The Bastard (Filthy Trilogy 1)
“As do I, but now isn’t the time for the answers we both want, and in fact, demand.”
“When?”
“Tonight,” I say.
“I’m not sure that works for me,” she says.
“I’m certain you can make it work. If you can’t, I promise you, I will. I think I’ve proven that.”
“No, you haven’t,” she says, anger radiating in her voice. She grabs my arm and leans in close, her voice low, a whisper for my ears only. “I didn’t get naked with you to get you to come here, and I won’t do it again to keep you here. I didn’t pay for your services, nor is any version of the word ‘more’ a given.” She leans back and looks at me. “That you think it is, is arrogant, and frankly, a bastard-like assumption that I don’t like.”
That comment smacks like a palm. “It’s what you expect, right? Why would I disappoint?”
“It’s not actually what I expect. Not from you. Not at all.” With that, she turns and leaves me standing there, staring after her, hot and hard, and ready for more, however we define that word.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Harper
I don’t know what just happened, is all I can think as I enter my office and shut the door, letting my mind chase answers now that I’m alone. The first thing that comes to my mind is: That man. My God, that man. Eric is making me crazy. I want him. I’m angry with him. And we’re really being watched? Am I being watched now? That idea jolts me and I push off the door and walk calmly to my desk. If Isaac had turned into a peeping tom, I’m not giving him an emotional show for him to use against me or Eric for that matter, despite the way he just treated me.
Yes, Eric just acted like that bastard label he too readily owns, but considering the power play at hand, I can’t say I blame him. I don’t have his trust. He doesn’t quite have mine, but after talking to Gigi, I don’t know if it matters. She’s right. We’re better off in Eric’s hands than Isaac’s. Even if I lose my trust, which at this point feels pretty gone anyway, at least I leave this place without liability, and so does my mother.
I hope.
I don’t know.
Eric could burn us, but I just don’t feel like he will. Not unless he feels that we’re trying to burn him. I think that’s exactly what he thinks. He thinks I fucked him to fuck him. I want to scream with this idea. I want to go right back down those stairs and shake him and quite possibly get naked with him. How can I want to be naked with a man who basically accused me of being a whore? Okay, that’s extreme. He didn’t exactly say that. I’m exaggerating and I don’t usually exaggerate, but he’s making me crazy. And confused. I’ve always been confused about that man, or at least, emotionally. My body feels no confusion. It just wants to feel him close.
The intercom on my desk buzzes and the receptionist announces, “Jim Sims from the union is on the line for Isaac, but he told me to give the call to you.”
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nbsp; Jim Sims, who would do about anything for me if I got naked with him, which is exactly why I don’t deal with him. Isaac knows this. He doesn’t care, and this isn’t even about Eric, considering this was my assignment before he knew Eric was here. It’s about me asking too many questions and making too many demands for answers. Which wouldn’t be a problem if Isaac wasn’t hiding something.
I pick up the line. “Jim.”
“I hear you’re lead on the upcoming labor relations topics.”
“I hear that as well. I was just about to catch up on the file before tomorrow’s meeting.”
“Yes, well, we both know bathroom preferences are below your pay grade. I suspect your brother hoped you’d distract me and calm me the fuck down on some of the bigger financial issues.”
“What issues?”
“A topic better discussed in person. Let’s meet.”
Of course he wants to meet, and to be all touchy-feely while he’s at it. I glance at my clock. It’s eleven. “How about three o’clock at your office? That gives me time to get up to speed.”
“How about happy hour, at the wine bar up your direction in Cherry Creek? You still live in Cherry Creek, right?”
How does this man know where I live? “Yes,” I say. “I’m still up that direction.”
“Good. These matters are easier stomached when diluted by wine and you won’t have far to travel after we indulge.”
“I’m not good with wine,” I say. “I need a clear head today and tomorrow. Let’s stick with the coffee.”
He’s silent a few beats and then says, “Then we’ll do coffee at five. I have meetings this afternoon.”