Page 20 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
He clicks his tongue. "You’re going in the wrong direction."
I whip around, and he drums his fingers on his massive chest.
"I don’t have much time."
I swallow. Of course. He is the client; this is his office. He knows where everything is.
"Fine." I round the table, drop into a chair.
"Didn’t give you permission to sit."
I stiffen. "Controlling much?"
He drums his fingers on his chest, "I can't tolerate childish tantrums. Clearly, you don’t have what it takes to manage our account." He pivots on his heels, heads for the door.
In that moment, I have never hated anyone more. Superior jackass with a God complex. If I didn’t need his business desperately, I’d have told him that to his face, too.
"Wait."
He keeps going.
"Hold on, please."
He opens the door.
"Look, I'm sorry. I apologize. I shouldn't have said that."
"Too little, too late." He glares at me, "You should have thought of that before you directly contradicted me."
The blood fades from my cheeks. What am I doing here trying to negotiate with a man who has clearly lost touch with reality so much that he doesn’t see anything except the tip of his own nose? His strong patrician nose that hooks above a square jaw and hints at the strength of his obstinacy. A strong will that could crush me if I let it.
If you give in now, you are going to regret it.
I need his business, and if I show my desperation, I can kiss any hope of gaining his account goodbye. No, it is time to change course. To hold my own, to fight him at his own game, with his own tactics. Say something, anything, to keep him here. I gulp, then toss my head, "Fine, leave then."
He frowns.
"But you’ll never hear about how I was going to put myself at your disposal twenty-four-seven."
