Page 58 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession
You want attention. You want praise. You want to make me lose control.
I hate the way he sees these things about me when we’ve not even had real conversations before.
And if he dislikes me that much, what the fuck was that whole spiel about wanting me?
A load of crap, that’s what.
I force down my lunch, although it tastes like dust. The last thing I want is to give any reaction that would become office gossip.
I look around the room. Interns, staff trainees, and associates. I didn't think they were that hungry for drama. I thought everyone was as busy as me, hardly having time for anything else.
On my way back to my office, I consider making a detour to Ethan’s to confront him, but I decide against that. Fighting him over the issue is giving him an opportunity to backtrack or explain it.
Like Nan always says, when people show you who they are, believe them. It’s better to accept cold, bitter reality.
I’ve got a pounding headache, but heck if I’m going to let that stop me from doing my work. I’m not leaving early today. I power through the rest of the day, only shutting down after dark. I grab my jacket and helmet and head to the bank of elevators.
When one arrives, it's with the one person I absolutely do not want to see. Ethan leans against the side wall, with his head bowed and thick locks of hair falling over his brow. He's holding his glasses in one hand.
Speak of the fucking devil.
He raises his head, and his eyes meet mine. The last thing I want is to get into the elevator with him, so I wait for the doors to shut.
When the doors begin closing, he takes a step forward and presses the button to hold them open. “Come on, Bonnie. I won’t bite.”
“No, I’ll wait for the next one, thanks.”
He observes me for a moment, then steps out of the elevator to stand beside me.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Rolling my eyes, I enter, and he follows me back inside.
Once the door shuts, in the confined space, I’m sure he can feel my anger rolling off me in waves.
“Something’s wrong,” he says.
“You think?" I snap, then under my breath, "Jackass."
“I’m sorry, Bonnie.”
I’m floored. That’s something I never expected to come out of his mouth.
I face him. “And what on earth could you possibly be sorry for Ethan?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
My anger boils over.
“So, don't fuckin' say yer sorry then. Pretendin' to be one way, then backstabbin' me. If you want to be an asshole, be an asshole. Fuckin' kick me out of yer company even. Don’t be sendin' nice emails like ye care and whisperin' in my ear and fuckin' getting hard-ons and rubbin' them on me, okay?” I take a deep breath and release it slowly.
“What are you talking about?” He's looking at me like I have grown an extra head and he probably didn't hear a word of my rant too, considering it came out heavily accented.
Damn, five years and I've never let myself go like that, not even when arguing with Twiggy. But then again Twiggy doesn't drive me mad—actually, no one makes me as crazy as Ethan does.
I make myself talk 'normally' “Dreadlite. I heard you fought against me getting it. That you’re still not happy I got it. Apparently, it’s common knowledge on the tech floor. Tell me that it's just a rumor some salty associate or partner cooked up?”
He goes silent, watching me for the longest moment. “I'm sorry. It’s not,” he finally admits.
“Jesus!” I slam my palm on the call button repeatedly, needing to get away from the source of my pain. It’s useless, because it doesn’t make the elevator go faster, but I can’t help needing to do something to leave this confined space.