I was out of my chair so fast, he didn’t have time to react. If he thought I would take his disrespect with no retaliation, then he was dumber than Damien. I yanked on the chair so he fell out of it and crashed to the floor.
Ash landed with the loud thud against the concrete, his hands spreading to catch his fall. “Bad joke, alright. Sorry—”
“Too fucking late.” I slammed the wooden chair down on his back, hitting him so hard the wood shattered into several pieces. His body collapsed under the force, and he gave a suppressed moan at impact, unable to hide his reaction to the pain, but then he passed out seconds later, his body giving out
I tossed what was left of the chair aside. “I reject your application. Asshole.”
It’d been two weeks since I’d seen Catalina.
A guy like me should’ve forgotten about her after two days. I was a busy man with a packed schedule, could have any woman I wanted, and I had better things to do with my time than chase down a woman who didn’t want me.
But I hadn’t forgotten her.
Her spirit was still fresh in my mind, like standing next to a fire that gave off waves of never-ending heat. She didn’t smile much when she was with me, but sometimes a sarcastic expression would come on to her face, and that was beautiful to me. She was so quick and witty, and I actually missed our debates. It was like having a friend you hadn’t talked to in a while. And she had such a nice body in those tight dresses that I was anxious to see what was underneath.
I could show up at her apartment, and she would probably attack me with a frying pan—or, better yet, a plunger. That night wouldn’t end with me getting laid. I could show up at one of the bars she frequented on the weekends, but I really didn’t want to see her get hit on by some guy then go home with him.
Not when she should go home with me.
But my desire never waned, and if anything, it only rose. I knew she had a performance tonight, and against my better judgment, I bought a sport coat just to have something nice to wear so I could attend the theater.
A man like me didn’t own a suit. Because I didn’t fucking need one. I was just as powerful in jeans and a shirt, even more powerful naked. Only pussies like Damien wore suits, because they needed a false sense of success to feel secure, needing to trick people into believing they had power based on their attire.
I didn’t need that shit.
I went to the theater and took a seat in the front row, dead center. The first time I’d come here was to ambush Damien. When his father was in the bathroom, I intimidated him, but when he gave me that lip, I made him bleed inside.
But this time, I was there for Catalina. I opened the program they handed out and searched for her name. She had one of the biggest roles because she was one of the lead dancers. Not only was she talented, she was easy on the eyes, and that made everyone adore her. I stared at her name on the page.
I’d beaten Damien.
I’d taken her father from his bed and intended to shoot him in the back of the head, regardless of if Damien cooperated or not.
I’d helped Liam take Anna from the hospital after he shot her and aided in her kidnapping.
I’d threatened Damien more times than I could count, and I humiliated him every time I went to his office to collect my cash.
And then I’d stolen Catalina and put her in a cage like an animal.
I had no fucking chance. She was absolutely right not to want me, to want to steer clear of me and never see me again. Why would she want the man who had done all those terrible things? I suspected she didn’t know every single truth, because if she knew what I tried to do to her father, she would have already told Damien about me. I should just walk away and leave her alone.
But I stayed.
The lights were turned down, and the stage came to life. The curtains rose, and there she was, right in the center, holding an elegant pose with her chin tilted to the floor. She had the athleticism to hold her body is such rigid positions without flinching. She was so elegantly trained, you didn’t even see her breathe. She was so confident that she had her own glow on that stage. She got lost in her element, her art, and forgot about the audience altogether.
The music began and she danced.
I wasn’t a man with sophisticated tastes. I didn’t read Shakespeare, I didn’t go to the opera, I didn’t have a single piece of art on my walls—unless my designer picked it out. I didn’t care about flowers in spring, the sound of the violin over dinner. I had no class at all.