Page 7 of The Innovator

I smirked, loving the slight French accent that made her sarcasm sexy. “Maybe I just wanted to give someone a chance to walk outside for some fresh air.”

“How thoughtful.” She rolled her eyes. “We’re all busy, Grayson. I can open the window and smell the fresh air.” She crossed her arms. “Anyway, since you’re here andsinceyou’re a man whoknowswhat he wants, show me when you want your warehouse renovation project completed by signing all the documents. Efficiency is a trait for a man whoknowswhat he wants. Don’t you agree?” She pasted a smile on her face, and I wanted to pull her closer so I could examine those full luscious lips that dared mock me.

I wasn’t in the mood for mockery today, but from her, I could entertain it.

“What happened to ‘Mr. Wu’? I like it when you address me that way.”

“It wasn’t meant to be endearing.”

“It sounds affectionate to me,” I said, studying how her lips formed into a pout and wondered how they would feel around my cock.

Unlike other women, she wasn’t mocking me to be funny. She was mocking me because she thought I’d ordered Robert to have her get me coffee. She was painting me as an arrogant asshole who couldn’t get his own drink or a man wasting her time when she could have been doing something more important.

I could read between the lines and decode her facial expression.

One, I had my fancy coffee machine in my office where I made it myself and often for others when I felt generous. Two, her preconceived notion of me had roots far older than today, so this poor cup of coffee had been the recipient of her accumulated aggression toward me. Maybe this coffee was the catalyst for our interesting business relationship.

I had no idea why I wanted to explain it to her. Explanation took time, effort, and energy—none of which I wanted to exert right now. It was no one’s business, and I didn’t give a damn what others thought of me.

Surviving in the business and architectural world, I’d developed a skin as hard as stone. People’s criticism of me or my work had no effect. It did in the beginning, but I was no longer young and clueless.

If I was a better man, I’d let her get back to work and forget this conversation ever happened. But at the moment, I wasn’t that kind of man.

I couldn’t stop myself from taunting her. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Stress, anger, sadness, lack of sleep, confusion, arousal, and a desperate need to escape pushed me to press her buttons. How many buttons did I have to push before she went off the ledge?

I might as well play the arrogant asshole to perfection.

“Have a seat, Miss Chapelle, and I’ll sign the documents for you.”

CHAPTERTHREE

NATALIE

The tension in the room throbbed, and I felt its force skipping along my spine. I straightened my posture in an attempt to shake it off.

It didn’t work.

A table separated us, but it might as well not have existed because nothing could stop the powerful energy zipping between us. My stomach quivered from his arrogant smirk that seemed to reach my skin. How could one smirk have so much power?

On a stunning face like his, a scowl would look attractive. Damn him. Maybe everyone in heaven was all drunk on the day he was born and accidentally blessed him with sinful good looks. They missed their mark on his personality, though.

I didn’t mean to overhear his conversation earlier. His face had been taut with tension, and his voice sharp like broken glass. It reminded me of my prior phone calls to his office.

I should’ve sat down and watched him sign those documents. That would’ve been a miracle and worth the effort of me bringing him coffee. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have had a problem. People had brought me coffee when they went out, and I’d reciprocated. No big deal.

But this was Grayson Wu. This was a man who had refused to help me.Why should I get him coffee when he couldn’t even sign my documents?

That had been the main reason for my displeasure and not the act of getting him a drink. Though if he’d choked on his own ego, then I’d consider getting him a bottle of water without being asked. I wasn’t a mean person, but I was adaptable—a chameleon. When someone whipped out rude comments, I’d return them in kind. I’d learned that some people could only understand me when I used their tactic on them. Sort of like rudeness could only comprehend rudeness because kindness was too far from the spectrum, making it appear more like an alien language.

See? I washelpinghis comprehension by being rude back.

You make no sense.

I shoved that inner voice away. Not because there was reason for it, but because I needed to feel this dislike so that it could dull the strange tension squirming in my stomach.

And in my loins.

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