“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean get the fuck out.” My voice edged, apathy and humor waning the longer I was with her.
I’d learned never to let anyone see what I felt; even anger was a win.
But she was like poison ivy. Crawling inside, hot, flashing back to hours before when her lips were on mine, her hands clawing at me. A twisted part wanted to scratch the itch.
And her honesty. What was with that? No one ever talked to me like that.
If I never see her again, it would be too early.
“Like back to Ms. Abigail?” she asked.
“I’d suggest leaving Crowne Point entirely, if you ever want to work again,” I said. “Maybe try someplace in…fuck, I don’t know, maybe Portugal?” I suggested, trying to think of somewhere Crowne Industries didn’t have a foothold.
There aren’t many.
“Portugal?” she gasped. “But…” Panic strangled her voice, and she looked left and right. “I can’t leave. My unc—” She quickly backtracked. “I mean, this is my job. It’s where I live. I have nowhere to go.”
“You’ll manage.” I picked up a black-and-gold rotary phone that connected me to my security. “Yeah, we’re done. Come and get—”
Snitch had it out of my hands before I’d seen her move, slamming the phone back against the receiver.
The balls on her.
I liked it.
“You wanna die, Snitch?” I growled.
“I can…” She drew her lip between her teeth, and instantly I thought about lemon, what she’d tasted like. Why the hell did she taste like lemons? Not sour, but sweet, Meyer lemons. The ones my mom put in everything when they came in season.
Venom sliced through my veins, hating her, hating myself, for having the knowledge.
“I can help you get Charlotte back!” Her eyes grew so wide with the idea, like the eyes of plushie dolls you got for kids.
Earlier, when I’d finally caught Lottie, she’d played it cool like anyone of her status would, but I knew I’d ruined whatever chance I had.
Lottie was like me. Trust wasn’t something we gave easily, if ever.
One of the many reasons I liked her.
I paused as temptation stretched its inky tendrils.
The morbid reality was I didn’t need to win Lottie back. She was already engaged to me; she just didn’t know it yet. It was a merger my grandfather and hers had been working longer than I wanted to fucking think about.
The moment I learned about it, I forced my mother and grandfather to let me tell her. They gave me a year, until the end of this summer, to do my “pedestrian proposal.”
This wedding would happen whether Lottie wanted it or not.
If Lottie doesn’t choose me willingly, then her father would threaten her down the aisle.
Despite who everyone thinks I am, I won’t fucking marry someone whose veil hides their tears.
“That’s cute,” I said, voice rough. “Thinking I give enough of a shit to chase her.”
I went to pick up the phone, and she pressed her hands harder on mine, pinning it down, digging into my skin with little nails I couldn’t help picturing digging into my back.
“I know you like her,” she said. “You can’t take back what you said in that room.”