Page 66 of Contention

“You know, you look like a whore in that outfit,” he whispers coldly, any warmth suddenly disappearing from his gaze, gone with the fucking wind. “A guy could easily mistake you for one. Maybe that’s what you like.”

There’s a clatter of dishes as Kara’s fork hits one of the plates hard, her hand suddenly shaking.

For a moment, Kara is stunned, hurt. The words are like knives in the gut and for a second there, she almost feels like screaming over it. Then she realizes; that’s the point. Whether he means what he said or not is completely irrelevant.

He said it for areaction.

And get one he will.

The mask she wears tonight is a costume and Kara reminds herself that the skin she’s wearing now is a girl on a date. What girl wants to hear such a thing? What if it’s a more serious boyfriend, and he’s really demeaning her?Adopt that sad, hurt yet angry attitude. You already feel it anyway.

Her throat tightens and if anyone had been watching their exchange, they would have seen the way her throat flexed with a hard swallow and how she pulled away in shocked disgust, her body language clearly speaking for itself.

“What thefuckdid you say that for?” Her voice is sharp, a fast staccato.

People hear her, ears turning towards where they are sitting. Gazes shift, a few younger women make faces that clearly read, ‘oh, something is going down’.

Yeah, ladies. This grenade is going off.

He gives her a sarcastic look before drinking his gin and tonic. He’s cool as ice. Clearly, he intends for her to look like the crazy girlfriend instead of him playing the asshole. “You’re overreacting. It was a joke.”

“No, it’s not funny.” She feels herself getting mad now, a familiar skin to wear. Comfortable. Herfavorite. “I should have known you were going to act like this the minute you came in, with your stupid insinuation that I was trying to hit on the bartender while I was minding my own business. Why can’t you just say I look nice?”

Oh, she’sreallygetting into this.

He makes as if to try and quiet her down, like he doesn’t want to make a scene. “I have eyes, Kara. I saw him looking you up and down and you didn’t even care. I bet you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

The possessive, insecure older boyfriend routine.Splendid.

“Oh, I’mfuckingsorry.” Her voice gets that slight hoarse quality to it, only adding to the illusion of fury rising. “I guess I’ll only go in public wearing a brown bag next time, if it pleasesThe King. You aresuch a tyrant, Nick. As if I control other people looking at me. Ha!”

Now, anyone who was trying to not listen to them is definitely listening. Calais gets a hint of red creeping up his neck, because itisembarrassing, but it only fuels the feeling of the situation being real.

With short, jerky movements that scream anger and irritation, Calais pays the bill, body tense and ready for a fight. Kara sits still with her nose slightly in the air, as if waiting for her overbearing older boyfriend to decide how they will proceed.

When he’s done signing the bottom of the receipt, he grabs her by the arm hard and practically pulls her out of her seat. “Move,” he growls darkly, a sound that registers in Kara’s belly with heat. Oh, the sound of an angry man, trying to contain his rage.

She allows him to drag her out the front door before she yanks herself from his grasp with aggressive enthusiasm. “Let go of me, you brute. You’re bruising my arm!”

His eyes flash with menace and for a moment, Kara feels a trickle of concern. He’s not only the very vision of Trouble, but of Dangerous Trouble. Face like carved stone, eyes spitting anger, and lips twisted in a sneer. With a hiss, he grabs her again and yanks her to him roughly, flush, “You don’t know where I parked, so stop causing a scene. We’ll settle this at home.”

The valet, standing at his podium looks vaguely disturbed by what is unfolding in front of him. “Miss? Are you alright?”

How sweet of him. Kara tries to give him a calm expression, but likely fails. Probably looks like some savage, unholy cat woman. “I’ll be fine. Just an argument.”

She’s not given much of a chance to say anything else, as Calais hauls her a block or so up the street, even as she digs her nails into his hand out of spite.

The car ride back to his place is nearly stifling. Before driving off, he’d pushed her into her seat and buckled her in like a child. “I can do it myself!” Kara had snapped furiously, kicking at him, and he’d replied “Can you?” with an equally cold sneer.

When they arrive at his building, Kara feels the urge to finish the fight and hurry it along. The sensation in her chest is like a grudge that just won’t let up; there’s no satisfaction. They’ve fed off each other’s anger and irritation, the public humiliation they both subjected themselves to not helping their moods in the slightest.

You did this to yourself.

They ride the elevator up in a tense silence, refusing to look at each other. The tension nearly crackles with electricity and Kara feels her breathing pick up.What is he going to do, what is he going to do when we reach the top…

Once they reach the penthouse, he unlocks the door and strides inside, barely giving her a glance. He nearly slams the door in her face, which she blocks with her hands and a hiss of fury, cursing him out under her breath.

He’s walking down the front hall, tossing his keys and wallet on a side table, his back to her.

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