Erica I stood up from my chair, ready to walk out as I picked my purse and finished the last few sips of my wine. Just as I passed him, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to a stop. I didn’t look at him, instead kept my eyes on the glass doors where his two men stood like sentries. I was starting to hate him. No, I already hated him. How many glasses of that wine did I had? Or maybe it was just the man making me crazy. God, I can’t believe I was so wound up because he hadn’t contacted me in the last eleven days. The fucker. When I didn’t look up at him, he gripped my chin and tilted my head. Looking into my eyes with that unusual gaze, he said, “You are angry.” I snorted. “Do you want a medal here and now, or would you like to hold a ceremony for it?”
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