Page 32 of Howl You Doin?
“Only because you challenge me at every opportunity.”
His expression is murderous, and I know mine isn’t much better. He can get under my skin so fast.
His eyes flick to the door behind me and his gaze narrows.
“Oh get over yourself—” I start.
Connor moves to stand, his mouth opening to say something, but the door smacks against the wall. I gasp as I shift in my seat to see the big man I ran into in the hallway earlier shoving his way into the room.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” His gaze appears humored, as if he knew I was in here and wanted to purposefully interrupt. Kind of weird, almost stalkerish, considering I saw him in the hallway not even fifteen minutes ago. His eyes meet mine. “Oh. Hello again.”
It finally registers where I know him from. Then again, I would be an idiot not to, considering his face is all over the internet as a world-renowned big shot with so much money he could blow his nose with hundred-dollar bills and not bat an eyelid.
“Oh my gosh. Wow! You’re Frank Stein.”
He smiles, and a dimple shows in his left cheek as he holds out a hand for me to shake.
Oh, my stars. I numbly take it, and his whole hand swallows mine.
Connor’s voice sounds furious as he says, “You’ve met?”
Chapter 10
Connor O’Doyle
Beware of dog.
For some reason,Frank’s arrival at the castle wasn’t as problematic until now. I have the distinct impression if he so much as touches her, I will out him, reveal myself, and the whole fucking castle will be doomed.
His hand engulfs hers, and a shudder runs through me.
The hairs on my arms stand on end and my brow furrows when Frank smiles, his expression mirroring that of an almost happy person.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I announce.
“Who?” they both answer, and I’m instantly furious.
Whitley’s frown disappears, a shy smile I’ve never seen on her face pulling at her pouty lips as they stare at one another. What the fuck?
My pulse races, but I slide a nonchalant grin on my face. “Frank. What are you doing?” I ask with a calm that belies the rage thundering in my veins.
“Oh, I forgot to mention something from our earlier discussion, old friend.” He says this preposterous bullshit and turns back to Whitley. “Sorry to interrupt, Miss...?”
“Whitt.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, becoming this strange schoolgirl instead of the hellcat she shows me. “Whitley Whitt.”
“Charmed,” the giant fuckwad says.
“Frank,” I bite out, my claws threatening to gouge into my desk.
“Hmm. What’s wrong, old chap?” he says, and I notice a tightness around his eyes that I don’t trust. He glances down at her before shifting his focus back to me.
I may not like the woman, but I’ll be fucked if he goes near her. Or any of the guests.
“Are you staying at the castle long?” he asks her, the smile on his face completely at odds with the monster I know him to be. Frank never smiles.
No. He’s up to something, and he’s trying to dig.
“I’m the chef,” she says with a light giggle. “If you need anything specific made, I’m happy to whip it up for you, but I’m sure it’s nothing like your professional chefs.”
