Page 27 of By His Rule

“I don’t need your help,” I snap. “I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”

“Sure,” he mutters, not believing a word.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

Thankfully, the doors open the second I finish talking and I rush forward, this time successfully hitting the button for the ground floor and praying the doors will close before he has a chance to join me.

Wishful thinking, but something has to start going my way soon. Right?

I deserve for the tide to change. At least for a short time, surely.

Sadly, long before the doors slide close, I sense him move closer.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” he says calmly as if none of this is affecting him in any way.

I guess it’s not.

I’m…I’m a no one.

A silly woman who thought for some stupid reason that attending that interview this afternoon was a good idea.

I should have stuck to my guns when I told Tate it was a mistake.

I just…I didn’t want to believe it.

I wanted the chance.

I wanted the dream.

And it was nice to imagine that it could be a possibility for just a little while.

Gritting my teeth, I ignore him, refusing to give the cocky smirk that I just know is playing on his lips even a second thought.

“Got a bit of a chip on your shoulder, haven’t you, Miss Tempest.”

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s getting to me, but despite telling myself to remain silent, my mouth runs away with me.

“Don’t pretend that you know anything about me,” I hiss.

That irritating smug laugh of his fills the enclosed space around us.

“I know plenty. I read your resume.”

“That makes one of us,” I mutter.

“Admitting to falsifying your application won’t look good on top of everything else,” he informs me with way too much amusement in his tone.

“I don’t give a shit how I look to you.”

“Huh,” he muses.

His response to my retort gives me pause, and before I know what’s happening, I’m turning around to look at him.

I regret it instantly.

He looked perfectly put together when he walked into my interview earlier. His suit was sharp, his hair was perfectly styled. But now, with his jacket gone and his shirt rumpled, his messy hair and his scruffy chin, he looks entirely too delicious, considering what a five-star asshole he really is.

“What is ‘huh’ supposed to mean?” I snap.

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