Page 39 of The Rules
"Blondie," he greets, voice easy, amused. "You've got a very persistent admirer."
Kath arches a brow, waiting. Unbothered.
Ian leans forward, tapping his fingers against the desk.
A rhythm. A thought. A setup.
"Mr. S. came back." He tilts his head, studying her reaction. "Again."
Then, too casual—too calculated:
"And this time? He didn’t just ask. He put down triple your rate."
Kath doesn't react.
She rolls a shrug over her shoulders, keeping her voice flat. "And?"
Ian watches her, closely. Then his tone shifts, softer and gentler. "And I told him I'd talk to you." He tilts his head, curious but not pressing. "He's respectful. Pays ridiculously well." A pause, then a smirk. "And let's be honest—you keep him on his toes."
Her laugh is light. Casual. Too casual. "You say that like I should be flattered."
But Ian doesn't let it slide. His smirk fades, replaced by something quieter. Something knowing. "I'm saying you should consider it."
Silence falls between them, the kind that weighs heavy.
Ian leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose like he's already figured her out. "You know, I don't push my girls into anything."
"But I also know people, Blondie."
Kath's stomach twists. Her pulse kicks against her ribs, unsteady. She knows when Ian drops his voice like this, she's about to hear something she won't like.
"And I've been doing this long enough," he continues, slow and careful, "to know when someone's trying to convince themselves of something that isn't true."
Kath swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. A single second stretched too long, the weight of Ian's words settling over her like a thick fog.
She wasn't convincing herself of anything.
Right?
Exhaling slowly, she forced a smirk and tossed her hair over one shoulder, the picture of casual indifference. Smooth. Easy. Unshaken.
"I'm not interested," she said, but the words came too quickly—too practiced. Her tone was light, almost dismissive. Too light.
Ian didn’t argue. Didn’t push. He simply watched her, gaze steady—measuring something. Reading past the deflection like it was printed in bold.
Then—he did something new. He leaned back, slow. Tilted his head. And set the trap.
"You have until tomorrow night to decide."
The words echoed long after he stopped speaking. Final. Inescapable. And terrifyingly real.
Kath froze, her breath catching just slightly in her throat. "...What?"
Ian shrugged, utterly unbothered. "If you don't want him,
I need to let him know." A pause. Calm. Practical. "I run a business, Blondie. Can't leave my best-paying clients in limbo."
Fuck. Fuck.
