What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,100
he fucking pay you to 'host' him.”
“Jesus, no!” she snapped back. “He thinks I'm just some regular there. Besides, even if he'd asked, I would've said no, and you know that.”
“Do I?”
“I don't have to take this,” Valentine said, getting off the bench and stomping towards the bathroom. He caught her by the arm, though, and held her in place.
“Yes, you do. I pay you to take this,” he reminded her. “Just like I pay you not to fuck around with other guys.”
“Seriously?” she gasped. “Are you seriously talking to me like this right now?”
“Who else would I talk to like this?”
She yanked free of his arm and changed direction, heading towards the front door, instead. She grabbed her sandals off the floor and started yanking them on, fighting with the stupid straps.
“We've been doing this for a month, Ari,” she was so angry, her voice was actually shaking. “And I haven't even so much as looked at another man. I've followed your stupid rules and I've done everything you've ever asked me to, and this is how I get treated.”
“You get treated pretty fucking well,” he reminded her. “A big pay out, at-home nursing, good sex.”
“Oh, good sex?” she snarled. “Was that supposed to be part of the deal? When will I be getting that?”
Ari stormed up to her, trying to intimidate her with his height and his presence. She glared right back at him, refusing to be intimidated at all.
“Whether or not you enjoy the sex is irrelevant – I'm the one paying for it, so I'm the only one that matters. Did you fuck Evans, or not?”
Something clicked. He kept talking about sex, and he kept talking about paying her. The two things their relationship had revolved around for the last month. And now that month was at a close – their second two weeks together had already passed. There had been no other mention of a “permanent solution” for her, either.
He's trying to end it. He wants us to be over and he wants it to be my fault, because Ari Sharapov is never at fault. We're over, and he's ending it like this. We're ending.
Sadness swept over Valentine, for a multitude of reasons. For herself, because she cared about him, she honestly did, and it hurt for him to treat her this way. She was sad for the relationship that could have been if she'd been born just a little richer, or if he'd been born just a little poorer. And she was sad for Ari, because he was locked into a life that he didn't seem to like very much, and he didn't even realize it.
I could've made you happy, Ari, and I would've done it for free.
“No,” she sighed. “I didn't fuck Evans.”
“But you did spend time with him,” Ari challenged, and she nodded.
“He bought me a drink there the other night.”
“Goddammit.”
“I said thank you, and then I talked about you,” she told him. He narrowed his eyes.
“I'm going to kill him. Him and Derrick.”
“But that was it, Ari. I've seen him in the club, but I haven't spoken to him again. So if you're trying to make me the villain of this ending, you'll have to find another reason,” she said.
Now it was his turn to look confused.
“Huh?” he responded. She held out her arms.
“All this, I get it.”
“Enlighten me. What is it you think you get?”
“Our month is over,” she said, giving him a small smile. “You're ending it. I get it. You didn't have to be a jerk about it, but honestly, I wouldn't have expected anything else from you.”
Ari stared at her for a second longer, then he burst out laughing. He stumbled away from her, pressing his hands against his face while he laughed.
“Oh, god,” he sighed around guffaws. “You're so stupid. I forget sometimes how stupid you can be.”
“Excuse me!?” Valentine asked, putting her hands on her hips.
“Here you are, ready to break things off with me,” he chuckled. “And I'm over here ready to kill some guy because he made me think you slept with him.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Evans,” he said, finally getting control of himself. “It about a week ago – he either asks about you or talks about you. Every. Day. Today he was going on and on about getting cozy with you in the Moon Room, in our room. I swear, I almost had a fucking aneurysm from the effort it took not to beat him to death.”