I’m in my fourth meeting of the day, and once again, my mind is wandering. I can’t concentrate, and while it’s after lunch now and I’m sober, my thoughts are not on maximizing profits on cloud storage. Not today.
Today, my mind keeps drifting to the beautiful brunette who somehow actually agreed to be my dinner date this evening.
While she made clear her intentions for the meal, that doesn’t mean a guy can’t give it a go anyway. There was no ring on her finger proclaiming she’s tied to someone else, so she’s fair game…not that that’s stopped me in the past.
She seems like a challenge, and everything’s just been so easy lately—too easy. It’s becoming tedious, this meeting a new woman, going to her place to fuck, and leaving before she falls asleep. They all want a piece of me, even if it’s just for the night, so they do whatever I want, hoping to tame the elusive bachelor. It’s great, and it’s fun, and it’s certainly pleasurable…but it’s also getting a little old. I need something new and different, something interesting, and when Rob Baker’s daughter whirled into the boardroom this morning with that hair flying everywhere and anger in her eyes, it was like she was the match that could ignite the fire that has long been burned out.
She may be different from the others, but that doesn’t mean I want more than one night with her. I don’t, for the record.
I remember thinking to myself that if Rob Baker had a daughter, I’d fuck her just to piss him off.
That’s not what this is about, though; it doesn’t matter who she’s related to.
She’s playing a game, and I want to win.
That’s what this is about. I play to win, and I always win.
Just ask my brother, Carter. Board games, cards, or a game of basketball in the driveway—I’d win them all. I give every game my all until I hurt, and then I push myself some more through the pain.
Women are no different, and Baker’s daughter is certainly playing a game she’s not going to win—not in the boardroom, and not in the bedroom. I’ll take both, I’ll win both, and I’ll fuck her in both.
The best part is that three hours after she interrupted my morning meeting, I still don’t even know her name.
That’s never stopped me before, either.
Another interminable meeting finally ends, and I make my way to my assistant. She’s bending over a file cabinet, sticking something in the bottom drawer. I take a second to enjoy the view, tilting my head as my eyes land on her ass, but then I shake my head and look away before clearing my throat to announce my entrance.
I’ve been through three assistants in two years because I slept with each of them. I promised my father I would hold on to this one a little longer, which is why I hired someone who’s already married. I just wish she wasn’t bending over a cabinet, tempting me. She looks up at me with these innocent eyes all the time, and it’s enough to drive a man crazy.
She straightens when she hears me. “Oh, hi Carson. How was your meeting?”
I shrug. “The usual. Is there anything on my calendar this afternoon?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing until your six o’clock meeting with Harold regarding sponsorships. You asked me to keep your afternoon clear so you could review internal applicants for the VP of research position.”
“Right. Thanks.” I turn to head to my office.
“Also, the sponsorships need your approval before you meet with Harold, and several proposals came in for the new cloud updates.”
I turn back toward her. “Anything else?”
“I left contracts on your desk that need your signature. I cleaned up your email and drafted a handful of replies for your review.” She stops talking and taps her finger on her chin like she’s forgetting something. “Oh, and I have this for you.” She snatches a piece of paper off her desk and hands it to me.
It’s got a name and a phone number on it. Sylvie Baker.
Sylvie.
A strange burn stings my chest for the briefest of seconds as I stare at her name. Sylvie. It’s a perfect name for her, simple and elegant, gentle and innocent—though the woman who bears the name certainly didn’t come off as gentle earlier today.
“Thanks,” I mumble, and then I head into my office, my eyes still on her name.
Sylvie.
I say the name out loud once my office door shuts behind me. “Sylvie.” It rolls off my tongue. It makes me think of silver, of a precious metal. It’s like Sylvia but a little more childish—a little sweeter, like a cupcake. I was dead on with the random term of endearment that rolled out of me a little earlier.
I pull out my phone and type the number. I’ve texted hundreds of women to arrange a dinner date, and this is supposed to just be business, anyway…so why do I suddenly feel nervous as I type out my message?
Me: Kincaid at 8:00. Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll send a driver.
Sylvie: Who is this?
I chuckle at her response. She knows who it is, but she’s playing the game.
Me: Your dinner date for the evening.
Sylvie: I don’t have a date tonight. I have a business meeting.
