Page 58 of Devil In A Suit

She looks up, and there’s fury in her eyes. “I wasn’t ready to order.”

I clench my jaw.

She holds the menu out to the waiter. “Fine. I’ll have the same.”

It feels like every choice we’re making tonight is a battle, and I don’t even know why. Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, she finds a way to pull back, and it drives me insane.

The waiter leaves, and the silence between us feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on my chest. I hold her gaze, searching for something, anything that might break through. “Why is it that every time I think we’re making progress, you do this?” I ask, my tone rougher than I intend.

Her eyes don’t waver. “Maybe because your version of progress is just you getting what you want.”

The words hang between us, and I feel the sting of them, like a slap I didn’t see coming. I want to argue, to push back, but I learned a long time ago. Only the truth hurts. I’ve always been in control—of everything. But she’s turning the tables on me. I don’t know if I want to fight her or pull her close, but it’s now obvious that every time she challenges me like this, it makes me want her even more. The silence stretches, thick and charged.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m losing control, and it terrifies me.

Chapter Thirty-Six

LARA

Isit across from him, feeling a mix of hurt and defiance. I thought I looked fine—good, even. It’s not that I didn’t want to wear a dress, but the way Greta instructed me to dress appropriately irritated me. So, I chose this—jeans, a tucked-in black T-shirt and heels. I even tried a halter neck top before I left, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard to be sexy. Now, he’s sitting there, looking all annoyed, as if what I’m wearing is a personal insult.

And then he ordered for me, which is a big no-no for me. It actually made me want to get up and leave. But the truth is, I’m hungry and I was planning on the steak anyway as I’d never had black Argentinian label steak before. Plus, the way that French waiter described the grilled peaches sounds too good to pass up.

I tell myself it’s not all bad, seeing him irritated like this. About time he realizes he can’t control everything about me. Also, he’s starting to grow on me unexpectedly and unnaturally fast, and it’s good to remind myself we are totally and absolutely incompatible outside the sack. We are almost like two differentspecies. We can come together to mate, but that’s it. After that, we must go back to being strangers.

We settle into a tense silence that neither of us wants to break. When the food arrives, I pick up my fork and concentrate on my peaches. A fine choice as it happens. I try to ignore how easy it is for him to behave as if I’m not even there. He doesn’t make any effort to fill the silence, and I’m tempted to just let it ride. I see the papers stacked neatly on the table, and I realize he’s been working. I miss working. I miss feeling useful, like I have a purpose. It reminds me of what I wanted to ask earlier.

“I’ve been thinking,” I start.

He glances up at me, his eyes expectant.

“Would it be possible for me to work while I’m under contract? I mean, go back to my job during the day while you’re at work.”

At first, he doesn’t respond, just keeps chewing as he stares at me, as if he’s deciding on an answer. “I would have been friendly enough to consider it,” he says eventually, voice cool. “But the simple fact is I’m paying you to be idle while I’m away and busy while I’m around.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my disappointment. “I found a book in the library about poisons,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I could start learning how to make them.”

He stops mid-chew, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t have a library.”

I give him a look. “You don’t say.”

He bursts out laughing. A deep laugh that’s so surprising and so contagious an unintended laugh slips out of me too. Instantly, I lower my head to hide it, feeling a flicker of warmth in my chest.

He leans back. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Why do we have to argue over a dress?” I mutter, feeling defensive. “I’ll dress up tomorrow. That’s an actual event.”

He studies me for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay, I’ll look forward to it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why does it even matter? You’ve seen me naked already. It’s not like a dress is going to change anything.”

“What kind of guys have you been dating?”

“We’re not dating?” I remind tartly.

“No?”

My heart skips several beats. I hate how he does that. How he can turn everything around with just one look, one word. I focus on my plate, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through me. I decide to change the subject, to steer us back to something safe.

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