I was glad I’d been too nervous to eat today, because I was sure he wouldn’t appreciate my vomiting all over his Calacatta-veined floor.
The women huffed and pranced out of the room, flinging hair in their wake and sending me hate glares.
Finally, it was just the three of us.
Me, Tate, and his giant ego.
Tate gestured with his hand to the equation and pen on the floor. I quietly walked across the room and picked it up, sauntering over to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Stay standing,” he barked.
I stood up before my bum hit the mattress.
“Nobody touches my bed.” A flush of pink struck his cheeks.
He sounded like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. An off-character outburst for this normally blasé creature.
I placed the piece of paper on the nightstand. Still standing, I leaned down to solve the linear equation.
It wasn’t difficult by any means. As the daughter of a late auditor, I did have a natural knack for numbers.
It occurred to me how ridiculous I looked, in full makeup and a ball gown, solving a math problem in my boss’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning. But life around Tate had always been chaotic.
He pulled his pocket watch, frowning at it. “You have five seconds lef—”
“I’m done.” I put the pen down and sauntered over to him. I handed him the paper, careful not to touch him. He surveyed it through sharp, critical eyes.
Though his jaw was taut, I knew a smile was hiding behind it. I’d mastered reading him as one learned to move inside a familiar room in complete darkness.
“Growing up, were you fond of math?”
“I was,” I confirmed. “My father was an auditor. We did mental math together on weekends when it was too rainy to go outside.”
“What did you study in college?”
I was surprised he didn’t know. He had hired me fresh out of college.On a whim, in fact. I’d always found it odd, how Tate swooped in out of nowhere as soon as I gained my degree at a relatively unknown college in Brooklyn and offered me a job I hadn’t even applied to.
“Environmental economics and policies.”
“What would you have done had I not offered you employment?”
“An investment adviser. Perhaps hedge fund.” I hitched up a shoulder. “Those were the few positions I’d applied for after college.”
He stared at me, and I knew he was planning in that twisted mind of his. Something dark and depraved, a way to punish me for simply existing in his sphere.
“I didn’t know you were analytical, Miss Bennett. Although I did have my suspicion. You are too bright to have an intuitive personality.” He paused. “What’s an intuition anyway? Simply a draw of luck. So common. So…random.” He knocked back the rest of his whiskey with a snarl.
Strange, strange man.
“My theory is sociologists divide us into analytical and intuitive personalities because it is politically incorrect to call the intuitive dumbasses. What do you think?”
I think you should seek urgent help.
“As much as I’d love to discuss this fascinating matter with you tonight.” I licked my lips, trying to conceal my anxiety. “Thereissomething I’ve been trying to talk to you about.”
“Oh, right. Go ahead.” He leaned lavishly in his recliner, crossing his long legs. He wore a chunky gold ring on his little finger. “Your five minutes start now.”
Wanker.