Me: Call it what you want, cupcake. You’ll still be sharing a meal with me.
Sylvie: Not by choice.
She may be a tougher nut to crack than I first anticipated, but I’ll still crack her.
Me: Seems like it actually was your choice.
Sylvie: Because I need to discuss business with you and this was the only time you had free.
Me: Are you one of those girls who always has to have the last word?
Sylvie: I’m a woman.
Me: I’m aware of that. The skirt and heels you were wearing earlier sort of gave you away.
I eye the pile of work on my desk. I have contracts to sign, proposals to review, resumes to read, but texting Sylvie Baker is much more fulfilling.
I wait for her reply, but it takes a while. I really should get some work done, so I set my phone down. Just as I pick up the first contract I need to look through, my phone notifies me of a new text.
Sylvie: Kinkaid on Sixth?
Me: Yes. I’d be happy to arrange a ride for you.
Sylvie: Fine. I’m at the Park Hyatt.
Me: That’s close. I’ll be waiting outside at 7:45 and we’ll walk.
Again, she doesn’t respond right away, and I wonder what she’s doing. Is she thinking twice about this? Is she going to back out? She came all this way to see me—to confront me—so it would seem silly for her to back out now. I can see how picking her up outside her hotel seems more like a date than a business meeting, but she doesn’t know NYC the way I do. I’m just being a gentleman.
Even though that’s not really my style.
* * *
My afternoon and evening consist of endless tasks filled with nervous anticipation for this dinner. I’ve met the woman once for all of five minutes, so I’m not sure where this anxiety is coming from. I don’t like it. Women are sort of my thing. I’m always calm and collected around them. I always keep my cool. Above all, I always know how to get them to do what I want them to do.
But this Sylvie chick has me turned completely upside down.
I’ve never had someone come into my office, interrupt a meeting, and throw accusations at me. Have women been angry at me before? Of course—mostly when I promise to call but don’t and then run into them again. Have women yelled at me and shoved their fingers in my face with fury? Sure—mostly when I’ve had sex with one of their friends, but then that turns into a fight between them and I easily extract myself from the situation.
I do my best to make my intentions clear from the start, and that seems to ward off a lot of potential anger. I just don’t know what my intentions are with Sylvie yet.
I want her company, but the fire that burned in me when I met with her father has sort of fizzled out. Acquiring Baker Media is much more of a task to prove to my father that I can do it than something I actually care about doing. It’s another event in the game of life.
I feel a new fire burning in me, and I’m not sure what to do with this energy.
That damn image of her bursting into the boardroom flashes through my mind again as I sit at my desk waiting for the clock to tick closer to dinner. My dick hardens as I think about her hair flying all around in her rush, her eyes so full of anger, her sweet tits buttoned up behind that white shirt.
It’s twenty after seven now, so I need to leave in about ten minutes to get to her on time. The office is pretty much empty, and I’m horny as fuck—not that there’s anything new or different about that.
Ten minutes. Hmm…
I walk over to my office door and shut it, and then I walk back to my desk and sit behind it. I unlock my phone—not to look at pictures, because I won’t need them for what I’m about to do. Instead, I scroll through the text messages Sylvie and I have exchanged today. I chuckle at our banter. I’m so used to women doing what I tell them to do that it’s sort of refreshing to see Sylvie’s stubbornness.
With her words in my eyes and the image of her full of anger this afternoon fresh in my mind, I unzip my slacks and reach into my boxers. My dick is rock hard, as if I didn’t just get laid last night—and the night before. I reach lower and cup my balls before I run my hand along my length. I make a fist and start to pump.
I think about Sylvie and those tits that wanted to burst out of her top as my pumping picks up speed.
I imagine Sylvie on her knees in front of me, right here under my desk, sucking my dick. No one on the other side of the desk would even see her. I could just keep her down there all day to suck my cock any time I wanted, and no one would ever know—except when I growled out my release, as I’m sure I would.
I think of her pretty mouth taking my length all the way to the back of her throat, and I’m fisting myself so fast and so hard that I can’t take it anymore. My balls tighten almost painfully and I come all over my own hand.
I relax back into my chair. My hand is sticky and I need to take care of that, but I just want to relish the pleasure for a few quiet seconds.
