Page 33 of Handsome Devil
My racing heart screeched into a halt. “What?”
“Can’t be sexual harassment in a workplace if we don’t work together. Don’t worry. I found you another role in a subsidiary company in the building. More on that later.”
“Are you aware that you’re a psychopath who is incapable of small talk, let alone an entire range of emotions?” I spluttered.
“I am capable of small talk,” he countered.
“No, you aren’t. You’re crude, crass, corru—”
“This is really boring.” He waved me off. “Let’s change the subject.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Did you know that your vocal cords are actually folds?” he drawled haughtily.
“I did not.” I frowned.
Was he suffering from a brain hemorrhage? One could only hope.
“Their layers of muscles, ligament, and membrane make up two liplike pink creases. They look remarkably like a vagina.”
Why was he telling me this?
“What are you doing?” I squinted.
“Nothing,” he snarled. “Talking. We’re talking. About things that aren’t my subpar personality.”
“Tate, are you trying to…make small talk with me?” I blinked. For the first time in weeks, something that resembled an honest-to-God laugh threatened to roll out of my mouth.
His eyes snapped up from the contract he was examining. He looked thoroughly repulsed.
“I’m nottrying, I’m succeeding. And it is very dull. Why do people enjoy it?”
“It builds social bonds.” I bit on my smile. “It is the human equivalent of grooming each other.”
“Can we lick each other’s genitals instead?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Cats and dogs figured out a better way to handle their social calls.”
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Why am I here, Tate?”
His eyes drifted to my lower lip, and my pulse hitched.
It wasn’t the first time Tate’s eyes lingered on my mouth.
But it was the first time he did it after blackmailing me into marriage.
“We’re here for a business conference. Oh good. I see your notebook is open. Take the minutes for this meeting.”
I knew Tate frighteningly well. I knew what pleased him (punctuality, order, neatness, logicality, routine), and I also knew what drove him bonkers (stupidity, inattention to detail, sloppiness).
“What’s on the agenda?” I uncapped my pen.
“Us.”
I put the pen down. I didn’t want to talk about us.
Frankly, I would prefer there wasn’t an us at all.
“If this is about my job—”
