“Need a ride?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath before begrudgingly turning around. Seemingly, I’m not going crazy, I’m being fucking stalked.
“I’m fine with the bus,” I say, feeling rather proud of myself for not giving into him…again.
The confident arse cocks his head and then leans over to open the passenger door. “My leather seats won’t leave you smelling like stale piss all day.”
I don’t want to, yet I’m walking towards him. It’s almost as if he severed the connection between my brain and my muscles when he fucked me last week because I seem to have lost all control over my body. That pride I felt just seconds ago? Yeah, that disappears the second I slide into his pretentious car. It’s all silver and black leather with more gadgets and technology than bloody NASA. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he was over compensating for a tiny dick.
But I know he’s far from tiny and my arse clenches at the mere memory. I need to stop thinking about that before my cock swells any further, so I reach out and switch on the stereo to distract myself. It works, until his hand lands on the back of my seat, supporting him as he turns to the rear window while reversing out of his space. His skin is so close to my face. It’s the same hand he had wrapped around my dick and I can’t stop thinking about it, remembering how good it felt.
He returns his hand to the wheel and I spot flashes of colour on his wrist where the cuff of his jacket has rolled up slightly. It surprises me that he has tattoos. He’s so refined and business-like. Suddenly, I want to know if he has more, if he has a full sleeve, two full sleeves. Does he have them on his chest, his back, his legs…
“If you keep staring at me like that I might start believing you don’t hate me as much as you want to.”
Shit. I rip my gaze away from his arm and shift in my seat so I can’t see him, even by accident out of the corner of my eye. He’s so fucking arrogant and it makes me scowl out of the window. Why the hell am I in his car? Again! I decide I’m going to have to practise saying ‘Fuck off, you condescending, cocky bastard,’ in the mirror when I get home.
We drive in silence, only interrupted by the small puff of humourless laughter that pushes through my nose when Creep by Radiohead starts trickling through the speakers.
“You think I’m a creep?” he asks, amusement tickling his tone.
Among other things. “You have to admit it’s a bit weird waiting outside my flat like that. You don’t even know me.”
“You work for me. I take care of my employees.”
“That’s not why you did it.” The words come out like an accusation and a tiny part of me wants him to agree.
“So why do you think I did it?”
I can’t see his face, I won’t let myself, but I can imagine the smug expression he’s wearing.
“Because you want to screw me again.”
“And that makes you mad?”
No. But I want it to. “Yes.”
“Well you can relax. I’m not a rapist. It won’t happen until you want it to.”
“It won’t happen, full stop.”
“Because I’m your boss?”
“No. Yes. Partly.” I’m flustered and it makes me hate him even more. He’s wearing me down and I can’t even begin to comprehend how the hell he does it.
“Partly because I’m your boss,” he repeats. “And the other part?”
“Because…because…” Jesus Christ, Theo, pull yourself together.
“Because?”
“Because of comments like that! You’re an arrogant, cocky, pretentious, self-important, patronising, arrogant ars-”
“You’ve already said arrogant.”
I’m seething so vehemently my blood vibrates in my veins, and seemingly, I revert to being a child, huffing as I fold my arms across my chest.
I plan to stay silent the rest of the way, the rest of my life when he’s around, but curiosity overpowers me when he veers onto a road that doesn’t lead to Holden House.
“Where are you going?”
“Costa. I need caffeine to sustain this level of arrogance. Want one?”
Twat. “No.”
Shrugging, James pulls onto a side street and parks against the curb. He gets out and walks off without another word and I drag some much-needed oxygen into my lungs. All weekend I dreamt about those damn eyes of his, the story they told, the demons they possessed…but now I can’t even bring myself to look at them, because every time I do I forget how to function like a normal human being.
When I see James returning to the car I seize the opportunity to take another deep breath, knowing in a few seconds the art of breathing will become a luxury I’m not privileged enough to possess. My eyes roll at the sight of two tall cups in his hands. It’s as if his sole purpose in life is to annoy me.
He balances one cup in the crook of his arm while he opens the door and then holds it out to me. “Caramel latte.”
“I said I didn’t want one,” I spit, staring at the cup. I don’t intend to take it out of pure childishness but James doesn’t move and I suspect he won’t until it’s in my hand. So, as fucking usual, I give in and take the cup.
He slides into his seat and I refuse to look at the smile on his face but I know it’s there. “But you do really. You were just being stubborn.”
He’s right, but he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be able to read me so well when he doesn’t even know me. It frustrates me. He frustrates me.
The feeling dies down just slightly as I sip on the first decent coffee I’ve had in weeks, but then he ruins it by opening his mouth. “So what made you decide to move into the publishing industry?”
I shrug. “Curiosity. Passion,” I say, forcing nonchalance into my tone.
“You like to read?”
“And write.” Shit! Why did I tell him that? No doubt he thinks I only took the job to try and further my career. That’s not even my biggest concern. I don’t particularly care what he thinks, at least that’s what I tell myself, but I don’t want him to know anything about me. He’ll only use it to his own advantage. He already has some kind of unfathomable power over me and I don’t want to give him any more leverage.