I lean my head back and close my eyes. I’m glad I did that, because now I feel much more relaxed heading into this dinner. The anxiety is gone, replaced by the calmness I’m used to.
I only allow a minute to linger before I force myself up. I walk over to my private bathroom and clean up then take a quick glance in the mirror. I didn’t have time to shave this morning in my hungover rush to get to the early meeting, so I look a little more rugged than usual. I run my hand through my hair and swish some mouthwash. I shut down my laptop for the day, pull on my suit jacket, and start my walk over to the Park Hyatt.
It’s a nice early June evening with mild temperatures in the upper sixties, and I’m five minutes early when I walk up to the Hyatt. She’s not out yet.
A bellhop nods at me, and I nod back. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Just waiting for someone,” I say.
He becomes busy with some guests, so I lean back on the front of the building and pull out my phone. There’s always business to tend to, even if I managed to take five minutes to jerk off in my office before I left. I reply to an email and just as I hit the send button, I sense a presence looking at me.
I look up, and my eyes lock on hers.
My memory betrayed me. My memory said she was beautiful. My memory recalled her hair and her eyes and her figure, but this woman standing in front of me is leagues beyond beautiful. She’s stunning and gorgeous, exquisite and dazzling.
She’s a knockout, and I’m down for the count.
She wears a simple black dress, and the front stretches tightly across her rather large tits. It’s modest—I can’t even see any cleavage, much to my disappointment—and it’s a clear indication that this is not a date but a business dinner. I can’t help my eyes as they wander down to her legs. She’s shorter than most girls I take home, but she’s wearing heels that must be at least four inches tall. They elongate her legs, making her look taller. I want her to turn around so I can see how the dress hugs her ass, but I’ll wait for my moment and sneak a peek.
Her hair is pulled back tightly into a bun, and the exposed curve of her neck sends a shot of desire through my chest. I want my tongue on that neck. Fuck, I want my tongue all over her perfect body.
But it’s not her legs, or the modest dress, or even her tits that are hitting me so hard.
It’s the way her eyes land on me. They’re a milk chocolate brown, and while her gaze is still full of anger, I spot a touch of something sexual. She has to feel the attraction looming between us; there’s no way it’s just me. Even so, I know how hard she’s going to fight against it, especially because she already hates me for reasons that have nothing to do with the content of my character—not that she’d necessarily like me any better once she got to know me, though. My eyes flick to her pillowy lips before landing back on her eyes.
“Hey Sylvie,” I say softly. “You look…” I trail off. Gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy as fuck.
She raises both eyebrows as if she’s surprised by my greeting, and then I realize how gentle my tone just sounded. I want to tell her how stunning she looks even though she’s buttoned up like a librarian and I prefer much skimpier clothes. I want to kiss her in greeting. I want to pull her into my arms and feel her body against mine.
I clear my throat. I need to snap out of whatever the fuck this is.
She still hasn’t spoken.
“Kinkaid is just a couple blocks down this way,” I say as I slide my phone into my pocket and turn to start walking toward the restaurant.
“I look what?” she finally asks as she falls into step beside me.
“You look angry.”
“I am angry. I don’t want to be here with you.”
“Look, we both have to eat, and you’ve got a bone to pick with me. We’ll have a nice dinner and a nice chat, and we’ll clear the air between us.” The sidewalk is crowded, and we dodge through a group of people. I wish I could grab her hand to keep her close to my side.
Where the ever-loving fuck did that random thought come from?
“We’re not going to clear the air between us, Carson. You’re trying to oust my father from the company that has been in my family for three generations.”
“Damn, cupcake. At least let a man order a drink before you start with the business chatter.”
“Stop calling me cupcake,” she says through gritted teeth.
“But you’re so sweet.”
She stops walking, but I don’t notice for a few seconds until I see that she’s not beside me. I turn, and she’s in the middle of the sidewalk as people shoot her nasty looks and dodge their way around her. I walk back a few paces so I’m standing in front of her. The strongest urge to lean down and kiss her bites at me, but I refrain.
“What are you doing?” I ask calmly.
“I’m not sweet.” She’s growling at me, and it’s sexy. “You’re belittling me as a businesswoman, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“You can’t just stop walking in the middle of a busy New York sidewalk, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart isn’t any better. Stop with the names, and apologize now or this dinner is off.”
