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My heart was wide open and ready for him, but the way he and Smee were casually mentioning what a relationship with me was doing for his career, I had to wonder if this was all a game to him.
“I’m going to text you the list of people I want you and Tris to talk to first,” Ollie said.
I glanced at Killian and noticed his perma-scowl was back in place.
This time when I inched away, he didn’t stop me.
“When do you need a response?” Killian asked, his tone gruff.
“Tomorrow. And yes, I know you hate emails, but I expect you to pick a few reporters to start with. And if you don’t, I’ll be happy to choose for you.” Ollie let that threat dangle in the air as he hung up.
Killian shifted, and now that I had my emotions in check, I was able to look at him. I pasted a bright smile on my face.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice that I didn’t understand.
“Doing?” I asked. My fingers curled into fists at my side. I just had to remind myself that he hadn’t promised me anything. My hurt feelings were on me.
“Why are you all the way overthere?”It was like he didn’t remember me scrambling off his lap.
I shrugged, hoping it came off as nonchalant. “I didn’t want to get in the way of your business dealings.”
“Tink … ” His hands reached out so fast that before I had time to react I was in his lap again. If I wasn’t so upset, I might have laughed.
One of his hands fisted in the hair at the back of my neck and the other gripped my chin firmly.
I blinked.
A light fluttery sensation raced up my spine and made me lean into him, but then I remembered his conversation and felt rejected all over again. I pushed on his chest to keep a little distance between us.
“Speak,” he commanded.
A spark of fury flared to life in my belly giving my next words their fuel. “I’m not a dog, Killian. You can’t snap your fingers and tell me what to do.”
His grip didn’t ease and his narrowed gaze pinned me to the spot. “What’s changed?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped.
I felt stupid for feeling upset at his reaction to Ollie’s off-hand comments. They weren’t even all that damning, but while I acknowledged that truth I couldn’t stop the seeds of doubt from taking root in my brain.
“Why are you mad at me?” his tone gentled.
“I’m not mad. I’m super happy for you. Apparently, I’ve single-handedly saved your career by being your fake date.” I forced the grin back to my face and pointed to my now rounded cheeks. “See?”
God, I did suck at not telling the truth.
“Tink,” he growled. By the looks of his dark, thunderous expression he clearly was not buying anything I said.
I hated lying. I hated this doubt that crept in. And I hated that I let the anxiety squirrel around in my brain and poke at the tender promises we’d made less than one hour ago.
I just wanted to curl up in his arms and do what he’d said in his office at the club. To see where this went between us. But my inner self, that insecure bitch, had started to make me question everything.
The words burst out of me. “Did you even mean what you said earlier?”
His gaze softened. “Which part?”
“When you said you wanted to see where things could go between us.”