His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,37

“I’m not letting that man get inside my head like this. He’s sexy. I knew that already. This is not new information. And you know what? I have the perfect antidote to his sexiness. You know what it is? He’s a jackass. He treats me like a peon. I just need to remember that the next time I start thinking about his perfect body.”

“Good for you. That’s all you can do, right?” She produces a glass of red wine and toasts me with it. “Fight the darkness.”

“Exactly. And Bruce is coming this weekend so we can check out apartments.”

“Focus on your future with Bruce. Hopefully the two of you will find a fantastic apartment that’s rent-controlled—”

“Hang on,” I say, diverted by the departure of the group sitting at the table directly in front of me. Now that they’re gone, I catch a glimpse of a guy sitting alone at a small booth against the far wall. A guy with dark hair and stern features on his downturned face. A guy who swirls the amber drink in his tumbler and looks as though he’d like to drown himself in it. “Oh my God. It’s him.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Jamison,” I say, my blood pressure skyrocketing.

As though he feels the sudden weight of my attention, he looks up, sees me seeing him, scowls, kills most of his drink and signals to the server for a refill.

“He just scowled at me,” I tell Kelly, outrage getting the best of me. “So let’s make that three times today he’s been a jerk to me.”

“Bastard,” she says with the fervency I require from her as my best friend.

“You know what? I’m hanging up. I’m going to go talk to him.” I’ve had just enough alcohol for this to seem like a good idea. “Stand up for myself for once. Tell him I’m sick of this routine.”

“I don’t know about that,” she says, looking worried. “I don’t want you saying something to get yourself fired from your great new job. I know how you are when you get mad.”

“That’s a price I’ll just have to pay.” I abruptly stand, making my chair scrape and drawing his attention again. He hits me with an additional scowl, which only fuels my fierce desire to borrow someone’s drink and dump it in his lap. “Wish me luck.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she says. “Call me later and let me know how it went.”

“Will do.”

I hang up, grab my purse and weave my way over to his booth. He watches me the whole way, his lowered brows a whole mood by themselves as he finishes off his drink and sets the glass down. There’s an indecipherable gleam of something new in his eyes tonight—something that seems vaguely dangerous—but I suppose that’s what being caught masturbating will do for a person.

“Dr. Jamison,” I say stiffly.

His jaw tightens as he slings an arm across the top of his seat and looks up at me. “Harlow.”

“Mind if I join you? We need to talk.”

“Not tonight.”

I hesitate. Having worked up the indignation to come over here, I didn’t expect him to refuse. The server arrives with his refill just then, knocking me further off-kilter. But, on the other hand, the distraction gives me a second to shore up my courage. I’m not going anywhere. The two of us need to come to a new understanding.

“Thanks,” he tells the server, who walks off. “Anything else, Harlow?”

“Yes,” I say, hiking up my chin as I slide into the booth opposite him. My heart is about to skitter into cardiac arrest, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I want to talk about the way you treat me.”

Those heavy brows creep up. “The way I…?”

“Treat me, yes,” I say. “I’m sick of it.”

A humorless smile flickers by, leaving an imprint on his face. “You don’t want to engage me tonight, Harlow.” His tone is calm. Flat. It’s also intensely disquieting. “Trust me. Go home. Call your boyfriend. We’ll pretend we never saw each other.”

“No,” I say, my overwhelming nerves making me shaky now. “You don’t get to set the agenda.”

There’s an excruciating pause while he cocks his head and squints at me as though he wants to make sure he hasn’t lapsed into a hallucination.

“I don’t get to set the agenda?”

“You bark at me. You scowl at me. You order me around like I’m still your lowly little intern—”

“Oh, I do?” He abruptly changes positions, putting his elbows down and leaning in to hunker over the table. He’s much closer now,