Page 45 of Selfish Suit

“I won’t.” I shove my phone into my bag and leave without another word. I walk straight out the glass doors, past the elevators, and down the hallway until I find one of the dark, unused client offices.

Shutting the door, I lock it and brace my hand against the desk.

What the hell are you doing, Ivy?

No, what the hell is wrong with HIM?

I take several deep breaths and try not to scream. Then I count down from fifty, so I calm down and leave this office and Dominic’s random rage behind.

Right as I’m getting ready to leave, the door handle jiggles.

I step back.

“Ivy...” It’s Dominic. “Open the door.”

I stare straight ahead. Maybe if I stay silent, he’ll just go away.

“Ivy, I’m not going to ask you again,” he says. “Open this door.”

I still don’t move.

The lock slowly turns and he steps inside, shutting the door behind him.

“I don’t appreciate being talked to like that in front of my staff,” he says, his voice low.

“Fuck you,” I say. “None of us appreciated being talked to like that either.”

“I followed you to fix some of the damage,” he says. “I believe we both lost a bit of control.”

“No, only one of us did.” I shake my head. “You. So, can you just admit that you’re taking out some personal frustration you have with me on everyone?”

“Yes.”

“I…” I stop, shocked that he’s admitted it. “Can you tell me what I’ve done to you, then? I didn’t realize you were this pissed at me until then.”

“You haven’t done anything,” he says. “But I am having a bit of a personal problem with us.”

“I wasn’t aware we were an ‘us.’”

Silence stretches between us, but he doesn't come closer.

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say that last sentence,” he says, voice low.

“Don’t.” I swallow. “I definitely did.”

The second the words leave my mouth, he closes the distance—his hands tangled in my hair, mouth crashing down on mine.

The kiss is messy. Rough. Every ounce of tension from the last few days poured into the way he claims me.

I try to stay mad—try to push him back, but his grip tightens at my waist and a low growl escapes him as our bodies press together.

He backs me against the desk, knocking pens and papers to the floor, lips on my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone as his hands tear at the buttons of my shirt like they’ve personally offended him.

“You really want to pretend this isn’t happening?” he rasps against my throat.

“Shut up.” I yank his belt open, tugging him closer. “I’m still pissed at you.”

“Good.” He shoves my panties to the side like they’re in the way. “Then you won’t forget this.”

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