Chapter 10 #2
Even not knowing about the disgusting communications sent her way after those topless pictures hit the press, it defies all common sense for her to do such a thing.
Disgusted, I toss my phone onto the seat beside me and throw the truck into drive, tearing down the road toward the main house.
I have no idea who I’m angrier at: her for being so careless, Porter for not allowing me to give his daughter important information about her physical safety, or myself for not seeing this coming.
I ought to have made sure her location services were dismantled before anything else, but I didn’t think to, because typically the people I work for aren’t reckless little fools.
All for a picture of her biting into a fucking cookie. Christ.
The truck groans loudly as I slam on the brakes outside Thornhurst’s kitchen, blood rushing in my ears.
“Blair!” I bellow the moment I step inside, shoving the door closed behind myself. Nobody is in the kitchen when I enter, but when I reach the back hall, opening my mouth to yell for her again, the woman I’m here for appears from a side room.
And, just like that, I’m brought up short.
It’s the same oversized sweater I’d seen her wearing the day I caught her eating ice cream for lunch, which should be innocent enough, but there’s something about how the neckline slips from her shoulder, exposing the elegant curve of her collarbone—absent the strap of a shirt or bra—that makes my mouth go dry.
I’m still struggling to regroup when she plants her hands on her hips, frowning at me. “What do you want, demon?”
The bratty, impatient tone is enough to reignite my ire. Blowing out a heavy lungful of air, I glare back at her. “I was just down at the gates, speaking to an unexpected visitor. A reporter, actually.”
Blair’s lips twitch. “Ooooo, are you going to be on the cover of Stelland Says? Is it their least eligible bachelor edition?”
I scrub both hands over my face, almost beyond words in my frustration. “What on earth were you thinking, tagging your physical location on social media?”
She stares back at me, utterly bemused. “I didn’t do that.”
It’s unbelievable she thinks she can lie about something like this. I glower at her. “You did. I saw it. Give me your phone.”
“Yes, but are you sure it was me?” Her eyes sparkle, like she’s enjoying my anger. “Could it have been a different Blair Porter? One to whom I bear a striking resemblance?”
I let out a hard, disbelieving laugh. If ever I was actually in the mood to deal with her nonsense, today would most certainly not be the day. “We are not doing this. Hand it over.”
“No!” Blair objects, lifting her chin. “It’s my personal property, and I have nudes on there that you don’t deserve to see.”
Being furious and turned on at the same time is fairly disorienting, but the mention of her naked body alone is enough to have heat spreading through my groin. I can’t decide what’s more infuriating: the woman’s attitude or the fact that it makes my dick hard.
I grit my teeth against the flurry of questions which instantly arise—mainly pertaining to who she did deem worthy of seeing them—and hold out my hand, palm up. “I am not fucking around. Give it to me. Now.”
As if determined to send my blood pressure into the stratosphere, Blair’s lips curve into a self-satisfied smile. “Or what?”
I imagine putting her over my knee and bringing my hand down on her bare ass. Hard enough to leave a mark. Hard enough to make her remember.
In truth, I don’t have any real recourse here.
It’s not as if I can tackle her to the ground and take it, but the alternative of having to go through her father—or, more likely, his obnoxious, self-important assistant—seems like an easy way to strip myself of whatever shred of actual authority I have over this woman.
I allow my hand to fall back to my side. “Or I will make your life even more unpleasant than it already is. I mean it, Blair. This isn’t a fucking suggestion.”
For a moment, I think she’s actually considering it.
Very slowly, Blair reaches into the side pocket of her leggings and produces her phone, staring at me thoughtfully as she turns the device between her fingers.
“So, I totally get you could turn off the internet or make me run in circles for hours, or whatever. That all sounds super unpleasant, don’t get me wrong.
But the thing is,” she sighs, putting the phone away again.
“The thing is, you are so mean, and superior, and just generally the worst. So it makes me want to do what you want even less than I want those unpleasant things. Does that make any sense?”
In other words, she wants to spite me, even if it’s at her own expense. How the fuck are you supposed to reason with someone who knows she’s being unreasonable, but is committed to doing it anyway?
For the first time in my life, I truly appreciate the need for the expression: pull your hair out.
“Thornhurst has security measures for a reason, princess,” I grit out, conscious that I’m so tense, I’m barely moving my jaw as I speak.
“Your daddy is a very important man, and, as you certainly know, has lots and lots of money. Broadcasting your personal location, after those photographs were published, is not a good idea. Believe it or not, I am acting in your best interest here.”
It’s the closest way I can think of to tell her she could be in danger, without outright saying it.
Unfortunately, it seems that subtlety isn’t a language that Blair Porter speaks.
She hums, tapping her finger on the side of the device in her hand. Taunting me. “This may be a challenging concept for you, oh Lord of Darkness, but maybe you should try asking nicely every once in a while,” she suggests sweetly. “I’ve heard you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“You’re comparing yourself to an insect whose entire purpose in life is to shit and die.”
This statement is met with a withering look.
“Fine. Let’s try it your way.” I bare my teeth into something resembling a smile. “Would you please be kind enough to show me your phone, so I can disable location services, thereby preventing your ungrateful, spoiled ass from being kidnapped and held for ransom.”
The infuriating creature before me actually laughs, wholly unconcerned with this very real threat to her personal safety. “Gosh, you’re a charmer. Consider my panties melted, Satan. I’m starting to see how you landed yourself on the least eligible bachelor list!”
“Blair.”
She claps her hands together, her expression bright with false encouragement. “Come on, pal! You can do this! Just ask yourself, how would a normal person who isn’t terrible approach this conversation?”
It’s futile to try and wrap my mind around the ludicrous situation I’ve found myself in. Christ, even allowing Araminta to take the equivalent of a flamethrower to my life is beginning to seem preferable to prolonged exposure to this woman who may actually drive me out of my mind.
“Blair,” I try again, forcing a deep breath in and out through my nose. “Please let me see the phone. You are welcome to supervise and ensure I do not invade your privacy in any way, but this is important.” There. I was polite. Calm. She has absolutely no reason to object.
I realize too late—as her smile widens ominously—that my logic was faulty. You cannot reason with someone who is unreasonable, and if I’ve learned anything about the woman standing before me, it’s that she is exactly that. Unreasonable.
To a casual observer, it might appear that she’s thinking my words over, but I know better.
Sure enough, after whatever she deems a sufficiently dramatic pause, Blair beams. “No thanks.” And, without another word, she turns, flouncing off in the opposite direction with an extra spring in her step from the batshit crazy victory.
As I stare at her, my ears ringing, and completely lost for words, I experience a strange moment of clarity.
There is no possible way we’re making it through another seven months of this.