Touché. I’d only bought it because they’d published a nip-slip picture of mine that looked altered. No matter how bad it seemed, though, one thing was for sure—Ransom looked like a predator, but not the kind who wanted to eat me whole. The way he looked at me, with such disinterest, told me there was no way he was going to try to touch me in a sexual way.
I examined my fingernails with boredom. “I might skim it in my spare time if you play your cards right.”
“You’ll read it now.” His glacial steeliness made my skin pebble. “Aloud. We need to discuss the details.”
My heart stopped inside my chest. I felt like I was about to throw up. I couldn’t read it aloud. I also couldn’t tell him that. What kind of kick would he get from knowing the truth about me? Had Dad even made him sign an NDA? Of course he had. He would never risk having the truth about his daughter come out.
Drawing a shaky breath, I grinned. “Know what? I changed my mind about skimming. I don’t feel like reading your stupid manual after all. Not now. Not ever.”
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, looking morbidly bored. I wondered if anything in the world could fluster him. He seemed so heartless, so robotic. There was no way this man had a partner. No one could deal with this kind of impassive demeanor.
“What?” I barked defensively.
My face was unbearably hot. Sweat pooled under my armpits. I was so sickeningly close to danger that the metallic taste of humiliation exploded on my tongue.
He produced something from the back pocket of his jeans and raised it in the air. My phone. The screen was popping with messages and notifications.
The battery was so low, the line was red.
A grin found his sculpted lips. “Read the contract, agree to the terms and conditions, and you can have your phone back. How does that sound?”
Divine.
But that didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t…
Not without sufficient time and a clear head…
“I’m not for sale,” I said detachedly. “And I’m not reading your stupid contract.”
“You want to play?” His smile widened, and it was so mean, so full of venom, I could feel it in my bones. “Let’s play.”
He turned around and walked away, leaving me to cry into my pillow.
Stupid, stupid Hallie.
Two hours and a mental pep talk later, I mustered the courage to traipse out of my room, descend the stairs, and venture into the kitchen. I found Ransom sporting a sweat-soaked wifebeater and gray sweatpants, making himself an egg white and spinach omelet on my stovetop.
His muscles glistened. Every inch of him was long and lithe. My eyes lingered on his veiny forearms. On the outline of his abs, as they appeared through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The perfection of him—so acute, so mouthwatering—depressed me. I knew, despite his horrible personality, that he was probably considered a godsend to women.
What surprised me, though, was the realization I did not disagree with said women. I did find him attractive. And I never found anyone attractive.
Dragging my feet toward the Nespresso machine, I poured myself a cup.
“I’ll have one, too.” Ransom flipped his omelet expertly.
“Do I look like a Starbucks?” I bit out.
He paused with the spatula in his hand, frowning. “Expensive, overrated, with an obsequious, post-liberal belief system. Now that you mention it…”
“The only beverage I’m willing to serve you is poison.” I slammed my cup on the granite, coffee sloshing everywhere.
“Bad news for your phone, which is currently still in one piece, but I understand.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a tyrant?” I could swear smoke was coming out of my nostrils.
“Yes, often. Your point?”
He slid the airy, fluffy omelet onto his plate. Despite his flat, husky tenor, I recognized something in his face I hadn’t seen before. It was confusion, or maybe mild surprise. I had a feeling this guy was not used to people standing up to him. I caught him off-guard. He’d expected me to acclimate to my new situation after he locked me in my room for a whole night.
Recognizing this was an opportunity, I changed my tune.
“Know what? Fine.” I poured coffee into a second cup. Sneakily, while he wasn’t looking, I slipped the pink Himalayan salt from behind him and poured a generous amount into his cup. At least five teaspoons.
I handed him the cup just as he was taking his omelet to the kitchen island.
He perched on a stool and began digging in. “Read the contract yet?”
I leaned against my counter, holding the steamy coffee to my nose. “Nope.”
“It’s a five-minute read.”
“Still more time than this bitch is willing to waste on you.” I examined my red-tipped fingernails, letting him know I’d heard his conversation with his business partner.
He took a sip of his coffee. I watched him intently. At first, his eyes flared. Then they met mine. Something zinged inside them. A touch of darkness.
Spit it out, I thought desperately. Show weakness, goddammit.
He swallowed. My knees went weak.
How did he do that?
“How is your cup of joe?” I batted my eyelashes innocently.
He shook his head, pounding the rest of the drink without flinching. “A little bland, but I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”
I coughed out a chuckle. “Bland and I don’t know each other.”
“Why? Because of your funky hair dye and ‘edgy’ tattoos?”
“Why are you so mean?” I knew the answer. Why were people mean, in general? Because they weren’t happy with their lives.
In his case, I wouldn’t put it past my parents to tell him to be extra harsh on me.
“Because someone needs to teach you a lesson, and unfortunately for both of us, that someone is me.”
He’d drained the entire coffee cup. Even though it had more salt than the Dead Sea. Who was I dealing with here? Now I wasn’t only terrified but also worried he wasn’t entirely human.
Quickly, and before I could chicken out, I grabbed my cup of coffee and plopped in front of him. “Listen, I need my phone back. It’s for work.”
“You don’t work,” he reminded me, finishing his breakfast in two bites. He took his plate and coffee cup and washed them in the sink.
I shifted around in my seat. “I do, actually. I’m an Instagram influencer, for your information.”
“That’s a hobby, not a job.” He made his way upstairs. I darted up, running after him.
“Of course, it’s a job. Actually, I’ve made a commitment to appear at someone’s new bakery on Rodeo Drive with my friends for brunch today.”
I wouldn’t call NeNe and Tara friends, exactly, but they were people I saw on the reg. Besides, I shouldn’t have to justify my life to this guy.
Ransom went up the stairs with me on his heels.
“Fun-fucking-tastic,” he said dryly. “Read the contract, accept the terms, and we can attend your obligation, after I scope out the destination and figure out how and when you’ll make your appearance. Your new budget is a hundred bucks a day, by the way. Use it wisely.”
My what?
Ransom tugged his sweaty wifebeater off by gripping the back, and letting it slap the wall with a thwack! before entering his room. Desperately, I followed him there, too. He was about to get naked. This was the part where I ran for the hills, but again, this man wouldn’t take me against my will. He was too prideful for that.