Page 62 of My Rules

“Three o’clock.”

I glance at my watch. “Meet back down here in an hour?”

“Okay.”

Blake and I walk to the elevator and push the button. We wait in awkward silence.

The doors open, and we walk in and turn to face them. They close, and we begin to ride up to our floor.

“You know—”

“Don’t talk to me,” he cuts me off.

My mouth falls open. Of all the nerve. “Don’t talk to you?”

“That’s right.” He keeps his eyes facing forward to the doors.

“Don’t you dare gaslight me, Blake Grayson.”

“Ha.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s a joke. You’re gaslighting me. Telling me I’m gaslighting you is typical gaslighting behavior. Can you even hear yourself?”

“How am I gaslighting you?” I snap, outraged.

“You tell me that you hate this man; you tell me that you don’t want him anywhere near you. You tell me that he isn’t allowed on your property. Then he shows up, and I set a clear boundary for him to leave you alone. He refuses, so I step in, and suddenly I’m the bad guy.”

I glare at him.

“I’m not a pushover like some people.” He raises his chin defiantly.

The doors open, and he strides out.

“You think I’m a pushover?” I fume as I follow him down the corridor.

“Don’t think it, I know it.”

“We are trying to come to an agreement on the divorce settlement.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs. “There is no agreement. He is going to railroad you into getting exactly what he wants.”

“How do you know that?” I put my hands on my hips.

“Because unlike you ... I can see through him. I can see through all these fucking idiots that you think are good guys.”

I begin to hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. “You know what? Coming from a walking red flag like you, that’s a joke.”

“How am I a walking red flag?” he whispers angrily.

“Oh please.” I throw up my hands in disgust. “You cannot be this obtuse.”

“Obtuse.” His eyes bulge in their sockets.

“That’s right,” I spit. “You know as well as I do that you party way too hard every weekend. You sleep with every hot woman you meet. Even our neighbor, who you have constantly told me is not your type ... which is repulsive, by the way. You keep talking about all these kids you want to have, and yet at the age of thirty-five, you can’t even hold down a girlfriend. When are you planning on settling down and having these children, when you’re eighty? And to top it all off, you get holes punctured through your dick in Vegas and probably have syphilis now.” I grab the key to my room. “If that isn’t out of control, I don’t know what is. So excuse me if I refuse to take relationship advice from a fucking train wreck.”

“How do you know about my dick? I’ll tell you what’s a fucking train wreck,” he spits. “A woman who has a friend who would literally do anything for her, and she treats him like shit.” He grabs his key and holds it to his door.

“I do not treat you like shit, Blake.”

“Want to bet?”

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