Page 153 of The Stud

I thoughtlessly twitch a glare.

“So…” she tugs the white t-shirt I’m wearing underneath my open coat, “now that you’re single-”

“I amnotsingle.”

“But-”

“You think your very fucked up stunt was enough to simply end me and your sister?”

“It should’ve been.”

“And yet it wasn’t.” My backing away not only creates space, it causes her to pout. “More importantly? Even if it were, I wouldneverchoose to be with you, Audrey. You are not my type.”

She proudly plops a hand on her hip and snips, “I’m everyone’s type.”

“Andthatis the problem.”

Bewilderment doesn’t hesitate to be seen in her expression.

“You mold and manipulate yourself to be whatever or whoever you convince yourself you need to be in order to please the world around you rather than just who you are; although, if I’m being completely honest, I do not believe evenyouknow who you really arebecauseyou spend so much time being who you think everyone else wants you to be.”

Her nude painted lips fold together to suppress whatever emotion has been stirred.

“I haveno interestin someone like that.” An innocent shrug bounces my frame. “I never have.” On a slight lean forward, I reiterate my point, “And I never will.”

Audrey’s mouth noticeably begins to tremble, yet she continues to remain silent.

“You need to respect that, my relationship with your sister, and maintain your space regarding non-work-related purposes or I’ll file a restraining order, which will make holidays together quite uncomfortable.”

“Frosky!” Margot calls from where she’s reviewing something on her tablet at the front desk. “In.” She cuts me a firm glance over her shoulder. “Now.”

I nod my understanding and maneuver away from the gawking woman for the GM’s office.

Unsure of whether to sit or stand when I stroll inside, I linger near the back of the room, beside the leather couches, like a soldier waiting for an order.

“Sit,” is hissed through gritted teeth prompting me to drop my ass on the nearest piece of furniture.

Huh.

This is probably how Bear feels, isn’t it?

“There,” she instructs with a sharply pointed finger to one of the seats directly on the other side of her desk.

Quickly crossing the room is followed by sitting in the chair.

Folding my hands in my lap.

Pressing my tongue to the inside of my cheek to maintain my silence as much as my composure.

I’ve been traded before.

I know what to expect.

I know what to say.

I even know the call I’m gonna get from my agent and when.

However, knowing all those things doesn’t make it any easier.

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