Hard Beat(14)

Shit, we f*cked that over last night the minute my lips touched hers.

My breathing is labored and when I force myself to step back, I can read the look on her face. I swear to all things holy, she must be the best damn actress on the face of the earth. Beaux’s eyes are wide, her bottom lip is trembling, and her eyes are welling with tears.

I love and I hate the sight of her tears all at once. I love them because it means it just might have been a coincidence, and I hate them because it means there is no way in hell she’s tough enough to survive the despair here if she can’t handle my chewing her out.

She wipes her palms on her jeans, and I focus on the motion, because I’m always leery of a woman wielding tears. When she doesn’t speak but just stands her ground, I look up and meet her eyes to find anger and disbelief.

“Rest assured, I knew who you were, Tanner Thomas… but I didn’t know until this morning that you were my new partner.”

I snort at the word partner, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against the wall. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Convenient.”

“Look, Pulitzer, I don’t need your goddamn chivalry. I can handle myself just fine,” she says with a sneer.

I reach out and grab her arm as she skirts past me. “You sure as f*ck needed me last night.” She wants to be a bitch? Well, I can be a grade A *. She has no idea who she’s messing with. We already started this relationship with a bang, so why not keep it going that way, right?

“Wow. You forget all of your women that quick? Last I checked, you were the one who made the first move in the stairwell.”

“Really?” My voice escalates with each letter of the word. “Parade that body of yours around and —”

“What? Be a woman? The audacity,” she says, feigning horror. She stops trying to shrug out of my grip and instead surprises me when she steps farther into me. “Let’s make one thing clear. Chivalry is dead. I wanted you. I had you. And I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“You’d better come at me with better lines than that if you think I’m going to buy your bullshit lies. I believed them once. Not again, Beaux… or is it BJ?” We stare at each other in a silent standoff.

“It’s both, but you have to earn the right to call me Beaux, and it seems you already lost that,” she says as she lifts her chin in defiance. And shit, in less than twenty-four hours I believe I’ve met both Beaux and BJ. The funny thing is I’m not sure which one I like more. Or if I like either at all.

“Why’d you bolt last night? It’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?” I’m still feeling unsure about her motives and I hate it. I’m a man who survives by following his gut instinct, and right now my gut isn’t telling me shit. So goddamn frustrating.

Beaux steps toward me, steel in her posture, and spite in her voice. “Did you think you were that special?” she asks, causing me to immediately bristle at the comment, male ego front and center. “Don’t act so surprised. I found your bed easily in the dark, so why do you think I couldn’t have found the door so easily afterward?”

Touché.

“I don’t like being played.”

“And I don’t like being judged.” She takes a step back. “Now that we got that out of the way, let go of my arm.”

I keep my hand on her for a moment longer, wanting more from the answers than she’s giving me. Still I’m aware we both had sex last night willingly. I didn’t ask questions, didn’t want to know more – and that’s on me.

But I’ll put a whole helluva lot of blame on her right now too. I think there’s more to this story than she’s telling me. I keep thinking about that look in her eyes through the darkness of the room last night, and I can so easily see that she was deceiving me. And that’s sitting about as comfortable as a chastity belt on a hooker.

“Great, then I’ll expect the call from Rafe shortly that you’ve changed your mind about the position.”

“Fuck you.” She yanks her arm back this time, and I let it go willingly, watching every nuance of her reaction to try and figure out the truth here.

“Do you talk to your mother with a mouth like that?” She’s such a contradiction. Elegant with the mouth of a trucker and a body made for sin. No wonder I’m intrigued and pissed simultaneously.

“Shall I say it again? I don’t have a problem repeating myself. And just so you know, I’m damn good. My candids earned me the spot.” She starts to walk away and then stops. “Better yet, I will call Rafe. I’ll ring him right up and let him know how emotionally unstable you are. How you refuse to perform the song and dance for the brass by taking me under your wing. We’ll see how long you last before they yank you out of here for being the goddamn liability that they fear you are.” That victorious smirk of hers returns with a vengeance, and she turns on her heel and stalks out of the office before her words hit home and take hold.

My feet remain rooted in place as I watch her ass sway from side to side down the hall until she turns the corner. Even when she’s gone from sight, I can’t move. My thoughts collide together with her words to shake the sarcasm from them so that I can really hear what she said.

And as much as it pains me to admit it, she’s absolutely right. If I was pissed a minute ago, I’m livid now. I start to move on reflex, pacing without thought because I need to work off some of this anger while I process my thoughts.