Page 109 of By His Vow

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, throwing her arms out to her side.

Before I can figure out what to say next, she spins on her heels and storms down the hallway toward the guest rooms.

I wince as the first door she gets to goes flying back into the wall, but when she discovers that it isn’t full of boxes, she continues to the next door, and then the next, no doubt leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.

Fucking hell. This is why I’ve never wanted a relationship, I muse, combing my fingers through my hair as I watch her finally find the right room.

If I thought she’d abused the previous doors then I was very, very wrong, because I swear the force she slams this one with as she closes herself inside has the power to rock the entire building.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself as I pull my tie from around my neck and shrug my jacket off, throwing it over one of the kitchen stools before marching toward my drink cabinet.

I pull out a tumbler before filling it with a generous measure of my favorite scotch and taking a sip, hoping that it’ll wash away the frustration—and lingering desire—bubbling up inside me.

There are some bangs and crashes from down the hallway. I try to ignore it, but it’s harder than I expect.

With a sigh, I grab a wine glass and fill it from a bottle in the fridge before taking it down to her as some kind of peace offering.

She’d better like it, because she can bet her ass I’m not conceding on the cat thing.

Everything goes quiet inside the room the second I knock on the door, but she doesn’t respond.

Reaching for the door handle, I press down and push. I was half expecting her to have barricaded herself in, so I’m pleasantly surprised when it opens.

“What the—” I stand in the doorway and just stare.

There is stuff fucking everywhere.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought the boxes had exploded.

With her ass in the air, Tatum doesn’t so much as pause.

“I brought you a glass of wine,” I say hesitantly, lingering on the threshold.

But still, she doesn’t react. Instead, more and more clothes are moved from the box she’s bent over, flying across the room and landing wherever they fucking want.

“Tatum,” I snap.

Nothing.

Fuck. This woman.

She’s even more infuriating than I expected her to be.

“Fine. If you’re going to be a child about this, I’ll drink the alcohol.”

She doesn’t respond or react.

The second I close the door behind me, I lift the glass to my lips and drain it.

But it’s not enough.

How the hell am I meant to survive a year of this?

“That’s fantastic. Could you put it on the counter right over there, please?” Tatum says, her voice as sweet as sugar.

My brows pinch as I descend the final few steps of the stairs.

“You got it, love,” a deep voice responds, making my hackles rise.