Page 49 of Holiday Hire

"How is it not?" He crosses his arms, leering at me, and it's almost as if I can see fumes coming out of his ears.

I try not to wither beneath the weight of his stare. I normally do. The moment he gives me that look, I normally back down. But maybe I'm changing.

I close my eyes and try to slow my rapidly beating heart. He steps closer to me, puts one hand on my cheek, and his other hand around my waist. He tugs me into him.

His expensive cologne flares in my nostrils. It hits me how different it is from Alexander's scent. I don't know why I'm thinking of him or how he smells, but something about Lance's cologne is suddenly too sweet...too preppy...too clean.

What is wrong with me?

Why am I thinking these things?

"Come on, Phoebe, you know we're meant to be together. Stop playing this game."

"I'm not playing a game."

He presses his lips to mine, but I push him away.

"You still aren't going to kiss me?" he asks incredulously.

I cry out, "You're not listening to me."

He angrily shakes his head. "What am I not listening to, Phoebe? It's clear that you'd rather be here, hundreds of miles away from me, with strangers."

"It's not about that. I'm working," I declare.

He snorts. "You're nannying, and that's ridiculous."

I glare at him. "Why is that?"

"Nannies are for second-class citizens."

I jerk my head back. "Excuse me?"

He points at me. "You heard me. And you don't need to work. You'll have your own nanny when we're married and have kids. You don't need tobethe nanny."

"What exactly is wrong with nannying?" I question.

He makes a frustrated noise. "Oh, Phoebe. You've always been so innocent and naive. You're willing to do things that you don't have to do, which is comical."

His statements infuriate me further. "I am not, and there's nothing wrong with me nannying. Plus, I like these children. They're nice and sweet, and I like the Cartwrights. They treat me really well."

"Before they toss you on your ass on Monday?" he throws out.

I freeze. I hate how his question might be the truth.

I'm barely able to breathe, and I curl my fists at my sides. Somehow, I find the courage to hold firm to what I want, ordering, "Lance, you need to go tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, we'll go. I have our tickets already bought. We're definitely not staying in this place all weekend," he replies.

My voice shakes when I say, "Youare leaving.I'mstaying."

He scoffs. "Stop being dramatic. This game is over, Phoebe." He steps closer, puts his hand under my chin, and roughly pushes my face back so I'm looking up at him. His other arm tightens around me, and I can't move. For the first time in a while, I'm scared.

"Ow, you're hurting me!" I whine, flashbacks of the last time I was scared he might get violent on me, darting in my head.

He seethes, "You listen to me. Tomorrow morning, you're getting on that plane with me. We're going back to Pismo. We're going to get married, and you'll be my wife. You're going to bear my children, and you're going to do what I say. You understand me?"

"You're hurting me," I repeat, tears filling my eyes and my neck throbbing.

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