Page 66 of Broken Lines

My face goes red as he sneers at me.

“I’ve met some real star fuckers in my day, sweetheart. But whoring yourself out for an interview—”

My hand connects with his famous face.

Hard.

Me slapping the absolute shit out of Jackson reverberates through the sound-perfected room, until everything goes silent.

My face falls in horror as we go still as statues.

But he doesn’t whirl on me. He doesn’t explode, or hit me back, or roar or yell or scream. He just slowly turns back to me, and his eyes go livid as they stab into me quietly.

“Jackson—”

“Get. Out.”

The words are pure ice, chilling me to my core.

“Jackson…” I swallow. “I amsosorry. I…I didn’t mean—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” He thunders, ripping a choked gasp of fear from my throat.

But then suddenly, the absurdity of the situation hits me. He’s mad because…yes, I slapped him. But it’s more than that. I mean it’s not like Istabbedhim.

And then it hits me.

He’s mad because…what, because I wouldn’t put out for him? Because he had the gall to assume any woman around him who even looks at him wants to fuck him, or act out whatever porn fantasy he’s woken up with?

The heat from earlier chills to cold fury. And suddenly, I’m not scared anymore. I’m just fucking pissed off and a little disgusted.

My lips curl as I stare up at him.

“Youfraillittle man baby,” I sneer. “Yourpoorfucking ego—”

“My ego is fine,” he rumbles darkly. “It’s your ass that’s going to be bruised when you land on it, after I throw you out the fucking door in ten seconds.”

I stare at him, shaking my head.

“Pathetic.”

“Nine.”

“So. Fucking.Pathetic.”

“Eight.”

I swallow, the “last stand” in me melting away.

“Seven.”

Suddenly, I’m scrambling past Jackson, out the door, and then bolting down the hall. I can hear him marching after me as I bolt into the living room. I can feel his eyes on me, my back to him and my face bright red as I start to shove my things into my backpack. I’m sure he’s staring at my ass as I yank on the still damp jeans and boots.

I don’t look back at him. I just ignore him completely, my face absolutely fuming with heat and embarrassment as I bolt for the door and throw my bag over my shoulder.

I wasnottrying to fucking seduce him. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s not why I was dressed like…well, embarrassingly like that. But he doesn’t want to hear that. He won’t hear that.

At the door, I stop, whirling leveling my eyes at him. He’s just standing there in the archway from the entryway to the living room, leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over his bare chest with those sweatpants still slung infuriatingly low on his gorgeous hips.

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