Page 118 of Reverse

“Turnabout is fair play.”

“That’s so—”

“Fucked up? I agree, but I’m taking a page from your handbook tonight, and right now, I swear to Christ, I’m just the motherfucker to make good on the threat. See you soon.”

My jaw drops as he hangs up, and I glare at Joel, who has the good sense to look remorseful as he palms the back of his neck. “Shit, he kind of makes it hard sometimes for people not to hate the messenger.”

“He’s an infuriating—” I tick off on my finger.

“Daily—” Joel counters.

“Entitled—” I go on.

“At times—” Joel agrees.

“Relentless—” I fume.

“Only when he really wants something—” he tosses in.

“Selfish prick!” I finish.

“Oof,” he winces, “Ifeltthat. So, I guess, here’s your chance to tell him?”

When Joel’s phone rings in my hand, I go to answer it just as he snatches it out of my grasp. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.” He turns and strides toward the elevator as I glare at his retreating back the whole way, a ‘traitor’ on the tip of my tongue. But he’s not a traitor. He’s Easton’s people, not mine, no matter how much I want to claim him.

When the doors slide open, Joel turns to see me fuming in the hall and mouths a quick “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head emphatically, refusing to let him off the hook.

“Properly,” he mutters into the phone, “I would say somewhere along the lines of a bull in a china shop,” he reports of my temperament, scratching his temple in obvious discomfort just before the doors slide closed.

I slam my room door shut and fume while pulling my phone up to call and read Easton the riot act. Unable to compose a text to convey the thousand and one insults I want to hurl his way, I drop my phone and fist my hands.

“All right, you son of a bitch,” I snap, “you want a fight. You’ve got one coming.” Opening my suitcase, I pluck the navy dress bag I packed last minute and unzip it. Though already showered, I take my time getting ready, hoping to tick both Joel and Easton off by making them wait.

Furious, even though I’ve given myself ample time to cool off, I paint my lips a glossy nude and slide into a form-fitting, shimmering white V-neck dress. The cut bares inches of my midriff, connected only by tiny gold loops on each side. The deep cut also gives ample glimpses of side-boob while remaining classy in fit, hanging a few inches above mid-thigh. It’s my ‘dressed to kill’ dress, and right now, there’s a real possibility of that turn of phrase becoming a reality.

Satisfied with my makeup, I grab a thin gold chain from my jewelry bag as an afterthought. I decide it pairs perfectly with the dress after I clasp it around my waist, flicking the two small chains at the end that dangle over my exposed navel.

After taming my curls into larger ones with my iron, I slide on my blue suede Louboutin’s. Satisfied with the look I plan to neuter Easton Crowne in, I grab the small clutch which matches the red soles of my heels before tucking in my phone and travel wallet. After walking through a few shots of orchid perfume, I march out of my hotel room, mind set on making Easton pay.

Once downstairs, I find Joel parked opposite the circular drive. As I approach, he reads my ready-for-war expression, his eyes dancing down my armor as he holds open the wrong door. Shaking his head with a grin, he closes the back passenger door and opens the front before I slide into the car. He lingers there as I buckle in, knowing I’m none too happy with him, which he clearly finds amusing.

“Don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not.”

His smile broadens. “You’re a stunning liar, and to be frank, he’s going to shit himself when he sees you in that dress. It’s the perfect choice.”

Unable to help it, my eyes soften. “Thank you.”

“Natalie,” he sighs, gripping the top of the door. “He may seem entitled at times—and maybe he even acts like it, but he’s tried since he’s become aware not to be.”

“I hear you, and I know that about him, but let him defend himself, okay?”

Joel nods and lingers a bit longer. I can tell he wants to speak up again on Easton’s behalf, but he shuts the door instead.

Deciding to keep Joel out of our newly declared war, I ride in silence to the hotel feeling the restless energy bouncing off his frame. He’s nervous for Easton, or for me—probably both. Either way, this is our battle, and he’s respecting the boundaries. When we reach the hotel, the valet beats Joel to the door. I grab his hand and thank him as Joel joins me and walks me toward the entrance while I mentally go over my battle plan, which is straightforward—to enjoy myself.

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