Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,49
home and forget this ever happened,” he grumbles, his eyes flashing.
I jerk my chin higher. “Your hearing is just fine. It’s your listening that seems to be the problem.”
Shit.
I did it again. Apparently, I missed the lesson on thinking-before-speaking in kindergarten.
“Gemma,” he says menacingly.
“Chase,” I mock. “Put me down.”
“Not until you admit there’s something here.”
“Why would I admit to something that isn’t true?”
His throat does the angry rattle thing again.
Yikes.
“Gemma, I’m not playing this game with you.”
“You’re the one playing games!” I say, my voice incredulous. “You and your gonzo cousin up there.”
“We’ve been through this.” His jaw clenches tighter. “He’s dangerous. It isn’t a game.”
I snort. “Maybe you’re overreacting.”
Before Chase can respond, Jim from Maintenance interrupts.
“I’m going to try to do a remote factory reset to get the elevator jumpstarted. Should take five to ten minutes, at the most. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to call the firefighters. Just hang tight, in there, okay? We’ll get you sorted out in no time.”
Firefighters? Shit!
Chase doesn’t move or acknowledge Jim’s interruption.
“Chase!” I smack my palms against his shoulders. “Did you not hear Jim? Put me down! We have to get out of here.”
He’s silent and the muscle is jumping in his cheek again. Instead of addressing the fact that we need to leave, like, pronto, he mutters, “I’m not overreacting.”
“Jesus,” I groan. Apparently, we aren’t leaving until this conversation is finished. “Really, this again?”
He stares at me with a stony expression.
“Fine, have it your way. But you can talk to the firefighters, when they get here.” I try to shrug but I’m pressed too tight against the wall to move. “All I know is, Brett seemed perfectly nice to me. Sure, maybe he’s a little intense, but isn’t it possible you’re projecting your own anger and hatred onto him?” I ask. “I mean, yeah, he probably brought me up there just to mess with you, but maybe that’s where it ends. I don’t think he’s actually going to do anything to me.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” Chase snaps, fury like I’ve never heard before lacing his tone.
“I know that before you got there, we were having a totally normal conversation about art. Yeah, your cousin needs to cool it with the lingering stares — I don’t care how much money you have, that’s just not polite — and yes, there was a weird, brief tangent about thoroughbreds, but otherwise it was a totally normal business meeting.”
I’m so busy talking, I don’t notice he’s gone completely still at my words, every muscle in his body locking into place with tension.
“Really, Chase, you’re overreacting to all of this.”
I trail off into silence. After a moment, he breaks it and his voice is so intense, so guttural, I barely recognize it.
“What did you say?”
On a scale of 1 to angry, he’s shot straight past seeing red and landed on blood boiling.
His eyes, unblinking, cut to mine in an unrelenting stare that sends shivers down my spine.
“Thoroughbreds,” he says, and I can tell by the pure fury in his voice, he’s still a tad bit vexed.
“Um..”
“Gemma.” I worry steam is going to start leaking from his ears. “I’m not going to ask again.”
Okay, maybe he’s more than a tad bit vexed.
I gulp again. “I don’t know! He just starting talking about how he knows you better than anyone, and how he can read you, and then he was telling me about your grandfather’s horses.” I’m breathing hard, trying to hold his stare but, frankly, it’s scaring the shit out of me.
“And?” he prompts, shaking me lightly. “What else did he say?”
“Chase, you’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he says unapologetically. “What else did he say?”
My brow creases as I shuffle through memories of my conversation with Brett, which somehow seems like a lifetime ago after everything that’s happened in this damn elevator. “Um, he said you had a favorite horse. A stallion. Except you didn’t want him to know it was your favorite, so you only rode it when he was out of the house.” I take a deep breath.
“Anything else?”
“Just that you aren’t good at sharing.” I wince as I recall his exact words. “And that you’re always worried he’s going to steal your favorite toys.”
Chase is totally silent, his eyes working with thoughts I can’t begin to decipher, his jaw locked down so tight, he’s probably going to crack his teeth. Not that he’d notice — he’s trapped so deep inside his head, the elevator could