Page 10 of Broken Deal

“I said sure, coffee soundsgreat,” I reply through gritted teeth.

He nods toward the door. “After you.”

Here the fuck we go.

If someone had told me Sophia Evans looked even better in business attire than in the short little black dress she wore for my birthday dinner, I would have laughed. But damn. She looks so elegant and put together. The way her long brown hair settles on her hips makes me want to bend her over one of these desks and have my way with her.

You already slept with her once, and you don’t do repeats.

Semantics. There’s a first time for everything. This is the woman who has been stuck in my head for a year; sleeping with her one more time wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. The universe practically handed her to me on a silver platter, and who am I to question its intentions?

When I discovered she worked forVogue Elite, I researched every single article she’s written. I even found the pieces she did for her college newspaper when she was a student. And I read all of them—every single one of the 450 articles.

I found myself quickly becoming obsessed and intrigued by her writing. She can make the most mundane topicsshine. She’s an amazing writer, and even for a useless web media like this, there’s magic in her words. But let’s face it, I don’t do interviews. Everyone knows that. I’ve never been interested in what people have to say about me. Not that it stops them from writing gossip columns. I let people write and believe what they want. I don’t give them the ammunition. Whatever conclusions they assume, it’s all them. People often wonder why I let the media get away with so much, and the answer is simple—I don’t give a fuck. I know they’re twisting the truth. Does it drive the board at Vortex a little crazy when I’m always the center of every gossip media website? Yes. And honestly, knowing those stuck-up sons of bitches aren’t fans of me, but are stuck with me, makes the situation far too entertaining.

Vogue Elitewas no exception to my no-interview rule, but as I was ready to turn them down, I found myself saying yes instead. Am I using this as an excuse to get closer to her? Maybe—okay, yes. Absolutely.

I’m playing with dangerous fire here, butfuck, I bet we’d burn so good together.

I’m obsessive by nature; once I set my eyes on something, I won’t let it go. They’ll have to rip it from my cold, dead hands. And even then, who knows what will happen?

She walks to her cubicle, grabs her purse, and stalks to the elevator without casting me a glance, like I’m a fly on the wall in her world. I quietly follow, waiting beside her for the elevator to arrive. The air between us crackles with tension, and I can’t deny it makes my body spike with excitement. Stepping into the elevator, I press the button for the plaza. And as the doors close, her eyes lock onto me with intense fury.

She crosses her arms tightly across her chest, and her white button-down shirt has a few buttons open. Her tits getpushed together, and the sight is out of this damn world. “What are you playing at? I thought you turned down the interview.”

A relaxed smile tugs on my lips, my eyes dropping to her mouth-watering cleavage. “Not sure what you mean.” I shrug nonchalantly. “And I changed my mind. Problem?”

“Oh, please.” She puffs, rolling her eyes. “I’ve read the articles you’ve written over the years. You’re a great writer,” she mocks in a gruff voice.

I roll my lips, trying to hold back my laughter. “Are you trying to impersonate me?”

“Yes, but it’s hard to imitate a stuck-up, self-centered man like you,” she snaps, flicking her fingers in front of me. “And my eyes are up here,asshole.” She points to her eyes with two fingers.

I smirk at her comment, my eyes still zeroed in on her cleavage just to get under her skin. Any other man might be insulted, but not me. There’s nothing I love more than the fire of a woman who pushes back. Insults only make me more eager to provoke a reaction. There’s nothing like the thrill coursing through my body right now at the bite of her voice.

I click the emergency button, causing the elevator to stop abruptly. “What’s your problem?” I ask with a light tone, my eyes finally finding hers.

“I didn’t peg you for a stupid man, but in case I wasn’t clear,you’remy problem.” Her voice drips with disdain as she glares at me with her intense, blue gaze.

“Why?” I reply, feigning innocence.

She uncrosses her arms and brushes her hair with her fingertips, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “This is great,” she murmurs to herself. “Pretending is not going to get you anywhere, Lorenzo.”

The way my name rolls off her lips, so raspy and sultry, even with a hint of fury, makes my cock twitch.

You’re losing your mind here, Lorenzo.

Yeah, I know. And I’m 100% on board with it.

I raise my hands in defeat. “Okay, you got me. You’rereallygood at this game.”

“What game?” she asks with an incredulous look on her face.

Oh, is this how she wants to play it? Okay.

“Now who’s pretending?” I raise an eyebrow.

Her shoulders stiffen as she crosses her arms again and looks away without a word.

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