Chapter Eight #2
I take another mouthful, wishing I'd stayed in front of my dad’s house in my car.
I busy myself with my phone, not caring that the battery will die.
I need to make myself look busy, and as soon as I finish this drink, I need to get the hell out of here.
Can’t even enjoy a drink without being hassled.
I don’t understand what he wants from me and why he’s offering me such ludicrous benefits for a job a toddler could do.
He wants a PA? What kind of PA gets paid so much money and with so many perks?
It has to be something else. Nothing about that makes sense.
Sure, he has the money, but why? He can’t feel bad for me, can he?
I mean, I guess he could, but that isn’t the Elliot Caldwell Harrison described to me.
As far as I know, he’s as cold as ice. Though, that isn’t what I got from him when I was at his house. In fact, it was kind of the opposite…
Especially when I—you know. He looked almost desperate. Nothing about him said he was heartless and cold, the way Harrison made it seem.
Parent/child relationships do tend to be strange, and there are always three sides to a story.
Some people think my father is a wonderful man who is just hurting from losing his wife.
I believe that to some extent, but you can grieve without being cruel.
Maybe it’s the same for Harrison and his father.
I sneak a glance across the bar, relieved when I see Mr. Caldwell frowning at his phone. Maybe it’s work. Maybe he has to leave. If he does, I’ll stay for another drink.
I push the glass away after I’ve taken the last sip.
I’m feeling the effects of the alcohol, and smile to myself as I watch how angry Elliot Caldwell looks.
I shouldn’t be happy that he’s upset, but something about him being annoyed has me almost giddy.
Not in a cruel way, but in a haha, that’s what you get for stalking me kind of way.
“Another?” the bartender asks, grabbing my empty glass.
“Yes, please. But I’ll pay for it this time.”
So much for only staying if he leaves…
The bartender smirks. “He said you’d say something like that and to tell you no.”
I raise a brow, glancing past him to look at Elliot, who’s still glaring at his phone.
“Tell him I said to go fuck himself.”
I’m not sure where that came from, obviously the vodka talking, but I kind of like it. I never stick up for myself like this, so hey, I’m going for it. I’ve got nothing to lose with this man, and if anyone can take it, it’s him. I’m sure he hears worse daily.
“You sure about that?” the bartender asks with a raised brow.
“Absolutely.”
“As you wish.”
He brings me my second drink before moving to the end of the bar and talking to Mr. Caldwell. I stare openly, my first drink definitely kicking in now. Not a single part of me cares when he looks up, his grey eyes meeting mine. He seems shocked for a split second before humor lights those eyes.
He gets up from the chair, puts his phone in his inside jacket pocket, then walks straight towards me.
Damnit. This was supposed to have the opposite effect and make him leave me alone, not come over here. Or was it…
He takes the seat beside me; the seat I didn’t realize had become empty until now. My hands start to tremble. I didn’t think this through. His scent hits my nose, some heady masculine mix that smells expensive and really freaking good. Rich people always smell good, it’s damn annoying.
“Go fuck myself, hm?” he says in a low tone that has my heart pounding a little harder.
I reach for my drink, bringing it to my lips to busy myself. His gaze darts to my mouth for just a second before going back to my eyes.
“That’s what I said,” I admit, putting my drink down.
He turns to face me more fully. “And what would you be doing while I fuck myself, Seraphine? Would you watch?”
I gasp, my mouth dropping open and choke on air.
“Your… you—” I stammer and have no idea what I should say to that.
Not for a second did I think this is what his response would be.
Flirting? Is this flirting? This man is more than twice my age.
My ex’s father. Someone who is offering me a job.
And now he’s making sexual comments when I tried telling him off?
Though, I only have myself to blame. I did give the guy a hand job after a massage. Still, no means no.
“I’ll admit, I prefer to do the watching, but if you’re so inclined, I have no issues putting on a show for you.”
My lungs seize, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t pull in a breath. I’m going to suffocate, right here in the bar, and for no good reason.
He continues, his voice going even lower. “You seemed to enjoy yourself the other day and my only regret is that I didn’t get to return the favor.”
He gets to his feet, fixing his jacket as he stares down at me. My lungs burn something fierce, and my vision is going dark.
“If you’d prefer to take my cock over the job, Miss Sinclair, all you have to do is say so.”
And then he walks out.