Page 21 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

T he motherfucking audacity.

Heat floods my cheeks. Not the flustered kind. The kind that comes right before I throw something heavy across the room. And right now, I’m picturing myself with super strength and launching that asshole off the stage.

And yet, I still don’t look away.

Because part of me, some clearly deluded, masochistic part, likes that he said my name in a room full of people and made it sound like a fucking power play.

Because it was.

One day, I’ll wipe that smug grin off his face.

He turns, trophy in hand, and walks off stage like he just sealed a deal with the devil.

And I’m the fucking fine print.

Josh leans toward me, whispering, “Are you okay?”

I don’t answer. I just grab my champagne and knock it back in one gulp. I need something way stronger than this.

Champagne makes me horny. I need vodka. Tequila. Something industrial-grade.

“Dr. Quinn’s speech was… flattering?” Poppy says from across the table, trying to read my face.

Flattering?

If by flattering, she means a public humiliation wrapped in praise, then she’s dead on.

“He’s insufferable,” I mutter.

But my thighs are clenched under the table.

And I hate myself for it.

I glance toward the bar. He’s there. Whiskey in hand. Smirking. Watching.

Like he knows.

And maybe he does.

Because the bastard didn’t just win the award.

He made sure I knew I’d lost.

And somehow… somehow that stings more than I’m willing to admit.

I stare off, trying to simmer down the violent urge to commit a felony.

I let out a groan and roll my eyes as Zak approaches me.

He’s really brave.

He leans down, that smug little grin carved into his face.

“I see how it is. You won’t entertain me because you’re too busy fucking your own attending. Classy whore.”

My nostrils flare. I stand, ignoring the gasps around the room, and pull back and slap him across the face.

The sound cracks like lightning.

He grabs his cheek, eyes blazing.

“Come near me again, and I swear I’ll cut your heart out and mail it to your fiancée.”

He laughs and backs away.

“Tell Finn I said good luck. You’re a fucking psycho.”

Fuck him.

And Finn.

Without looking back, I storm out of the room, the doors crashing shut behind me. The lobby’s buzzing with people, but I need space. I need air .

I spot a hallway and dart for it. First door I find, I push open and slip inside.

Of course. A fucking storage closet.

The smell of bleach hits me in the face.

Before I can close the door, a tattooed hand catches it.

“Fuck off,” I spit.

“No.” His deep Irish lilt slinks down my spine.

He shoves the door open, steps inside, and lets it slam behind him. He doesn’t speak. Just stares.

Always assessing. Always calculating.

“What do you want? I just need a breather. And I’d rather not have an asthma attack from your aftershave.”

No smirk. Just a frown.

“What did Zak say?”

“It doesn’t matter. I handled it.”

He steps closer. I don’t move.

“It does matter. That was one hell of a slap—I heard it from the fucking bar. I need to know if he’s getting fired before he even gets on the plane.”

I rub the back of my neck. I know that tone. When Finn Quinn wants answers, he gets them.

“Fine,” I huff. “He said I wouldn’t fuck him because I’m fucking you. Then wished you luck. Called me a psycho.”

Finn laughs, and it’s almost feral.

“Us?” He gestures between us. “He thinks we’re sleeping together? Wow.”

My jaw tightens.

“Why is that so funny?”

I take a step forward, closing the gap.

“You wouldn’t fuck me? How rude.”

His laughter dies instantly. His face like thunder.

“I would if you kept your mouth fuckin’ shut.”

Oh. That makes my heart race.

“Well, I can’t do that. Not possible. I’ve never shut up a day in my life.”

His brow arches.

“Trust me. I know, Stephanie.”

The way he says my name—it should be illegal.

As should the fact that I’m turned on by this arrogant, controlling bastard.

“Anyway,” I step back, needing space from him. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth. I’d wait for the aliens to arrive and fuck one of them instead.”

His fists clench and release.

“Make your feelings known, Dr. Miller. Glad you finally let it out.”

He turns, reaching for the door.

“I’ll leave you to it. Have a good night.”

But something inside me snaps.

“Why did you dedicate that award to me? Do you do things like that just to upset me?”

He turns slowly to me, eyes narrowing.

