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“I might be a bastard, but I’d never do that. Not even to you, Ice Queen. Low-hanging fruit isn’t my style. I stab people in the front with truths and real weaknesses. I look my enemy in the eye when I do it too. I may be sneaky, but if you pay attention, you’ll always see me coming.” Banks smirks and leans in. “Knowledge is power. Use what you know to your advantage.”
We stare at one another for a moment too long. Banks is always calculated, and everything he does has a purpose. I just don’t understand it yet. I can’t believe I feel a flutter in my stomach while also being outraged.
“It’s a shame that after all these years, you’re still a weak little man who’s intimidated by me.”
“Oh, please. That’s not what this is. We both know that. And I hope that wasn’t your best attempt to hurt my feelings. Try harder, Ice Queen,” he replies, unfazed.
I growl, “Don’t push me. I have enough dirt on Josh to takedown Lustre Fashion, and your firm would be in crisis mode indefinitely.” I smile sweetly. “You really don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“You’re an actual monster,” he says, clearly impressed. “And a cutie about it too. This is going to be fun.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Breaking you down has become my new hobby. It might become my kink.” He pops the lid back on his coffee.
“I’ll never give in to you,” I mutter. “Ever.”
“Oh, I know. But just so you’re aware, if you ever do, I’ll never let you forget it,” he admits.
I glance outside, realizing I’ve already overstayed my welcome with him.
Banks gives me a smug grin. “You’re fucked.”
“Are you offering?” I ask blankly, recalling how he kissed me with everything he had. “Did you tell your girlfriend you had your tongue down my throat on Saturday?”
He licks his lips. “About that, it was a mistake and?—”
“Those are your words. Not mine.” I scoff, hating that I feel anything at all in this moment. When he’s near, my tight control slips away. It’s another reason I can only handle him in short bursts. “I have to go,” I mutter, grabbing my tea.
Time freezes. I’ve said too much, and I need to escape. So, I do.
“Billie,” he calls as I push open the door.
I slide my sunglasses over my eyes, trying to block out the emotions swirling inside me.
Paps follow me, and Banks says my name again.
I ignore him. He catches up and matches my pace.
“That was messed up. I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“Apology not accepted. Don’t talk to me.” I keep my head high and stride forward with purpose.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he warns.
“Stop putting on a show,” I say, hearing the constant clicks of the cameras.
The photographers are capturing every moment. When I glance at Banks, I can’t help but notice how his hair shines golden-brown in the sunlight. So do his eyes.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“No,” I reply, but I can tell it’s the wrong answer.
He grabs my wrist, his thumb brushing against my fluttering pulse as he pulls me off the sidewalk and leads me inside a vacant building under renovation.
We’re alone.
“Go back to pretending I don’t exist.” My words echo off the empty walls.