Page 14 of Bourbon Wishes
"You told me that we had a meeting tonight."
"And that's what you chose to wear?" He arches a brow, meeting my gaze, all self-possessed arrogance and silent amusement. "Interesting choice."
"There's nothing wrong with my dress."
"You mean other than the fact that it has every man in here desperate to be seated across from you right now? You're right." He takes a sip of wine, eyeing me over the rim. "There's nothing wrong with it. What's wrong is how goddamn beautiful you look in it."
"You did not just say that," I growl.
He shrugs. "You chose to wear it."
"The meeting, Bastian," I snap, trying to drag him back on subject before I crawl across the table into his lap. I'm not entirely sure if I want to kiss him or kill him. As usual.
"It was canceled."
Yeah, I'm definitely going to scream. Or strangle him. I bet I could wrap his not-black-enough-tie around his throat and choke the life out of him with it. Half the people in the restaurant would probably offer assistance. To me, not him. He's lived here his entire life. They know he's a tyrant.
"The meeting was canceled, and you didn't think to tell me?" I say, carefully enunciating each word.
He shrugs like it's not a big deal. "You need to eat. I need to eat. Who we do it with didn't seem relevant."
Oh, my god.
"There was no meeting, was there?"
"I already told you that it was canceled."
I stare at him for a long, silent moment. One thing he's not is a good liar. He may be Satan in an Italian suit, but he has this thing about honesty. It matters to him. And right now, he's lying through his teeth. Badly.
I rise to my feet without another word. My heels clack against the floor as I march out. Everyone looks in my direction, but I don't even care if walking out on Bastian in this damn dress has the whole town talking. He's lying, and if I stay, I may actually stab him with a salad fork.
I make it all the way to the parking lot before he grabs my arm, spinning me around.
"If you don't let go of me right now, I swear to God, you're going to have to surgically remove your balls from your throat, Bastian Grayson," I growl, tugging against his hold.
"You need to eat, Constance."
A completely unhinged laugh spills from my lips. I'm losing it. He has driven me straight around the bend to homicidal rage.
"Are you kidding me right now? You manipulated me to get me here! There was no meeting."
"I told you it was canceled."
"By who? Who were we meeting?"
"Investors."
"Which investors?"
He grits his teeth, unwilling to tell another lie…but clearly not ready to confess, either.
"If you don't tell me the truth in the next two seconds, I'm turning in my resignation tomorrow, and your name will be all over my explanation as to why," I threaten, my voice saccharine. "How long do you think you can survive with half of your family actively plotting to poison your coffee?"
His jaw flexes as he stares at me. "Who were you talking to today?"
"What?"
"In your office," he says. "You were on the phone with someone."
