“Will you stop saying that?” I snap as I get out of bed and put on my robe. “I was just lying here thinking how gorgeous you are, and then you go and open your big mouth and ruin the whole thing.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” he snaps as he gets out of bed. “And stop going on about Chloe—it’s not a relationship.”
I stop still. What the hell does he mean by that? “What do you mean, it’s not a relationship? Do you and she have sex?”
He bends and picks up his jeans, ignoring me.
“Jameson.” I put my hands on my hips as I watch him.
He pulls his jeans on and zips them up. “Sometimes.”
“You have sex with her?” I gasp.
“I have a standing appointment on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She doesn’t come for sex, but sometimes it just happens. She’s touching me, I’m oiled up . . . it just happens.”
My mouth falls open. “Did you have sex with her this last week? Since you’ve been with me?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Stop rolling your fucking eyes at me,” I snap.
“No. I didn’t have sex with her this week.”
“Did you have your regular two massages?”
“Yes.”
“So you had someone else’s hands all over your body?” I fume.
“Like you did last night on the dance floor. Stop looking for a fucking fight, Emily. You are pissing me off.”
“Well, you’re pissing me off. Get out.”
“I’m already fucking leaving,” he barks.
“Go and have a massage today, you big sleazebag.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “You know what? You’re perfect for this fake news job. This drama thing is right up your alley.” He throws his shirt over his head and then sits on the bed to put his shoes on.
Rage fills me, and I pick up one of his shoes and throw it to the other side of the room.
“So tough,” he huffs.
I narrow my eyes as fury boils in my blood. “Yeah, like your Chloe’s vagina. How many clients does she fuck each week?”
“She isn’t my Chloe.”
“You know what? Make her your Chloe, because I have no intention of taking her sloppy seconds.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you sleep with me and only me, or you get out of my life.”
He puts his hands on his hips in outrage. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Good. There’s my answer. Get out.”
“You know what? This little Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing you’ve got going on here is a real turnoff.”
“And your overshared dick isn’t?” I shriek. “You’re an insult to my intelligence, Jameson. Go home to your fancy apartment in your fancy car and have sex with whoever you want.” I wrap my robe around me in disgust. “I’m too good for you anyway.”
He glares at me. “Why are you such a fucking bitch?”
“Because you’re a self-centered asshole. Get the hell out!” I scream. I pick up a pillow and throw it at him.
He brushes past me in a rush. “Nobody treats me as bad as you do, Emily!” he yells as he storms toward the door.
“Because you pay them!” I screech. “Good thing you’ve got lots of money, Jameson. You’re going to need it. Nobody would put up with your shit for free.”
He turns and glares at me. “That’s a low blow.”
I fake a smile. “Have a nice life, asshole.” I turn and walk into my bathroom and lock the door.
Screw him.
Chapter 11
I turn the spoon upside down, put it into my mouth, and suck the Nutella from it as I stare at the television.
It’s four in the afternoon, I’m still in my pajamas, and I’ve had a shitty day. After I woke up in a dream lying next to the most gorgeous man on the planet, Jameson Miles the asshole CEO decided to make an appearance and ruined everything.
To be honest, I’m regretting not going to his place for breakfast, but then, on the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t because I wouldn’t have found out about Chloe, his masseuse.
They fuck.
I hate that it bothers me. I hate that I can feel myself getting attached to him when he clearly isn’t feeling the same.
I dig into my jar of Nutella again. The smooth chocolate melts on my tongue, offering a momentary distraction.
I stare at the television in a daze, a horror movie. My favorite rom-com category is scratched from the viewing repertoire. My mind goes back to the first time I met Jameson, when he told me that he didn’t believe rom-coms were true.