“I want you to look at me.”
I drag my eyes to his.
“Why don’t you want to look at me?”
I stare at him for a moment. “Because I just find your face really . . . punchable.”
He smirks and leans back in his chair, clearly amused. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, it is.” I look around his office. “Can we talk about work?”
“Later. Right now I would like to talk about your tantrum on Friday.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“She’s my masseuse.”
“Like you said, it’s none of my business.” I glare at him, my resting bitch face in full swing.
“I was going to call you last night.”
Now it’s my turn to be amused. “Don’t waste your time. I wouldn’t have answered.”
He runs his thumbnail back and forth over his bottom lip as he watches me, as if fascinated. “Why are you so snarky?”
“I’m not snarky. I’m just not about to put up with shit from an entitled asshole. You may be a CEO here, but . . .”
He sits back and raises his chin as if angered. “Finish what you wanted to say.”
“No. I’m good.” I clench my teeth together to stop myself from elaborating.
“I may be the CEO here . . . but what?” he demands as he swivels on his chair.
“I wasn’t angry with you on Friday. I left in the middle of the night because I was confused . . . about a lot of things. I was going to talk to you when I was thinking clearly because I didn’t want to be a drama queen.”
Our eyes are locked.
“And then I came to your office, and you treated me like a two-bit whore that you ejaculated in the night before.”
He clenches his jaw.
“I’m nobody’s whore, Jameson, least of all yours. No job is worth my self-respect.”
The air crackles between us.
“So excuse me if the privilege of sucking your golden CEO dick doesn’t excite me any longer.”
He rubs his thumbnail back and forth over his bottom lip as his eyes hold mine.
“Were you on the debating team, Ms. Foster?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I snap, annoyed.
“You make a good argument.” He licks his bottom lip as he tries to hide his amusement. “Impressive.”
I roll my eyes. Sarcastic asshole. God, he infuriates me so bad. I get an image of myself diving over the desk and punching him in the nose as hard as I can. It would wipe that smug smirk off his stupid face. I’m not even joking; his face really is punchable.
“Please,” I mutter under my breath.
“Please what?”
“Please stop insulting my intelligence. Run your meeting so I can get back to work. You’re wasting my time.”
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” Jameson calls.
Tristan puts his head around the door and looks between us. “Are we on?”
I get the feeling that Jameson told them to give us ten minutes alone before they joined us. “Yes, come in,” he replies coolly as he rearranges some papers on his desk.
They all pile into the office, and I straighten in my chair. These four men together are an extreme sucker punch. Gorgeous overload.
“Hello.” Tristan smiles. “Emily, this is Elliot and Christopher, our brothers.” I stand and shake both of their hands.
“Hello.” Elliot and Christopher smile.
“Hi.”
“Please be seated,” Jameson commands. “Tristan, you can do the honors, please.”
“Okay. So as per our meeting on Friday, we have recruited a private corporate investigator to work on your floor and get to the bottom of this mess.”
“Okay.” I look between them.
“What we want you to do is keep sending in bogus stories.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because if there are a lot of stories going through that are bogus, it will be easier for us to trace.”
I sit back in my seat, annoyed.
“And as you can see—” Tristan continues.
Jameson holds his hand up. “Stop there.” He turns his attention to me. “What is it, Emily?”
I stare at him.
“What did you want to say, then?”
My eyes flick between the four men. “With all due respect, Mr. Miles, I didn’t apply for my dream job to do bogus stories.”
“Fair point,” he snaps as he rubs his thumb over his fingertips.
“What’s going to happen when this is all over?” I ask.