Page 12 of The Dis-Graced

“Fuck you, Drake Dallanger. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says with a voice full of anguish.

A sinking feeling hits my gut like a brick with sharp nails poking out the side.

“I’m done here!” She turns to leave, and I can’t say I blame her. She didn’t deserve that, but God, the way she looks when she gets mad has my head spinning and my cock impossibly hard.

I let her get halfway to the exit before saying. “And where are you going?”

She pivots back around at neck-breaking speed. “Back to my hotel so I can pack.”

“And after that?”

“You think I have no other options?”

“I think you have very few.”

“Well, what does it matter to you anyway. Just let me go.”

“I have another proposition.”

“Don’t even bother, unless it entails me never having to see you again.”

“Actually, you’d be seeing considerably more of me.”

She cocks a brow. Clearly, I have her interest.

“I hope you forgive my forwardness regarding your situation. With your currentscandal,it would be wise to keep my affiliation with you quiet until the time is right. That time will not be for at least another year, maybe two.”

“I was aware this was going to be a long project.”

“Previously, we were going to shoot it, and you’d go back to your apartment to edit. We’d do reshoots, addressing additional questions and issues that pop up, and you’d go back and edit some more before finally packaging it for sale and distribution. Halfway through the edits is when we’d start approaching networks to gauge their interest. It’d be an easy sell.”

“And now?” she says, closing the distance between us and reclaiming her seat.

“Now, you hand over your phone, and you move into my apartment.”

She sits back in her chair, jaw dropping.

“Do we have a deal?” I ask.

“Are you flippin’ mad?” she snaps.

“Flipping? I thought you were more inclined towards fucking.”

Her mouth gapes again.

“Not me, of course. You made that perfectly clear during our last communication. I’m merely referring to your choice of words.”

“You asshole mother fucker!”

“Mother fucker or mother flipper?”

“The fact that you would seek so much control over a woman—”

“A woman who is on the front page of several tabloids and quite a few reputable newspapers. This right here,” I gesture between the two of us, “could ruin me, so you might want to be a little more grateful. I’m not trying to ‘control’ you. I’m trying to gain control of the situation and create an environment where we can work together, and that includes you giving me the ability to make sure what is said between us, stays between us.”

That shuts her up.

For a moment, I regret my words as I see that her eyes are filling with tears. I take a napkin from the sugar caddy and hand it to her.