictable creature. I’d been counting on him to let me go because he was thrice divorced, but what if I was the exception to the rule?
What if my fighting back provided just enough challenge for him to keep pushing? I couldn’t change who I was.
“Don’t you dare compare us. I’m only trying to take care of my mother.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“What a coincidence. So am I.”
“To get into bed with me!” I flung my arms in the air. “Which, by the way, is sexual harassment in a workplace.”
“Yeah, I found a loophole.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’re fired.”
My racing heart screeched into a halt. “ What ?”
“Can’t be sexual harassment in a workplace if we don’t work together. Don’t worry. I found you another role in a subsidiary company in the building. More on that later.”
“Are you aware that you’re a psychopath who is incapable of small talk, let alone an entire range of emotions?” I spluttered.
“I am capable of small talk,” he countered.
“No, you aren’t. You’re crude, crass, corru—”
“This is really boring.” He waved me off. “Let’s change the subject.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Did you know that your vocal cords are actually folds?” he drawled haughtily.
“I did not.” I frowned.
Was he suffering from a brain hemorrhage? One could only hope.
“Their layers of muscles, ligament, and membrane make up two liplike pink creases. They look remarkably like a vagina.”
Why was he telling me this?
“What are you doing?” I squinted.
“Nothing,” he snarled. “Talking. We’re talking. About things that aren’t my subpar personality.”
“Tate, are you trying to…make small talk with me?” I blinked. For the first time in weeks, something that resembled an honest-to-God laugh threatened to roll out of my mouth.
His eyes snapped up from the contract he was examining. He looked thoroughly repulsed.
“I’m not trying , I’m succeeding. And it is very dull. Why do people enjoy it?”
“It builds social bonds.” I bit on my smile. “It is the human equivalent of grooming each other.”
“Can we lick each other’s genitals instead?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Cats and dogs figured out a better way to handle their social calls.”
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Why am I here, Tate?”
His eyes drifted to my lower lip, and my pulse hitched.
It wasn’t the first time Tate’s eyes lingered on my mouth.
But it was the first time he did it after blackmailing me into marriage.
“We’re here for a business conference. Oh good. I see your notebook is open. Take the minutes for this meeting.”
I knew Tate frighteningly well. I knew what pleased him (punctuality, order, neatness, logicality, routine), and I also knew what drove him bonkers (stupidity, inattention to detail, sloppiness).
“What’s on the agenda?” I uncapped my pen.
“ Us .”
I put the pen down. I didn’t want to talk about us.
Frankly, I would prefer there wasn’t an us at all.
“If this is about my job—”
“Did you dump your boyfriend yet?” He turned all business.
My pulse picked up. “No, but—”
“We’ll do it together then. Our first bonding experience as a couple. How exciting.” He rubbed his hands together, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
The remainder of my composure dissolved, and I tore myself from my chair, shooting up to my feet.
“Don’t you dare call Ash—”
The familiar sound of a British phone line filled my ears, two beeps at a time. Tate put the phone on speaker, sprawling back and crossing his legs at the ankles over the conference table.
How did he even have Ashley’s number?
My boyfriend’s deep tenor filled the air.
“Hello?”
Nausea took me over.
I wasn’t in love with Ashley. We hadn’t the time for that, always on different continents. I knew he wasn’t in love with me either. Our relationship had been fizzling out since my birthday.
He said I was always too busy babying my boss. But I had planned to fly out to London this weekend and sit him down for a respectful breakup conversation.
“Ashley?” Tate produced his pocket watch, rolling it over his fingers like a coin. “This is Tatum Blackthorn, Gia’s boss. She has something to tell you.”
I refused to humiliate him. To lose in another one of Tate’s games. I decided to think on my feet.
“Ashley.” I cleared my throat, my voice soft. “I’m sorry for how sudden it is, but I’m afraid you were right. Maybe it’s not a good time for us to date after all.”
He never said such a thing, but I wanted him to have this win. My stomach was in knots. The only thing keeping my bile from spilling out was the knowledge the perverted twat next to me was probably going to add my vomit to his coffee as a creamer.
Tate’s normally grim face glowed with satisfaction.
“When did I ever say that ?” Ashley gathered his thoughts. “Also, I’m surprised and confused as to why you’re breaking this to me over the phone with your boss present.”
“You’re right. You deserve so much better than this.
Unfortunately, the reason I need to break things off is because I will be indisposed for the next few months.
See, Mr. Blackthorn is suffering from an unexplained and lengthy bout of violent diarrhea.
This has been going on for a while now. We are checking him into the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota to try to find a solution for his rather… inconvenient condition.”
Tate’s smug smirk evaporated faster than free hand sanitizer at a germophobe convention.
I knew Ashley was keeping his chuckle at bay, the fine English gentleman that he was. I also knew I managed to squeeze the best lemonade out of my lemon-filled situation.
“That sounds terrible,” my now ex-boyfriend muttered.
“It’s been a challenging period both for him and for the people around him, as you can imagine.” I heaved out a sigh. “He’s always been explosive, but now it is a bit too literal for everyone’s liking.”
Tate stared me down, plotting my slow, grisly murder as Ashley chuckled in the background.
“I moved Mum to America so she can be nearby while we try to fix whatever’s wrong with him. Currently, the doctors believe it’s simply his irritable personality taking its toll on his bowels.”