Page 22 of Overexposed

That chilly, calculated layer threatened to slice at you if you dared to get too close. I had no idea why people couldn’t tell them apart, even without the scar I’d noticed on Gem’s chin—a scar that was definitely absent from Seven’s chiseled jaw.

“Please come in,” he said, motioning to the sitting room again. It wasn’t until he shifted that I noticed the crystal decanter on the side table with a tumbler that held a few drops of amber liquid. The table in front of the chairs, however, had a contract on it. “This won’t take long.”

Debating how serious he was about the door still being locked without the code to also disarm the security system, I studied Seven’s posture. His shoulders were rigid and his manner distant. The polite neutrality in his voice didn’t remotely touch his eyes.

The man glared at me like I was the devil incarnate. Interested on a faintly perverse level, because I’d hardly done anything to earn his ire, I moved toward the sitting room. As soon as I took a step, he lead the way.

“Sit there,” he said, waving an almost imperious hand toward the settee in front of the coffee table. “You can review the NDA, then sign it.”

Apparently, he expected me to just hop to it and do as I was told. Wow, was he about to be disappointed. “No.”

“I have a copy you can take with—” He paused, then snapped his gaze to me. “What did you say?”

“No,” I repeated.

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no, n-o. No. I won’t sign your NDA. I’m leaving now.”

“You have to sign the NDA,” he informed me and it was almost amusing how truly outraged he was, except I had no interest in being held hostage by America’s asshole here.

“I have to die and pay taxes. Everything else is optional. I need to go,” I said, checking my phone. The morning wasn’t getting any younger.

“You don’t understand.” Seven followed after me and caught my arm. The tug had me spinning back to face him. Only his resemblance to his brother kept me from hitting him with my shoes. I’d had enough manhandling, thank you.

“I think the one failing to understand the wordno, would be you. You want me to sign a contract. I do not want to sign a contract. You have nothing I need or want, ergo you have no leverage to incline me to sign.”

“Except you want to leave,” he snapped, though his eyes narrowed on my throat.

“Are you saying you’re planning on kidnapping me, Mr. Harrison? I assure you, that won’t end well for you or any deals you’ve got cooking with major studios.” Showing my own hand? Maybe. I tugged my arm out of his grasp. “Now, am I setting off your alarm or are you opening the door?”

I was over the conversation.

“Of course I’m not planning on kidnapping you,” the actor snapped. “You need to sign the NDA because we don’t bring women in this house. We have reputations to protect. You’ve been in here. I want to keep our privacy intact.”

“Well, bully for you, I guess. If you open the door, I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

His negative little growl of a groan almost made me smile. Frustration edged his movements as he raked a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t hurt you to sign the NDA.”

“It doesn’t help me either.” I shrugged. “Maybe you should make your girlfriend sign one and leave me out of it.”

His lips compressed and a vein throbbed in his forehead. I probably shouldn’t enjoy needling him so damn much. At the same time, if he just got out of the way, I’d be out of here.

I wasn’t planning on advertising my night in Gem’s bed or repay Ollie and Gem’s kindness by selling the story. I didn’t have my camera either. But no, I wasn’t signing some stupid document.

“You think I don’t know who you are?” Seven demanded, real anger threading through every single word. “You think I don’t know you’re the one who was in those photos with my brother? Or how you managed to get him into position to take them?”

“I don’tcare,” I told him, holding up one finger.

“What?” Surprise flashed in his eyes.

“Are you hard of hearing?” I asked, studying him. “That can be a problem when there are a lot of explosions on set, but you seem to be struggling in understanding me.”

“My hearing is just fine,” he snarled, gripping my biceps and then pulling me right over to the table despite me dragging my feet.

Yeah, I wasn’t standing still. Seven might be the fancy-pants actor out of the pair, but he was hardly a slouch in the muscles department.

“Sign the damn paper,” he snapped, pointing at the table. “Now.”

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