Thorne Princess(17)
“Not my first choice for a weapon, but it beats the banana in Scary Movie.”
I huffed to cover the embarrassment. Pain and shame swirled in the pit of my stomach like eels. “Give it back to me. That was a mistake.”
He must have thought I was a sex maniac. Just another rumor I’d never bothered to correct. According to the tabloids, I’d gone to bed with more than twenty Hollywood heartthrobs. No one, not even Keller, knew the truth.
That I was still a virgin.
That I’d never even gone on a date.
Not a real one, anyway.
Ransom tossed my vibrator behind his shoulder, ignoring my request. “Make sure you charge it often, because like I said, no boys under this roof while I’m here. Sleep well?” He moved along my room like a demon, seeming to hover over the floor. He flung open all the curtains. Natural light spilled into the room.
Not a vampire, then.
“None of your business.”
He tsked. “Where are your manners, princess?”
I was about to tell him they were hiding in whatever hole his decency had crawled up into, when he raised a manila file in the air, boomeranging it my way.
“My company’s contract. Read it.”
I tossed it on my nightstand, unblinking. “Sorry, my literary taste runs more sophisticated.”
“I wouldn’t believe that even if there wasn’t a copy of the National Enquirer on your nightstand.”
Touché. I’d only bought it because they’d published a nip-slip picture of mine that looked altered. No matter how bad it seemed, though, one thing was for sure—Ransom looked like a predator, but not the kind who wanted to eat me whole. The way he looked at me, with such disinterest, told me there was no way he was going to try to touch me in a sexual way.
I examined my fingernails with boredom. “I might skim it in my spare time if you play your cards right.”
“You’ll read it now.” His glacial steeliness made my skin pebble. “Aloud. We need to discuss the details.”
My heart stopped inside my chest. I felt like I was about to throw up. I couldn’t read it aloud. I also couldn’t tell him that. What kind of kick would he get from knowing the truth about me? Had Dad even made him sign an NDA? Of course he had. He would never risk having the truth about his daughter come out.
Drawing a shaky breath, I grinned. “Know what? I changed my mind about skimming. I don’t feel like reading your stupid manual after all. Not now. Not ever.”
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, looking morbidly bored. I wondered if anything in the world could fluster him. He seemed so heartless, so robotic. There was no way this man had a partner. No one could deal with this kind of impassive demeanor.
“What?” I barked defensively.
My face was unbearably hot. Sweat pooled under my armpits. I was so sickeningly close to danger that the metallic taste of humiliation exploded on my tongue.
He produced something from the back pocket of his jeans and raised it in the air. My phone. The screen was popping with messages and notifications.
The battery was so low, the line was red.
A grin found his sculpted lips. “Read the contract, agree to the terms and conditions, and you can have your phone back. How does that sound?”
Divine.
But that didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t…
Not without sufficient time and a clear head…
“I’m not for sale,” I said detachedly. “And I’m not reading your stupid contract.”
“You want to play?” His smile widened, and it was so mean, so full of venom, I could feel it in my bones. “Let’s play.”
He turned around and walked away, leaving me to cry into my pillow.
Stupid, stupid Hallie.
Two hours and a mental pep talk later, I mustered the courage to traipse out of my room, descend the stairs, and venture into the kitchen. I found Ransom sporting a sweat-soaked wifebeater and gray sweatpants, making himself an egg white and spinach omelet on my stovetop.
His muscles glistened. Every inch of him was long and lithe. My eyes lingered on his veiny forearms. On the outline of his abs, as they appeared through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The perfection of him—so acute, so mouthwatering—depressed me. I knew, despite his horrible personality, that he was probably considered a godsend to women.
What surprised me, though, was the realization I did not disagree with said women. I did find him attractive. And I never found anyone attractive.
Dragging my feet toward the Nespresso machine, I poured myself a cup.
“I’ll have one, too.” Ransom flipped his omelet expertly.
“Do I look like a Starbucks?” I bit out.
He paused with the spatula in his hand, frowning. “Expensive, overrated, with an obsequious, post-liberal belief system. Now that you mention it…”
“The only beverage I’m willing to serve you is poison.” I slammed my cup on the granite, coffee sloshing everywhere.
“Bad news for your phone, which is currently still in one piece, but I understand.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a tyrant?” I could swear smoke was coming out of my nostrils.
“Yes, often. Your point?”
He slid the airy, fluffy omelet onto his plate. Despite his flat, husky tenor, I recognized something in his face I hadn’t seen before. It was confusion, or maybe mild surprise. I had a feeling this guy was not used to people standing up to him. I caught him off-guard. He’d expected me to acclimate to my new situation after he locked me in my room for a whole night.