“You don’t want to do the girl thing, drag what happened out, and talk about emotions and bullshit?”
“Nope. I’d rather not.”
My choice to remain tight-lipped is increasing his anger, and I’m getting off on it.
“I don’t get you. You had no problem talking about your ex.” The way he says the word “ex” sounds like he’s swallowing poison.
“Well, I am done talking.”
His eyes are focused in on my lips. I sense he is biting his tongue and in a matter of seconds he will explode.
“Why were you talking to Marcus?”
“Your cousin? Because it’s polite when someone introduces himself.” I almost laugh at the question.
“Is something going on between you two?
“It’s none of your business, Jerk. You keep reminding me I have an ex, which makes me single, right? So the last time I checked, I’m not bound to anyone.”
“So that’s it? You don’t want anything more to do with me?”
“That’s it,” I repeat, staring him directly in the eyes.
“You’re fine to sweep this under the rug and forget that it ever happened?”
“Consider it swept, vacuumed, and in the trash taken away. Are we done now?”
“Apparently so.”
***
Lunch with Clive couldn’t have rolled around fast enough. Haden had gone back to his desk and I was happy to put my head down and forget about our argument. Except, I couldn’t. Why was he so interested in my conversation with Marcus? He acted almost—don’t say it, Presley—jealous.
Okay, rewind. Haden had never shown interest in me prior to Friday night. He had been working at the company for six months now and apart from the annoying pranks, not once did he show any interest in my personal life including my dating status.
The same goes for me. All I knew was that he was a man-whore who somehow attracted women into his man-whore lair where he screwed them without a name to the face. I never really took the time to notice him, being so caught up in my work and relationship with Jason.
I’m fairly certain I’m overthinking things. He made it clear that we were to forget Friday night happened. Surely he was happy-dancing deep down inside that I wasn’t calling and telling him that I loved him.
And with all that said and done, it’s evident that we both made a huge error in judgment. A mistake never to be repeated, and therefore we move on because it’s all in the past.
Clive takes my mind off things at lunch, reenacting every scenario from his almost Lampoon European Vacation. All he was missing was Clark Griswold and a redhead named Rusty. We are sitting in a nearby café, having just ordered, when Dee walks in. She spots us immediately, and without using her manners and asking politely, takes a seat in the empty chair at our table.
Dee is the kind of woman that keeps the cosmetic industry booming. Her bleached blonde hair against her fake spray-on tan does nothing for her. She reminds me a lot of a Playboy bunny (an extremely flat-chested one). Beneath the layers of makeup she wears is no doubt a pretty woman. If only she didn’t make herself look like a Barbie doll.
“Your pitch was a winner. I think you’ve got that one in the bag,” Clive tells her with a mouthful of salad.
“Haden raised some good points though,” she mumbles, a little disheartened.
“He has no clue, Dee,” I remind her.
“I think he does. No offense, Clive, but women don’t want to read about men getting hot and heavy. They want alpha billionaires breaking their virginity.”
“Why are you letting him sway you? Yeah, I get that you’re sleeping with him, but honestly Dee, grow some balls.”
Shit, did I say that out loud?
“What? First of all, Presley, I haven’t slept with him. Fooled around, yes. Second of all, I’ve got balls! Or whatever . . .” she snarls.