What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,63

best place to do it,” she tried to joke. His glare grew even more severe and he loomed over her.

“What the fuck are you doing here? At this restaurant? With that piece of shit out there?” he clarified. Her jaw dropped.

“Uh, excuse me, I think you'll find that your ex is the only piece of shit out there. What the fuck was that?”

“Don't you ever fucking tell me what to do. Now explain yourself.”

“Explain myself?” Valentine laughed loudly and stepped away from the sink, not wanting him to have the power position of leaning over her. She put her hands on her hips and turned to face him head on. “Excuse me, but I'm not your girlfriend, I don't have to explain shit to you.”

“No, you're my property, and as such there are rules you must abide by,” he growled. “Rules we both agreed upon.”

So much of what he'd just said was fucked up, but she decided to save it for later and tackle what exactly it was that had him so pissed off right now.

“That's why you're upset?” she asked. “Because of Ralph?”

“I'm upset because you're breaking the rules. I paid a lot of fucking money for you – I won't tolerate insubordination.”

“You paid a lot of money for my time at the club,” Val corrected him. “And last I checked, this place isn't there. And you're also paying a lot of money for my weekdays. It's currently Sunday. So get fucked, Ari, I'm not breaking shit.”

“I told Del,” he started. “No other clients – no picking anyone else up at the club. And I don't believe for one second you met Mr. Boeing out there on Tinder, or at the laundromat, or at school, or wherever, so he must be a client. What the fuck.”

Oh my god, he's jealous. Jeez, you fuck a guy a couple times and let him pay you a bunch of money, and suddenly he think he owns you.

Yet still, somewhere deep down in her chest, her heart began to beat faster.

“Yes, he's a client,” Val snapped. “But I didn't break any rules. I agreed to a dinner date with him before I met you, it's been set up for weeks now. And it's a Sunday, and I'm not in the club. My world doesn't revolve around you, Ari.”

“It had better fucking start to.”

“Fuck you!” she hissed. “You're mad? How do you think I fucking feel, seeing you here with friends and not being able to acknowledge you, and then having that bitch talk to me like that, like she's still with you? I mean, are you fucking kidding me!?”

“Deal with it – you knew what you were signing up for.”

She almost thought steam was going to shoot out of her ears.

“I signed up to give you exclusive rights to my time,” she growled. “Not to be verbally abused by your bitchy ex-girlfriend, and not to be treated like some contractually obligated whore.”

“If the contract fits.”

Valentine slapped him before she could stop herself, shocking them both.

“Don't you ever talk to me like that again!” she snapped. Ari stared down at her, his blue eyes ablaze with anger; that errant lock of hair falling across his forehead once again.

“I'll talk to you however I want. Don't ever fucking hit me again.”

She let out a frustrated shriek, then she slapped him again before pounding her hands against his chest. He struggled to grab hold of her arms, shoving her across the room and slamming her up against the wall by the door. He pinned her wrists near her head, then they glared at each other, both their chests heaving, both their hearts raging.

He's the worst.

She was suddenly kissing him. Or he was kissing her. It was impossible to tell – they were no longer two separate entities. He let go of her wrists and she immediately started clawing at the front of his blazer, trying to pull it apart. His left hand went around her throat, gently squeezing, while his right hand went to her exposed thigh, clenching and kneading it.

“This dress,” Ari gasped against her. “Jesus, when I saw it ...”

“When I put it on tonight, I thought of you,” Valentine spoke quickly, finally undoing the button and pushing her hands inside his jacket.

“I want to fucking rip it off of you.”

“God, yes, I want that, too,” she groaned, dragging her nails down his back, wishing her hands were against his skin.

Then his tongue was back between her lips, just as aggressive as always. He