Primrose #3
“Listen.” I moisten my lips and shift in my seat. “If this is about last night…” Last night when I looked at you and suffered that fork-in-the-toaster sensation. Only a whole lot more pleasurable. Last night when I kissed you, and you kissed me back, then went to town on my lady bits.
He stares at me unmoved. Or maybe bored by the suggestion. It’s really hard to tell. “Or if it’s about the way I conducted myself in your office earlier”—bingo, according to the minute change in his expression—“I apologize.”
“Apologize for what, specifically?”
This man does not deserve an apology.
“For being difficult. Difficult to deal with. For winding you up. For suggesting you’re conceited,”—even if you are—“and for threatening you.” Dammit, he’s trying not to laugh. “Because I understand better now. You were just trying to protect yourself and your children.”
Hours of discomfort seem to pass in the time it takes him to blink. “Go on,” he says, his reply cool and impassive.
“What?”
“Apologize. For the aforementioned wrongs you’ve done me.”
I’ve often wondered what an excess of lip filler must feel like, usually when I’ve passed someone in the street who has likely just left the medi spa after having it done.
Or overdone. Anyway, I think it must feel a bit like this as I expose my teeth, lips puckered to force out the word that just doesn’t want to leave.
I feel like a cat with a furball. “Sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Excessively.” Sarcastically?
“Apology accepted. But the requirement remains. Four weeks of your time for Emmy’s job.”
“What in the fairy tale fuck! You don’t even like me—why would you want me to hang around?”
“It’s merely the path of least resistance.”
“That’s so not true. I’ve been nothing but resistant since I walked in through the bloody door!”
“See how I bounce!” Sylvie shouts, clambering now onto a fancy looking trampoline.
Bounce. That’s what I want to do. Bounce right out of here. Meanwhile, back at the dining table, both adults smile like marionettes. The little girl’s silver-blond hair flies like wings as she leaps a circle.
Once she’s facing away, I lean across the table and hiss, “And I am resisting the hell out of this!”
“I do wonder why?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. “I thought Emmy was your friend.”
“I’m not a saint.” I slump back in my chair and fold my arms again. Mainly to stop me from getting closer still and punching him in his pretty face—I mean his pretty annoying face.
“I’m shocked.”
I send him a stinking look. He’s the one person on earth who has seen the naughty side of me. The reckless side.
“Be serious,” I demand. “You can’t want to be around me.” Not after last night and not after how I behaved in his office when I might as well have announced I’m a sexual leper!
“I am almost in the sky!”
“Bravo!” He waves his daughter’s way, but then, like a dog with a bone, he’s back to torturing me.
“Your new contract begins in six weeks, and you have no commitments until then. You’re smart, educated, and my children like you.
” Relaxing back in his chair, he leisurely crosses one leg over the other.
“More than that, you’re trustworthy. Despite your recent threats. ”
“Hmph!” It’s the best I can come up with.
“You don’t need money, so I don’t need to worry about extortion attempts. And given your family connections and your loyalty to your friend, I’m unlikely to find the details of my home life splashed across the internet.”
That really happened to him? No, I am not going to feel sorry for this monstrous dick. I bet he has a monstrous—
Noping right out of that thought!
“It’s unfortunate that you don’t like me.”
“Understatement,” I bark out.
“But it also means I’m unlikely to find you naked in my bed.”
If looks could kill, I’d be dragging him over the terrace to bury him under his magnificent rose bushes right now.
“And truthfully,” he adds, reaching for his glass again—no, just touching it. Running his forefinger around the base. “In spite of, or perhaps because of, your insincere apology, I find like the idea of punishing you.”
Something drops into the pit of my stomach. Something weighty and warm and not at all unpleasant.
“Punishing me?” I don’t know why I’m repeating him. Rolling his words around my mouth and the idea around my head.
His eyes lift, and there’s something shining in them that I can’t quite place. A taunt or a dare? A knowing, maybe. Whatever it is, it seems wholly inappropriate. Yet utterly delicious.
“Flying like a bird!”
At Sylvie’s voice, I snap back to myself. Curse my imagination and the effect he has on my body. “I take it back,” I say quickly. “I’m not sorry. Not one bit.”
His lips twitch. “I’m glad.”
“Are you on something?” I demand. “There’s no way I’m doing this.”
He studies me with an intensity that makes my vision go a little hazy, before leaning back in his chair as though thoroughly pleased with himself. “I think you will.”
“And I think you’re delulu.”
He lifts his glass in a mocking toast. “Is it a delusion when I always get my way?”
All out of retorts, I imagine his head exploding.