Page 15 of Behind the Scenes
Sex between us—sometimes good, most of the time subpar—was just an extension of that. And just sex.
Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the memo.
It was supposed to be a casual dinner at my house. Normal and unremarkable. The same one we scheduled almost every month so we could let off some steam.
Letting off steamhad two meanings. Fucking, of course, even if not that great for me. And complaining about our jobs.
He understood. He might have been on the opposite side, but he had been through it all. Dealt with the same judges and the same crowd of people that often got on my nerves.
We both had absolutely crazy schedules, but it wasn’t hard to keep this going for as long as we had. It was one low-commitment thing a month that didn’t get in the way of our careers.
Very… practical.
Until hisproposal.
And I mean a literal proposal.
Definitely didn’t get the memo.
We had just finished our dinner and were both sipping a bit of our wine before he quite literally dropped a box on the table.
There was no buildup. No grace. No words. It was like something in our conversation randomly reminded him that this was a task he needed to get through.
A fucking proposal.
I looked at the box with a raised brow.
“What do you expect me to do with this?” I asked with a scoff.
He sat back with a smirk spreading across his boyish features. His hair was light, ruffled from running his hands through it one too many times since he got here.
I suddenly wondered if he was nervous and immediately dismissed it. Lenard didn’t get nervous. He was calculated and sure in everything he did. To a fault. His level of confidence was probably a draw to most, but combined with his attitude, only left a sour taste in my mouth.
“I expect you to marry me,” he said and motioned with his wine glass for me to pick it up.
As annoyed as I was, I couldn’t help but be curious as to what ring he’d chosen for me.
Opening it, I couldn’t stop myself from scoffing.
For someone in his tax bracket, I would have expected an extravagant ring. After all, whatever I wore on my finger would be a reflection of his wealth, not mine. But the puny ring in the box would have had people assuming things about my own income.
I took the ring out, twisting it in my grip and letting the small diamond glitter in the light.
Right before leaning forward and dropping it into his half-filled wine glass.
He had the gall to look shocked.
“Look at me,” I said, my tone turning cold. “Look at my life. My house.Thatwas an insult.” I motioned around so he could be reminded that we were in a New York penthouse that cost more than ten million, not including what it cost to import the Italian tile that coated the floors.
“It’s the logical next step,” he said and fished the ring out of his glass with a noise of disgust. Red wine splattered all over the table. My eye twitched when he shook the wine off his fingers before wiping the rest on the expensive woven tablecloth. “I thought you were one of those women who would appreciate a less gaudytype of ring, but if image matters so much to you, I’ll just get anoth?—”
“One ofthose women?” I asked with an irritated smirk. “Never mind the ring. Why did you think I would ever marry youin the first place?”
This got his hackles raised, but his anger didn’t scare me.
“You and I both knew what was going on here,” I continued. “Logical next step? The logical next step would be for us to fuck, then you leave, and we go back to our lives until next time. There has never been a promise of anything more. And thischange, whatever it is, is suspicious at best.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line and let out a sigh.