“It’s your call. You’re the one who wants to talk to me.” I turn and start walking away toward the restaurant. I realize I’m playing with fire—and that I’m being a total douchebag—but this is a game I love. She’s angry, and it’s just making me horny.
I don’t turn back to see if she followed me. When I finally stop in front of the very trendy Kinkaid, she’s immediately at my side, just as predicted, while giving me the silent treatment.
I lean in close to her. “If you want to be taken seriously as a businesswoman, sweetheart, you should probably stop pouting.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
I shrug. “So I’ve been told.”
I approach the hostess who immediately seats us despite the line out front. I do business here often, and they’re smart to keep me happy. The happier I am, the more money I’ll spend here, and, not to sound like a complete asshole, I’ve got plenty to spend.
Our waiter approaches, and I order us a bottle of some French red wine a friend recommended. Red wine always works on women.
“Just one glass,” Sylvie tells our waiter.
“Bring two,” I say, and he nods and walks away.
“I won’t be drinking.”
“They’re both for me.”
She purses her lips, and I almost think she’s hiding a smile. She’d never let me see it, that’s for sure. She opens her menu and peruses for exactly thirty seconds before shutting it and setting it down.
“Aren’t you even going to look?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I get the same thing every time I come here.”
“And what’s that?”
I raise my brows. “I’m surprised you care.”
“Just making conversation.”
I ease up on her a little. “The porterhouse.”
“I saw that, thought about it.”
“And you ultimately decided on?”
“Chicken.”
“We’re at a steakhouse.”
She lifts a delicate shoulder. I want to take a bite out of it.
“So? I don’t want steak right now.”
“Get what you want. It’s on my dime, obviously.”
“I’ll pay my half.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m not going to argue about who pays. You win.”
I wink at her. “I always win.”
We place our orders, and then I open the door for the whole reason we’re sitting here. “So why did you fly across the country to confront me?”
“Right down to it, then,” she mutters.
“If I’m expensing it, we’ve gotta talk shop at some point.”
She presses her lips together before taking a deep breath. “Fair enough. I just want to know why you’re bothering with Baker.”
“Our charitable foundation is based in San Diego. Are you aware of that?”
“Of course I am.”
“We’re looking to expand our southwestern region, and Baker has all the right targets in place. We can take what you have and grow it tenfold. What I offered your father for it would have been mutually beneficial, but he wasn’t interested. I’m out of options.”
“I don’t think that’s true. You could expand your company in San Diego without hurting us.”
“I could, but as I said, you already have everything I need. That’s a huge savings in research and development, and in staffing.”
“But you’re going to put our employees out of their jobs. Don’t you care about people losing their jobs?”
“Of course I care, and what you’re saying just isn’t true. There will be some reorganization, sure, but if people are doing their jobs correctly and are willing to adapt to the way we do things at King, no one has to go anywhere.”
The sommelier comes over with our wine. He pours a glass for me to sample, I nod once, and he pours two glasses before Sylvie can protest.
“Don’t you understand that this is a family company?”
I hold up my glass, and she picks hers up without thinking and touches it to mine. It’s customary and standard, and she’s engrossed in our conversation—so much so that she doesn’t even realize she’s drinking at this dinner where clearly she planned on staying sober.
“As soon as you went public, you gave that up.” I take a sip, and the sweet berry notes hang on my tongue. I want to taste this wine on Sylvie’s tongue. “You’re not a family company anymore. You’re owned by your shareholders.”
“Isn’t King a family company?” she asks, trying to get me to understand. The problem is that I do understand—but that’s not going to stop me from what I’ve been instructed to do.
I nod. “It started that way, yes, and we’ve been fortunate to keep it in the family. But, that doesn’t mean we won’t be taken over by a majority vote or the right amount of money. It could happen at any time, and this just happens to be Baker’s time.”
“So there’s nothing I can do.”
“Not really. I understand this is difficult, but I’m not going to put anybody out of a job unnecessarily. I’m going to be very transparent with you right now. Is that okay?”
She looks skeptical, but she nods.
“This is off the record.”
She nods again.
