Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,15
forced you to listen.”
“It was hard to ignore. His voice carries.”
“Whatever. You were so rude to him.”
A hot flash hits my skin when I sit at my chair. I peer over my computer monitor at him. Tate finally pays me eye contact.
“He’s not as dreamy as you seem to think.”
His words sting, and the eye roll he directs at me only deepens the burn.
“Oh, come on. It was so obvious how giddy you were. You think you’re the only woman who’s ever captured his attention? You should see how women throw themselves at him at the gym.”
His words punch me in the gut. I have one happy moment in front of him, and all he can think to do is tear it apart. I shake my head, annoyed that yet again I’m allowing him to infuriate me. I wonder what shade of red my face is right now.
“Of course you would say that,” I say after a hard swallow. “You’re so pissy and hostile, you wouldn’t know how to handle a normal, pleasant interaction if it fell in your lap.” It’s not until I’m done speaking that I realize how bitter I sound.
“All I’m saying is, up your standards a bit. Find something else in life to bring you joy other than a muscly guy with a pen.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just another cute thing for Jamie to flirt with, and I’m so out of practice that I didn’t even realize it.
I shake my head to halt the negative thoughts. No. It was a short, fun, flirty exchange, and I enjoyed it. Nothing more, nothing less. Tate has no right to ruin it.
“I was just being nice. And he was just being nice, which is more than I can say for you.”
When he rolls his blue-gray eyes at me once more, my hands ball into fists. He tilts his head to the side, like I’m a child and he’s an adult teaching me a valuable lesson.
“Is that all it takes?” He grabs a pen off his desk and stretches his arm out, offering it to me. “Here’s a pen, Emmie. Will you be nice to me now?”
“Not in a million years. I’d have to like you first.”
“Oh, Jamie likes you all right,” he spits out before tossing the pen back on his desk. He sets a pile of product catalogs on his lap and shifts his focus from me to them. “He likes you enough to give you his pen, flirt with you on a loading bay, and then promise to flirt with you at a construction site later. Lucky girl.”
“Of course you would say that. You don’t like me, so you dismiss anyone who does. Makes total sense.”
“You’re so full of shit,” he mutters while thumbing through a stack of catalogs.
My jaw drops. He’s insulted my integrity and sworn at me. I won’t stand for it. “What did you say?”
“I said, you’re full of it.” One by one, he drops the catalogs onto the floor next to his feet. From this angle, I can see the mound of paper piled high underneath the open space of his desk. His gaze is still glued on the stack, like he couldn’t possibly waste precious eye contact on me.
“Watch the way you speak to me.”
He’s silent now, still surveying the catalogs on his lap, still refusing me his eyes.
A second later, I bolt out of my seat and dart to his office. Rounding the corner of his desk, I yank the catalog out of his hand. He gazes up at me in shock as I stand inches from him.
“Don’t speak to me like that. Ever.” I’m fuming.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“If you think you can swear at me like that, insult me, you are dead wrong.” I emphasize “dead wrong.” If he suddenly lost his hearing, he would still know exactly what I said, I speak it that slowly.
He raises his eyebrows at me in an expression that indicates both surprise and fear. He probably didn’t think I’d accost him. To be fair, I didn’t think I would, either, until moments ago.
I’m leaning over him now, taking stock of his features up close. I don’t think we’ve ever been this close to each other before. His forehead showcases a smattering of soft wrinkles, likely earned after spending a year frowning at me. Now that I’m inches away from his face, I notice how pink his lips are.
Then the intoxicating evergreen cologne he wears hits me. This close to him, it