Page 11 of Broken Deal

“I’m talking about the game where you pretend I didn’t fuck you senseless in a cleaning closet of a club a year ago,” I deadpan.

Her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen. Her eyes turn a shade darker, almost like a blue-gray color combination. I take two steps closer, her citrus and sweet scent invading my senses. She smells like…summer. I could close my eyes and imagine myself on a tropical island filled with wildflowers, palms, and a calm breeze. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t get enough of it.

“The game where you pretend your pussy wasn’t clenching around my cock as I was giving you a mind-blowing orgasm,” I rasp, barely above a whisper.

She takes two steps back, flustered, and presses the button to get the elevator moving again. “Someone sure thinks highly of himself. If I remember correctly, I gave you a 7 out of 10. Not exactly mind-blowing, is it?” She flicks her hair, hitting me with it in the process. Can’t say I’m mad at the act. Her hair smells like fucking heaven. “And I’m not pretending anything. I’m just trying to have moreclass than you by trying to do the right thing and move past it.”

“So youdoremember.” I snort a laugh at her ridiculous comment. “And Bella?1, I know I wasn’t a 7. If I remember correctly, I gave you three solid orgasms.” I lift and wiggle three of my fingers as I get some distance from her, too, because the proximity affected me in other ways I didn’t think possible.

“Oh, you’re cocky, too.Figures,” she retorts dryly.

“I’d rather you call me confident.” I grin.

The elevators open, and she quickly walks out, not waiting for me. She’s fairly shorter than me, even with those heels, so I quickly catch up.

Before I can retort, she turns around, pushing a finger on my chest. “Whatever game you’re playing at, I want no part of it. If this is your way of cornering me to confess I remember you, well, you already won. Now leave me the hell alone.” Anger flashes through her gaze, her eyes turning into an even darker shade of blue.

Why can’t I stop looking at them? She’s ready to push me off a cliff, but all I can focus on is the wild intensity of them, a mix of danger and beauty that’s impossible to ignore.

“Your eyes are so…blue,” I find myself saying, mesmerized.

Her eyes meet mine for a split second before she rolls them. “You can differentiate colors,good for you.” With that, she stalks out of the building in fury.

I stride after her. “Sophia, wait!”

“Leave me the hell alone, Lorenzo. You’re insane if you think I’m having coffee with you now, orever for that matter.” She grabs her phone from her purse, unlocking it and opening a ride-share app.

I snatch it quickly and hold it in the air. She tries to reach for it, but she’s so short, I easily tower over her. It’s kind of cute how hard she’s trying, though.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I got carried away, okay? But to be fair, you had no problem fucking with me the other night, so sue me for thinking you were still cool with it,” I retort.

She groans, exasperated. “That was before you decided to come to my place of employment and demand I write your article. Which, by the way, is the lamest way to get close to me. Couldn’t you have asked Aria for my number?”

I frown at her comment. “I chose you because you’re a great writer.”

And because part of you wants to get closer to her.

Yeah, well…no one has to know that.

A humorless laugh escapes her lips. “Oh, for the love of God, stop pretending. Have you even read any of my pieces?”

Her question throws me off, making me take a step back with a frown. How can she go from walking and talking with so much confidence to whatever this is? Without a word, I hand her the phone. She quickly grabs it and opens the ride-share app again.

Before she requests the car, I say, “Your debut statement piece inVogue Elitewas about three years ago during New York Fashion Week. You wrote about Marc Jacobs and the brilliant way he uses fabrics to convey feelings. It was quite moving. And that’s coming from a guy who knows nothing about fashion.”

She lifts her gaze from her phone, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Okay, well?—”

I raise my hand, interrupting her. “Or how about thetime you wrote about the real story of Marilyn Monroe and how she suffered from misogynistic directors, and everything she accomplished as a woman in the fifties?”

She looks at me at a loss of words, shocked and confused. Funny, because I’m the one feeling pretty lost right now.

“Yeah.” I snort a humorless laugh. “I do my research. You don’t get to this level by being careless.”

Her shoulders stiffen. “It still doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that, especially now that we’ll be working together.”

I nod in agreement, a ping of regret flooding through me. I accept I tend to get carried away when I’m playing with fire. The thrill of the game is exciting. This is how I work. No filter and consequences be damned. Pushing her was unnecessary, but it’s like I have an angel on my right shoulder and a devil on the left.

And in my world, the devil always wins.

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