“This is my father’s deal. He wants to acquire Baker and expand into the southwest. He wants our high-speed internet to be in every single home in America, and our western quadrant is lacking. He wants the monopoly, and he wants it before he retires. I’m next in line to be King’s CEO, so he sent me to do his bidding.”
“There are companies much bigger than Baker that you could target.”
“Believe me, they’re all on his radar, but he’s been a shareholder in Baker for years and is not happy with the projections, so this is where he’s starting. Can I ask you a question?”
She nods.
“Do you work for Baker?”
“I’m the VP of operations.”
“Do you like your job?”
“That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
“That’s even more ridiculous.”
“Is it? Or is the answer to both of those questions the same?”
She reddens but doesn’t answer, and that’s all the response I need to forge ahead.
“I’m attracted to you, Sylvie. When you whirled into my boardroom this morning, it was like I woke up from a lifetime of sleeping.”
“Stop it.”
“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable with the truth?”
“Yes, you are, and it’s not the truth. You don’t even know me.”
“I know how attraction works, and I know there’s something here between us.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“You’re not wearing a ring. That’s all I need to know.”
She looks highly offended. “I’m taken. Happily.”
“We’ll see.”
Her eyes flash with anger, and it only serves to heighten my attraction to her. “Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend, what makes you think I’d ever, ever go for someone like you?”
“Ooh, a challenge. I like it.”
“It’s not a challenge, Carson.”
“Say my name again.”
“You are such an arrogant prick.”
“You want to talk about my prick?”
“God, there is literally no dealing with you. I should sue you for harassment.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think if you really hated me, you wouldn’t want to see me again. But instead, you haven’t stopped thinking about me since you walked into my boardroom this morning.” I’m taking a bit of a gamble, but the truth is that I haven’t stopped thinking about her, not even for a second. She’s intriguing, and that’s a very rare trait for me to find in a woman.
“You’re delusional.”
“Go out with me again. I won’t even expense it. My treat.”
She rolls her eyes. “No.” She takes a long sip of her wine, and I note that her hands are shaking just slightly. Her nostrils flare, but her eyes say it all.
Our dinner hasn’t even arrived yet, and her hands are already shaking. She’s somewhere between furious with me for being an asshole and furious at herself for liking it. I’ve got her exactly where I want her, and I’m almost positive I’ll end up in her hotel room with her.
“No because you’re heading back to San Diego? I can come there to take you out if it’s easier. I need to do some work with King Contributions anyway, and I’ll need to get started on integrating Baker.”
She huffs out a mirthless laugh. “No because I have a boyfriend.”
The waiter delivers our food. I can’t look away from Sylvie, though—not at my plate, not at the waiter, not anywhere but her. She’s the center of my vision tonight.
“You keep mentioning him, yet you flew all this way to see me without him.”
“Because he has a job to do.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Impressive. You know what they say about lawyers, don’t you?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard them all.”
“What do lawyers use for birth control?”
She shrugs.
“Their personalities.”
“William has a great personality,” she says, but there’s little actual defensiveness to her tone.
“What’s the difference between a lawyer and a prostitute?”
She rolls her eyes again.
“A prostitute stops fucking you when you’re dead.”
“That’s a bad joke, even for someone like you.”
“For someone like me?” I point to my chest and give her my best expression of innocence.
She chuckles but hides her smile behind her glass of wine. She takes another sip, and I want the sommelier to come over and fill that glass back up. I’d love to see her loosen up a bit with a little wine running through her system.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I just mean you seem better than cheap lawyer shots.”
“That’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me.” I don’t miss the irony that it was in defense of her boyfriend. I can’t tell if I’ll get her into my bed easier by getting her to open up about him or by ignoring the fact that he exists. I take a chance. “So how long have you and the lawyer been together?”
“Two years.”
“Do you love him?”
“That’s an awfully personal question for a business dinner.”
“My apologies, but just so you know, that answer makes it seem like you don’t.”
“Of course I do!” She’s exclaiming, and I immediately wonder if it’s because she has to. I see a crack in the armor she’s putting up, and I intend to make that crack into a big, gaping hole.
Speaking of gaping holes… “The sex is good?”
Her hand flies to her chest in surprise. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I’m not sorry. My goal was to get her to think about sex, and mission accomplished. She’s flushed and warm, and she picks up her glass of wine for a bit of relief.
