Page 4 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"Why didn't he call me and say he wanted changes?" I bite out.
"I don't know. You'd have to ask him." She still sounds bored. "If that's all, I have another call waiting."
Click. She hangs up.
I'm shaking. Boiling. Hours of work, thousands of dollars, an artist's one-of-a-kind stage—all tossed out like garbage.
Sure, I can bill the company for it, but it's not about the money. It's the utter disrespect for my time, my energy, my creativity, and for all the effort I've put into bringing everything together to deliver a fantastic event for the ungrateful little bastard.
It feels like a violation. Like he walked into my home, tore the clothes out of my closet, and set them on fire just to see me squirm.
"Who the hell does this asshole think he is?"I glance around, not sure if I said that out loud, and if so whether anyone heard me. I tell myself to stay calm, to swallow it. That it doesn't matter, but I can't. I just can't take it anymore.
There's no way in hell I'm letting Grayson Wolfe humiliate me like this. Not in front of my team. Not in front of the whole damn city.
Carissa can't fix this. She's a puppet. A gatekeeper. Only one person holds the strings, and I need to talk tohim. If I can't get through to him on the phone, I guess I'll just have to try the old-fashioned way.
The journey to his office is a blur. I take a cab, and my anger turns everything into a kaleidoscope of colors.
I sit in the back of the yellow cab, practicing my yoga breathing techniques, but it's going to take a lot more than a few minutes of chakra balancing in the back of a taxi to fix this outrage.
Calm down,I tell myself.Don't lose your shit, just relax.
I finally get to the glittering glass and steel tower that dominates the Manhattan skyline and where his company occupies the top three floors. I take the special elevator that goes straight to the topmost floor. Carissa isn't at her desk—thank God—so I storm past the reception desk and head down the corridor, aiming for the dark mahogany double-doors to his private office, and throwing them open dramatically.
There he is.
His broad form sprawls behind his oak desk, frowning down at an iPad, his body lithe, but relaxed, yet somehow still dangerous, like a panther that hasn't been fully tamed.
Even as mad as I am, I can't help the shiver of desire that shoots through me. Sheer lust collects at the base of my stomach and between my legs, my clit echoing the pounding of my heart.
God, he's so dangerously handsome it's not funny.
Even just sitting there, he robs me of my breath. The high cheekbones, the hard jawline, and the cut of his body underneath his immaculate Armani suit.
No, no, this will not do.
I can't allow myself to go into simpering woman mode. I'm stronger than that. I've come here for a purpose, and I need to be thinking about how much I want to wring his neck, not how hot it would be to hate-fuck him across his desk.
His sharp eyes finally move from whatever he's been reading, and flicker unconcernedly up to me. Casually, and seemingly without the slightest concern for politeness, he lets his eyes sweep up and down my body, resting for a slight moment on my heaving décolletage in a way that doesn't even pretend to bepolite, before continuing onwards to meet my eyes with a strong, all-seeing, slightly mocking stare. He gives me a faint smirk and raises an eyebrow as if to say "Well?"
He's playing games with me. I know this, but I still react. I'm even more irritated with him now than I was before, and he hasn't even opened his mouth yet.
"Hello, Mr. Wolfe," I hear myself say, my voice sugar-sweet, but laced with venom. "I hope you're having a good day. Because I'm not. I just walked into the Ritz and found out they've trashed my entire setup, apparently on your personal orders. If this didn't come from you, then I apologize in advance for what I'm about to say, but if it did…"
I inhale, fury burning hot through every nerve.
"…then I need to know—do you haveanyidea how much time, effort, blood, sweat, and tears it's taken me and my team to get that place ready for your event?"
His eyes never leave mine as he listens, his expression calm, confident, a faint smile on his lips, like he finds something funny about the situation. This only serves to make me even more mad.
"In short, Mr. Grayson goddam Wolfe,how fucking dare you ruin my work?"
CHAPTER 2
Grayson
I'm already irritated before someone throws open my door and barges in, unannounced, uninvited, and without so much as a knock beforehand.
