Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (17)
“What I actually know is that you’re a huge pain in the arse.”
“And what I actually know is that you’re a monumental douchebag.” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Is this some kind of cruel joke? Why would you let me kiss you, you fucking nutcase?”
“Like I said, I didn’t feckin’ recognize you. It was Halloween, for Chrissakes. You were in a costume. With makeup. Thick makeup.”
Her jaw drops. Then closes. Then drops again. “Seriously?” When I don’t reply, she balls her fists at her sides, and I find myself wishing she would try to throw a punch just so I could have the satisfaction of catching all her fury in my calloused palm. “You are unbelievable. You were wearing a full-on mask and I recognized you by your grumble whisper and ass-backwards Christ Jesus–ing. All I had on that night was some white face paint and colored eye shadow. Hardly the same thing as your thrifted superhero disguise.”
Deciding it’s time to throw her off-kilter, I shrug and lean against the railing. My sudden nonchalance seems to infuriate her as much as I’d hoped, so I take a long sip of my drink before I give her the truth. “It was dark. I wasn’t wearing my glasses.”
“Your glasses,” she parrots after an incredulous snort. “Forgive me, dickhead, but that sounds like complete bullshit.”
“Forgiven. Well, for that, anyway.”
“You’re not wearing them now.”
“Highly observant of you, duchess. It’s probably all well and good too. I imagine you’d be ripping them off my face to smash them underfoot, am I right?” When I narrow my glare at her, Lark smirks, unable to hide her agreement. “Maybe now is a good time to inform you that you got me into so much shit at work. Or have you forgotten the part where you managed to single-handedly decimate a very important contract for my employer? You have no idea the shit my boss has put me through.”
“Me? You think it was me who fucked your contract?” she shrieks. “First of all, I did no such thing. But I can’t help it if rumors of your abysmal customer service skills worked their way back to your employer. Deserved. You were being a dick. Even your friend Conor agreed.”
Goddammit, Conor. He should know better than to give out his name. A low growl escapes my throat and a feckin’ demonic little grin creeps across Lark’s face. Oh, her dart hit the target and she knows it.
My foreboding expression doesn’t seem to scare her, not even when I lean a little closer. “This is not the kind of industry where you demand to see the manager and leave a shitty review, princess.”
One perfect brow flies up. Her smile stretches and her eyes glitter in the dim light. “Oh, it’s not?” she says, her voice saccharine. She saunters closer, one slow step after the next. “Because it certainly sounds like that’s exactly how your industry works, and you’re butthurt about being called out for acting like a prick. You’ve decided to take it out on me under the erroneous assumption that I’m the one who got you into trouble, instead of you looking in the mirror and giving yourself a stern talking-to.”
Lark stops so close to me that my chest will touch hers if I take a deep breath. Her eyes drop to my lips and linger there. Heat tingles on my flesh. I can still taste her kiss, the sweetness of soda on her lips. I don’t take my eyes from her face as she touches my sternum and walks two fingers toward my neck.
“Erroneous assumptions are kind of your forte, aren’t they? But this time I guess it’s just the consequences of your actions coming back to haunt you, sweetie.”
I catch her hand in a tight grip and guffaw a laugh. Even with its vicious edge, this still feels like the first true moment of delight that I’ve had in a long while. Well, at least since the kiss we just shared, though that particular event now seems like it happened to another man. “That is precisely the kind of oblivious, hypocritical horse shite I expected to come from someone like you.”
There’s a flash of hurt in her blue eyes, more fleeting than a lightning strike. “‘Someone like me’? You have no fucking idea who I am or what I know about consequences.”
The rage on her face is fuel. I want to find every one of her buttons and hammer them until she blows, just to see what she’ll do next. But this time, she doesn’t push back. Instead, her spine straightens. Her chin tips up. She slips her fingers free of my fist with a swift tug. I fight the strange urge to pull her back closer to me. I’m unsteady. Unmoored. Like I’ve been hit by a rogue wave and lost my balance. But I shove the feeling away.
Lark gestures to the glass door. “That is my best friend in there,” she says, her voice low and menacing, her eyes pinned on me. “And she deserves to celebrate with the love of her life. Your brother.” Lark’s face scrunches as though she just tasted something bitter. In an instant, she’s smoothed her mask out again and takes a step closer. “So I’m going to be nice to you. For her. And you can continue being whatever scowling, smirking, asshat jerkoff you want, but you’re not getting anything more from me.”
Without so much as a blink, she whips the drink from my hand and downs it. Her eyes water as soon as the liquor hits her tongue.
“Thought you didn’t drink, duchess,” I say with a smirk.
“I guess your stimulating company has that effect,” Lark retorts before shoving the glass against my chest, nothing more than chips of ice left behind. “And fuck off with the ‘duchess’ shit. That bitch has met the guillotine.”