Page 9
Story: Petty AF
“I see you came alone,” Deaton responded, his tone conversational, all things considered.
“And I assure you, the company is immeasurably better.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you’re going to talk about me like I’m not here, you could at least be original.”
His gray eyes narrowed, and I could tell I’d struck a nerve.
“Tell me.” He reached out to run his fingertips along the backside of my lapel. “What gives you the right to speak to me?”
“I mean, just off the top of my head? The fact that I’m not wearing my grandmother’s curtains seems like a good one.”
Deaton’s arm tightened around my waist, and I immediately pressed my lips together. While I had meant every word, I hadn’t meant to say them out loud.
Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have had that third glass of champagne.
Joss stepped away, one side of his mouth curved into a crooked grin and his eyes sparkling with delighted menace. “So crass. You can’t even control yourself.”
“Ouch,” I quipped back. “That hurt. I mean, I think I pulled something trying to give a fuck.”
My eyes widened, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. What the hell? Okay, yes, I had been thinking it, but I had meant to keep it in the vault. Why was the vault open without my permission?
I lowered my hand, intending to offer an apology. Maybe blame the alcohol on my unhinged behavior. Instead, my mouth decided to double down and make everything worse.
“I’m not drunk. I just don’t like you.” I recoiled at my own outburst with a quiet gasp, suddenly and painfully aware that something had gone terribly wrong. “Why did I say that? Why do I keep saying the quiet parts out loud?”
Joss flicked his stupid kimono out behind him like some cartoon villain. “You wanted to be seen and heard, right?”
“Wait, you did this to me?” I waved my hand toward him, vague yet somehow encompassing. “With your warlocky woo-woo?”
His face split into a broad, smug grin. “I believe it’s customary to express gratitude when receiving a gift.”
The asshole had hexed me, and he wanted me to thank him for it?
“What gift would that be?” Deaton asked, a touch of a growl in his voice.
“Pure, unfiltered authenticity.”
“You wouldn’t know authenticity if it crawled inside the tacky suit with you,” I shot back.
And immediately wanted to die.
What the actual fuck? Not only did I suddenly lack a filter, but there didn’t seem to be an off switch either. As soon as an uncharitable thought entered my head, it exited through my mouth, whether I wanted it to or not.
“What do you want?” Deaton asked.
There appeared to be an entire conversation going on between them that I didn’t know about, but since I couldn’t be trusted with words, I kept quiet and let Deaton handle it.
“An apology.” Joss folded his hands together at his waist and tilted his head. “And he has to mean it.”
The breath I’d been holding rushed out, and I sagged like a deflated balloon. I mean, I didn’t love the idea, especially since I hadn’t done anything wrong. My little dig about him being more original with his insults had been pretty tame, and I’d simply been defending myself against his disrespect.
Right then, right and wrong didn’t matter, though. Forget bodying my career. I had much bigger problems if I couldn’t regain some semblance of control. Two words. I just had to say two words, and everything would go back to normal.
I took a deep breath and gave him my most charming smile. “I would literally rather throw myself into oncoming traffic.”
The instant the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes, my smile vanishing with a pained groan.
No. I could do this. I just had to trick my brain into believing I meant it.
“And I assure you, the company is immeasurably better.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you’re going to talk about me like I’m not here, you could at least be original.”
His gray eyes narrowed, and I could tell I’d struck a nerve.
“Tell me.” He reached out to run his fingertips along the backside of my lapel. “What gives you the right to speak to me?”
“I mean, just off the top of my head? The fact that I’m not wearing my grandmother’s curtains seems like a good one.”
Deaton’s arm tightened around my waist, and I immediately pressed my lips together. While I had meant every word, I hadn’t meant to say them out loud.
Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have had that third glass of champagne.
Joss stepped away, one side of his mouth curved into a crooked grin and his eyes sparkling with delighted menace. “So crass. You can’t even control yourself.”
“Ouch,” I quipped back. “That hurt. I mean, I think I pulled something trying to give a fuck.”
My eyes widened, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. What the hell? Okay, yes, I had been thinking it, but I had meant to keep it in the vault. Why was the vault open without my permission?
I lowered my hand, intending to offer an apology. Maybe blame the alcohol on my unhinged behavior. Instead, my mouth decided to double down and make everything worse.
“I’m not drunk. I just don’t like you.” I recoiled at my own outburst with a quiet gasp, suddenly and painfully aware that something had gone terribly wrong. “Why did I say that? Why do I keep saying the quiet parts out loud?”
Joss flicked his stupid kimono out behind him like some cartoon villain. “You wanted to be seen and heard, right?”
“Wait, you did this to me?” I waved my hand toward him, vague yet somehow encompassing. “With your warlocky woo-woo?”
His face split into a broad, smug grin. “I believe it’s customary to express gratitude when receiving a gift.”
The asshole had hexed me, and he wanted me to thank him for it?
“What gift would that be?” Deaton asked, a touch of a growl in his voice.
“Pure, unfiltered authenticity.”
“You wouldn’t know authenticity if it crawled inside the tacky suit with you,” I shot back.
And immediately wanted to die.
What the actual fuck? Not only did I suddenly lack a filter, but there didn’t seem to be an off switch either. As soon as an uncharitable thought entered my head, it exited through my mouth, whether I wanted it to or not.
“What do you want?” Deaton asked.
There appeared to be an entire conversation going on between them that I didn’t know about, but since I couldn’t be trusted with words, I kept quiet and let Deaton handle it.
“An apology.” Joss folded his hands together at his waist and tilted his head. “And he has to mean it.”
The breath I’d been holding rushed out, and I sagged like a deflated balloon. I mean, I didn’t love the idea, especially since I hadn’t done anything wrong. My little dig about him being more original with his insults had been pretty tame, and I’d simply been defending myself against his disrespect.
Right then, right and wrong didn’t matter, though. Forget bodying my career. I had much bigger problems if I couldn’t regain some semblance of control. Two words. I just had to say two words, and everything would go back to normal.
I took a deep breath and gave him my most charming smile. “I would literally rather throw myself into oncoming traffic.”
The instant the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes, my smile vanishing with a pained groan.
No. I could do this. I just had to trick my brain into believing I meant it.