Page 42 of The Love Interest
“I don’t think I’m rude to you. I’m just not as nice to you as you’d like me to be.”
“I don’t understand why you can’t be nice to me—it’s not my fault I’m in your class. I tried to get out of it.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then what else can I do, Emmett?”
“Don’t call me Emmett.”
“Veronica calls you Emmett.”
“Veronica doesn’t need a spanking.”
She gasps. There’s fire in those eyes and I swear I can feel the heat from between her legs, and I want to pin her to the door and kiss her, but I can’t. I’ve managed to stop kissing her once, but I’ll never be able to stop kissing her again, not if I start now. Not with this kind of buildup. I retreat behind my desk.
“You need to leave. Now.”
That lower lip is quivering even more now and her beautiful brown eyes are tearing up, and I know I went too far.
Shit.
“I’m sorry if I was rude, Fiona.”
This is where any other woman would say something pithy, drop the mic, and leave my office. But Fiona isn’t like any other woman. She stomps over and slaps her hands down on the edge of my desk. “I’ve been a waitress for most of my life, and a lot of assholes have been rude to me and I know they aren’t sorry even when they say they are. I don’t know what your story is. I don’t know if you’re rude to other people or if it’s just me, but you need to figure out a way to stop being a dick to me. I know I shouldn’t be sayingdickto my prof, but I also know my prof shouldn’t be this big of a dick to me. I won’t be coming to your office again. I will continue to write Regency romance novels, and I won’t be discouraged by you or anyone else, no matter how moody and snobby you are.” She pushes herself away from the desk and mutters, “I can’t believe I actually liked you.”
And now she storms out of my office, leaving the door open and taking all the oxygen with her.
20
EMMETT
I’m at my sister’s penthouse to babysit Bettina, and I’m grateful to have something to do now besides relive yesterday’s brief, disastrous meeting with Fiona. It’s also just good to see two people in New York who are obligated to love me no matter what. Celeste is wearing a nice dress and coat, scurrying around trying to find the right pair of shoes so she can meet her husband for drinks with some important clients.
“I’m not sure when we’ll be back. Bettina’s in bed. School night, obviously, so she needs to go to sleep, but I promised you’d tell her a story.”
“Of course I will.”
She squeezes my arm while passing me on the way to the closet in the front hall.
“Am I a rude person?”
“Yes.”
“You could have at least paused for three seconds while pretending to think about it.”
“You could at least pretend to not be a moody rude asshole sometimes.”
“Fair enough.”
She finds the shoes she’s looking for and slips them on. “Are you okay? Are the classes going well? Is it good for you? Are you inspired, at least? How’s the novel coming along?”
I can only rub my forehead and nod in response to all those questions, and she needs to leave now anyway.
“Well, I think Dad’s really happy you took the job. And Mom’s happy that he’s happy.”
“Good to know.”
“We’ll talk when I get home. Do not let her get up, and don’t let her eat anything with sugar in it. Shit, I’m late.”
