I was growing angry with him at the casual way he could just toss me aside. He had all the power here—as the owner of the company I worked for, as the man whose home I was now trapped in for all intents and purposes. As the one calling the shots in our relationship.
What relationship?
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tilting his head lower, he gazed in my eyes, much like a father might when trying to get his child to try a bite of something she didn’t want to taste.
It just made me angrier.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ll give you some time for now—but we will talk. Tomorrow morning, we resume working, and I can’t have you trying to hide your hostility when we have work to focus on. We need to be open, whether it’s comfortable or not.”
The way he was bossing me around just made me all the more irate. “Fine.” Standing up, I took my plate and mug and walked into the kitchen without another word. I scraped the rest of my food into the trash and put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher before turning to head back up to my room. Glancing back, I halfway expected him to pursue me, but he wasn’t even looking my way.
Damn, he was cold.
And I had to learn to play that game, too.