“I upset you?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

He chews his lip.

“Upset…” he whispers, like he’s tasting the word for the first time.

“Angry. Hurt. Pissed off. Inferior. Never good enough.”

His gaze darkens.

“You are good enough. You’re fucking fantastic at your job.”

I nod.

“I know. But you like to remind me that your rich ass is better than mine.”

He clears his throat. The click of the door lock is deafening.

“You have no idea who I am, Stephanie.”

His voice is sharp enough to cut.

“I’ve worked with you for nearly six years. I’ve seen how it’s gone down. What was it? Daddy’s money? Bought your way to the top?”

“That’s what you think?” His voice drops an octave.

I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I’m not even sure what I think of him. I don’t think he ever opens up or shows anyone the real him.

“This is what I mean. You never know when to shut up,” he mutters.

He storms forward. I back up until I hit the shelving unit, knocking a bottle of bleach to the floor.

“Rich boy doesn’t like it?” I tease.

He’s in my face now. Towering. Eyes burning. Jaw tight.

“You just can’t face the fact you aren’t as good as me.”

Ouch.

I press a hand to my chest.

“No. I’m pissed that you stole my job. That you walk around like you own the damn place. Covered in tattoos. Wearing your stupid black shirts and rings. You think any of us could get away with that? No. Because you’re special. And it’s bullshit. You’re just another cold, entitled asshole.”

I stare him down. Daring him to fight back.

A wicked grin spreads across his lips.

“You’re brave, you know that?”

His voice is a threat and a promise.

“Why?”

“Because next time you lock yourself in a room with me and talk like that—” He steps closer, breath hot against my ear.

“I’ll bend you over my knee and cut that attitude out of you. I’ll make you bleed for it.”

Jesus.

My core clenches so hard I forget how to breathe.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

He runs a finger down my arm and I shiver.

“You. Have. No. Idea. Who. I. Am. Love. Do not push me any further. I’ll allow this outburst, once. But this is your one and only pass.”

I try to steady my breath as he backs off.

“I—I…”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t you dare apologize. Own your fucking words. You meant them, didn’t you?”

I stare into his eyes. Searching for something. Anything. But, as usual, there’s nothing there.

“Yes.”

“If you hate working under me so much, leave. I’m not stopping you.”

There it is. The dagger to the gut. The part that always makes me feel disposable. Just like I always end up feeling in the end.

“Maybe I will.”

He nods.

“Good. The whole competition is getting boring. I’m tired of winning.”

Smug bastard.

I hate how much I want to slap him and kiss him all at once.

“I lost by one point last week,” I say through gritted teeth. “And we both know I deserved more. What about saving Conan? Didn’t that count for something? I should have won the entire year for that.”

I’ll never admit it, but I was terrified.

Terrified I’d lose his brother. Terrified I’d lose myself.

“You’re just desperate to beat me, aren’t you?” he says.

I shrug, biting back a grin.

“Maybe.”

He huffs.

“Fine. What about tonight?” he suggests.

I frown.

“What? Find someone to operate on?”

He looks confused for a second. Then rolls his eyes.

“No. A drinking game. We’re in Vegas, after all, Stephanie.”

I blink.

“What kind of drinking?”

He closes his eyes, visibly restraining himself.

“Water. Let’s drown ourselves in hydration,” he says, dripping with sarcasm.

I snort.

“Real drinking. Shot for shot. Whoever’s standing wins. Beat me, and I’ll give you the chart win for the week. Hell, I’ll put a plaque over your office door.”

Victory. I’ll take it.

“Deal.”

He laughs, a deep, wicked sound that makes me regret it immediately.

He pulls the door open and motions for me to leave.

“Ladies first. And don’t ditch me for any alien dick tonight.”

I spin, walking backwards to face him as I grin.

“I’m not missing out on monster dick if the opportunity arises.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets.

“You already are.”

He winks and turns down the corridor.

Of course Mr. Perfect has a huge dick. Even that’s annoying. He just has to be the full package.

That’s the least of my problems.

Drinking with my boss is probably not my smartest move.

But if it gives me a win?

I’m all in.

And what’s worse is I’m thinking about the size of his cock now.