Page 58 of Lavish
“My way has worked time and time again.”
“Foryou,” he snapped. “But this isn’t just about you. You want to bulldoze your way through everything, but news flash, Serena—you’re not the only person in this partnership. My way works too.”
“Your way is slow. We don’t have time to ass-kiss.”
“And your way is reckless.”
We glared at each other, neither one willing to bend. The air between us was thick, electric, the tension thrumming like a wire about to snap.
Finally, Miles exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You know what? Fuck it. Do whatever you want. Clearly, you think you know everything. I’m going to get some shallots.”
He turned on his heel and walked off, shoving through the crowd of the farmers’ market without looking back. I stoodthere, my jaw tight, my hands clenched at my sides, furious at him—at myself—at this entire situation. I felt my phone vibrating in my purse, and I exhaled loudly, reaching in for it.
It was a text from Mama.
Be at the gallery tomorrow for your sister’s exhibit. Wear something appropriate. And bring Erik and me your updated business plan. I want both companies forecasted through Q4.
No greeting. No asking how I was after marrying our mortal enemy. Just the usual: be present, be polished, and produce results.
CHAPTER 13
Serena
“You could try to smile,”Miles muttered as the limo slowed in front of the Lush Art Gallery.
“Now you’re talking to me?” I glanced at him.
“Yes,wife.”
If he keeps tapping that ring against the door, I swear I’ll snap his fingers off.
“Pettiness is beneath you, Miles. Grow up.”
The limo was too small for this conversation. Or maybe it was just too small forhim.Miles was too big, too broad, too imposing in the worst kind of way.
And right now, he was close.
His thigh brushed mine, the heat of him seeping through my dress.I smoothed my palm over my knee, pretending I wasn’t affected. Miles exhaled a laugh, low and sharp, the sound of a man who wasn’t amused in the slightest.
I kept my gaze forward, refusing to look at him.
The limo turned a tight corner, forcing him to press his thigh more firmly against mine. He didn’t move. Neither did I.
Miles made a noise in the back of his throat. “You don’t get tired of this, do you?”
“I don’t get tired of winning.”
“Funny. Neither do I.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I can make your life hell, Sunny. It’s better to play nice with me.”
His fingers found the hem of my dress and slipped beneath it.His fingertips grazed the bare skin of my thigh—light, teasing, maddening.
Something passed between us then, something slow-burning and dangerous, tangled up in old wounds and new grudges. “What are you doing, Miles?”
“You don’t get tired of playing games,” he murmured, his lips near my ear, “but you haven’t realized”—his fingers slid higher—“I play dirtier than you now. I’m not the same.”
I swallowed hard. My pulse was in my throat, my thighs, everywhere.
“Then play,” I whispered.