On cue, the sommelier comes over to refill her glass. I’m pacing myself, allowing her to take the bottle without even realizing it. I can drink more later if I want, but I might not get more alcohol into her.
I cut into my perfectly cooked steak, and she sets down her glass and stares at her chicken.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She looks up at me and clears her throat. “Yes. I’m just not very hungry.”
Because she’s thinking about the boyfriend. She’s comparing him to me in her mind, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he isn’t winning.
“Can I get you anything? Some water maybe?”
She shakes her head and picks up her fork. “I’m fine. Can we go back to talking about the company?”
“Of course.”
“What will you do if we dilute the shares?”
“You won’t. You can’t afford it.”
“But you can.”
I nod. “King Communications is worldwide, sweetheart. I don’t mean to sound condescending, but there’s little you can do to stop this takeover.”
She nods. “And my father—will you keep him in his position?”
“He can’t be president, but he’ll still have a role.”
“Why can’t he be president?”
“Because that position will cease to exist. Besides, he’s a dinosaur. What he’s doing is no longer profitable, and once we acquire rights, we’ll reorganize and get you profitable again.”
“What about my position?”
“You can have whatever position you want.” I say it with heavy sexual innuendo and give her my lazy grin.
She looks uncomfortable. “Coming here was a waste of my time.”
“It’s good business, Sylvie,” I say softly. “It shows how passionate you are. It shows how much the company means to you. It shows you’re willing to stop at nothing to fight for what you feel is right.”
She moves her fork around her chicken but doesn’t actually eat any of it. “Which is all fine and well, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve got more money and more power than me and there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”
“I’m sorry. It’s business. It’s not personal.” She looks up at me. “If it was, I’d try to stop it for you.”
She drops her fork. “Why?” she whispers.
“Do you really want the answer to that?”
She nods.
“Think long and hard before you say yes. Is this a conversation the boyfriend would be okay with?”
“Forget about him for a minute. Why would you try to stop it for me?”
Forget about him for a minute. Her words tell me she’s the one forgetting about him, which places her right in the palm of my hand.
“Because, Sylvie, I was serious before when I said you walking into that room this morning woke me up.” Now it’s my turn to feel uncomfortable. I’m rarely—if ever—this honest about my feelings. Maybe it’s because I never actually have these kinds of feelings. “Everything that was black and white is suddenly all these vibrant shades of color.”
She takes another sip of wine before she responds. When she does, her voice is full of venom. “I hate you.”
I nod and press my lips together, suddenly very sure this evening isn’t going to end with me inside her. “I don’t doubt that. I wish you didn’t. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, that you were single, that we could have some fun tonight, but clearly that’s not an option.”
I’m still up for that hate fuck I thought about earlier, but her words and the truth behind them take a serious shot at my confidence. I have a pretty strong inclination why I’m not ending up in her bed tonight, not because of the boyfriend, and not because I’ve been a cocky dick, but because of the company. It’s not just her job that’s at stake—it’s her father’s job, her family and their pride, and I look like the guy who’s swooping in to take it all away from them. Well, technically I am the guy who is doing that, but not because I want to.
“Can I be honest with you for a second?” I ask.
She nods.
“This stays between us.”
She nods again.
“I don’t want to be CEO of King.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever spoken it aloud to another person, and I have no idea why it’s to Sylvie. Maybe because she can relate—she understands the expectations when it comes to family business. But she’s a competitor. She’s the opposition. She shouldn’t know this truth about me—it’s dangerous for her to have that knowledge. Yet, there it is, laid out for her to use in whatever way she wants.
She looks surprised. “You don’t?”
I shake my head.
“Does your father know? Does anyone at King know?”
I shake my head again. “You’re the only person I’ve ever admitted it to.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t I want it? Or why did I admit it to you?”
“Both.”
“It’s never been my dream or my passion. It’s been expected of me my entire life. I was groomed for it, and now it’s a freight train I can’t stop. I hate confrontation, and I’m terrified to tell my dad it’s not what I want. It was stupid to tell you, but I feel like I’m taking something from you, so I wanted to give you something to take from me.”
Her eyes soften, and suddenly I get the feeling she doesn’t hate me as much as she did a few seconds ago.