He gestures for me to get into the car, ignoring my attempt to correct his assumption. “Get in.”
I don’t budge. “I wasn’t thinking about myself, Hadrian. Really, I wasn’t.”
He doesn’t say anything for several seconds. “I think, if I continue to make decisions that are good for SNC, that my job is probably safe. Hunter is a nuisance. Nothing more.”
I think he means to comfort me, but I feel even more agitated.
Against my better interest, I put voice to the agitation. “Hiring me might not be the best decision, Hadrian.”
A flash of surprise crosses his features, which he quickly schools. “You’re not getting out of our agreement.” I open my mouth to say it isn’t about that, but he puts a finger on my lips, sending sparks through my body. “The agreement stands. Come on. Get in.”
Somewhat dazed, I slide into the back seat.
As soon as I do, the driver gets behind the wheel. That’s when I realize that Hadrian isn’t getting in with me.
“The agreement stands, but I’m being dismissed. Got it.” I don’t mean to sound snippy.
Or I do mean to sound snippy.
Because I’m riled up and confused. I’m worried about the position he’s putting himself in for my sake, but I’m not willing to give up a shot at my own show. I’m also suffering from a huge case of blue clit. My pussy has been teased and taunted all day, and I won’t deny that it was looking forward to being petted.
Of course Hadrian’s reaction is to smile, that fucker. “Dismissed for now. Not forever.”
“Whatever.” I cross my arms over myself, trying my best to dismiss him right back.
“Next time.” His subtext oozes with promise. He leans on the open door, talking to me over the top of it, his voice so low it vibrates between my legs. “For what it’s worth, Brystin, I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
I can’t help myself—I look at him, ready to scold him for assuming I have any sort of enthusiasm about anything he has to offer.
In other words, ready to lie.
But he’s giving me that look again, the one that says we have a secret. The one that says he wants to have more secrets with me in the near future. “Besides, now I know you’re looking forward to next time as much as I am.”
“As much as you are?” God, I’m so needy.
He smirks. “Goodbye, Ms. Shaw.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything in return. Just shuts the door, and lets his driver drive me away.
My phone buzzes, but I ignore it, too caught up in arguing with the assistant producer at this week’s New Jersey Now table meeting. “The segment on email scams isn’t big enough to be a feature. It needs more meat.”
“Which is why we should combine it with the piece on the retirement homes,” Jen argues.
I’m not usually at odds with her suggestions, but I’m restless at the moment. It’s been three weeks since the art show, and I haven’t seen or heard from Hadrian since. Elvis insists the contracts are done and being printed up, and I’m excited, if that’s true, but with no contact with Hadrian, I have doubts.
And that means I’m doubling down on stances I would have usually been less rigid about. “I don’t care if seniors are the victims of most email scams. The retirement fraud is a completely unrelated issue.”
“They wouldn’t be unrelated if—” Jen pauses when my phone buzzes yet again. When she sees I’m not picking it up, she goes on. “If we approached it with the right angle. I suggest taking that interview with the woman at Fall Hills—”
Elvis interrupts with a sharp, “Brystin!”
I swing my head in his direction. “What?”
“Your phone.”
“Sorry.” I let out a sigh and reach for the damn thing. I should have turned it off when the meeting started, but I’ve been expecting a phone call from a source that I don’t want to miss. Quickly, I scan my texts, figuring I probably had a rant from Shiloh about one of her rich bitch clients, and am surprised to find the messages are from another rich bitch—Hadrian.
Where are you? I’m sending someone.
Answer me, Brystin.
My driver is on his way to Jersey. YOU BETTER BE READY
My heart rate doubles, and not because of the shouty capitals, but because he texted me.
“Everything okay?” Elvis’s obviously eager to keep the meeting running.
“Uh…yeah…give me a second.” I swallow down the excitement and frantically type out a reply so that Hadrian doesn’t show up at my apartment when I’m not there.
Can’t. Work.
His reply is practically instant.
Fuck work
The butterflies are starting to settle down, and now I’m irritated. No contact for three weeks and then a demand that I drop everything for him?
Some of us have to earn our living
I’ll take care of you
Goosebumps race up my arms, and I can’t even describe what happens to my insides after reading that message.
“Brystin?”
I look up to see it’s not just Elvis waiting for my attention, but the entire team. I must have missed part of the conversation. “Can you repeat that?”
“I said we’d go with the retirement homes and asked if you could provide us with a list of alternate suggestions for making the email scam segment a full show later on.” It doesn’t matter that we’re married—Elvis treats me as harshly as anyone in the production room, and right now his tone is short and irritated.
“Yes. Sure. By when?” I bring the phone under the table so that I can type without Elvis seeing.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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