His eyes lingered on my face, the wicked glint it held suggesting that he had something in mind. I raised a perfect eyebrow at him, and he flashed me a devilish, cunning smile.
❝ Why don't we do it? ❞ he proposed, his voice deliciously husky. ❝ No s...
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Like every night is one of us is getting aggressive The other one's acting possessive Guess it's the way that we do shit now — Good Together by Shy Martin
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ROSE CLARÉ WAS a rotating restaurant located on the top floor of a skyrise building, showcasing the city in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. The ambiance was quiet and serene, and the walls decorated with tasteful artwork were splashed with shades of brown and white. Everything was beautiful and elegant, and the low lighting, combined with the fresh flowers on the linen tablecloth and the classical music floating through the air offered a slightly romantic atmosphere.
I wasn't sure whether I was more proud, or resentful, of Dylan's determination to win against me. I applauded the efforts he was taking to get into my pants but detested it at the same time. A dilemma I didn't want to dive into, no doubt. Gosh, why on earth was I even thinking about that? I should be celebrating the success of the photoshoot. Besides, the only thing that mattered in this game of ours was that I wasn't cowering in defeat.
Blaire Harrington never bowed to anyone.
I stuffed a piece of the Salisbury Steak into my mouth and let out a quiet moan in delight. God, this was the perfect meal to have after a long, tiring day filled with unrelenting anxiety.
Raising an eyebrow at me, Dylan took a swig of his scotch on the rocks — a weird pairing for the meal he ordered. His intent gaze was locked with mine and the devastating power it possessed prevented me from straying my focus to something else other than him.
I swallowed the steak and reached for my glass of Pinot Noir. Taking a long sip, my eyes dropped to the small smile playing on Dylan's lips. A dull throb of irritation echoed within me. He was definitely on to something that didn't have to do with tonight's preview — which was a grave I had stupidly dug myself into — and I couldn't think of anything that would be a potential gain to him.
It was already concerning that he was curious as to why I had chosen him. The truth wasn't appalling enough to be considered an act of pure deception; it was just...something I hadn't gotten over with yet, and I was going to tell him once the agreement ended. But Dylan was a journalist, who worked for a company that thrived on rumors and ruining the careers of famous people. Curious shouldn't be what he was feeling.
