I’ve always thought that was an unrealistic saying.
Well, I'm here to tell you it's right on the nose. That's exactly what it feels like right now. You can hear a pin drop, and you can cut the tension with a damn knife.
All those stupid sayings are—in this moment—infuriatingly true.
To sum it up: I'm fucked, and not in the satisfying way I like.
I glance around, and am met with either gaping, expressions of disbelief from the crowd, or people staring intently, like we're the juiciest bit of Page Six gossip come to life.
Except for my board of directors.
They're the ones who can really royally fuck me, and they look like they want to do just that.
I feel like I'm about to be called into the headmaster's office, or worse, executed.
Of course, the one who placed me in the line of fire to begin with had to be my gorgeous, heartbreaker of an ex, Tanner Sharpe.
So, at least, I won't be facing the firing squad alone.
Chapter 2
Tanner
A subtle and annoying pulse throbs at my temples, making my eyes sensitive to any light or sound. I pinch the bridge of my nose, avoiding my sunglasses, and take a sip of hot coffee, praying that it’ll ease the pain.
“Ah, fuck.”
Nope, too hot.
Fucking hangovers. You’d think I’d learn when too much is just that—too much. Or know that the eighth body shot off a random club girl is excessive.
But apparently not.
I never know when to stop. Fuck. I honestly never want to stop.
Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to take advantage of being the prince of lingerie? I’d argue it’s almost as good as being Hugh Hefner—almost.
Regardless, the last two nights—or mornings—haven’t been in vain. They’ve been in dedication to my victorious moment and the night that’ll go down in history.
So, it needed to be celebrated accordingly.
Let’s be honest, I wasn’t going to just go home after seeing Elsa’s reaction to my retaliation. Attacking me for not knowing what I’m doing is offensive, but I can take it. And I did by responding professionally, with my dignity still intact.
But when I get accused of buying people off—women or business associates—I see red.
That’s low, and I don’t do well with low blows.
Especially from Ms. Dirty Little Angel herself. Though, Elsa did make it easy for me to figure out how best to enact my revenge. It was as if she had planned the whole thing for me.
Honestly, Elsa deserved everything she got that night. In fact, I find it hard to believe that she didn’t see it coming. She’s smart enough—or at least I thought she was—to know that I wouldn’t take her bullshit lying down.
Even if I would’ve preferred to.
My body tenses in both irritation and arousal at the sheer thought of her.
She might be one of the most irritating and frustrating women I’ve ever met. Yet there is something about her—there always has been.
Look, clearly I’m not a saint.