Page 65 of Positively Pricked
I gave Zane a hard look. "A background check doesn't give you permission to pry, at least not like that."
"Wrong again," he said. "Now, you want some advice?"
"From you?" I crossed my arms. "No."
"Yeah? Well, you're getting it anyway." His tone grew harder. "Read the fine print.Always."
The longer this little interview – or whatever this was – went on, the worse I was feeling. It wasn't just his attitude. It was the way he'd spelled out my financial shortcomings like I was some sort of loser.
I felt my jaw tighten.Damn it.I wasn't a loser, and I refused to feel like one.
Suddenly, I didn't care whether this was a good opportunity or not. And I didn't care that I had no other offers. With one swift motion, I tore the application in two and tossed it onto his desk.
Take that, you prick.
He didn't even look down. "That's a copy, you know."
"What?"
"It's a copy," he repeated. "Lesson two. Always keep the original."
Once more, I felt like strangling him. Of course, I knew the application wasn't the original, because I'd submitted the whole thing by computer.
Technically, there was no original, as he obviously realized. So what was this, anyway? Just another way to make me feel stupid?"
I told him, "I don't need any lessons."
"If you say so."
"Idosay so." My mouth tightened. "And you know what? I'm leaving."
"All right." His gaze shifted to the door. "No one's stopping you."
"Good." And with that, I stood and turned away. I marched toward the door with my head held high and a silent promise to not look back.
I'd made it only halfway when my foot snagged something in my path. Before I even realized what was happening, I'd done a full face-plant onto his fancy carpet, yelping, "Son-of-a-bitch!"
I scrambled to my feet and turned to glare – first at him, and then at that stupid "fuck-me" shoe, lying near my feet. On impulse, I picked it up and hurled it straight at him – or at least, it wassupposedto go straight at him. But my aim sucked, and the shoe went careening into his desktop lamp.
The lamp toppled and crashed to the floor. To my infinite frustration, it didn't even break.
How unsatisfying.
And through all of this, Zane hadn't even moved, not even a twitch. Instead, he sat, watching me with his usual cool detachment.
Asshole.
My face was flaming, and my breath was coming in short, angry bursts. In a fit of pique, I yelled, "That wasyourfault!"
His eyebrows lifted. "The shoe or the lamp?"
"Both!"
"Lesson three —"
"I don't need another freaking lesson!"
Once again, he leaned back in his chair. "You're awful mouthy for a new hire."
