Page 5 of Hate You More

“Are you trying to cause a scene?” she mutters as she tries to keep up, her steps two to one of my long strides.

“I thought I was preventing one.” A smile fixed in place, I make for the elevator bank at the kind of pace that doesn’t invite conversation along the way. “You lose a bet or something?” I demand as my eyes flick coldly over her.

“I thought it was Halloween. Oops.”

“Not cute.” What gives? Not Clara Forbes. Unless those gifts are heartache and strife.

“Believe me, Troy, I had no idea you’d be here.”

“And believe me, Clara, I can’t trust a thing that comes out of your mouth.”

“If you don’t want people asking questions, you should slow down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch her chew the inside of her lip. “Do you have any idea what this looks like? You can’t just—”

“I can.” I nod at a board member and widen my smile, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “And I fucking will.” My expression turns mocking as I glance down at her.

“Fine, let people gossip.”

“Maybe we’re in a hurry. I could be escorting you to replenish those Tater Tots.” Like she cares. She could pull away—it’s not like I’d chase her down. Not in public, anyway.

“Looks more like you’re making a citizen’s arrest for stealing the caviar topping.”

Caviar. Well, I suppose that’s something. Something to do with Hugo’s bougie tastes. “Maybe I’m rescuing you.”

“From what?”

“Could be who.” I glance down pointedly.

“That’s ambitious,” she mutters. “Saving me from myself.” I fight an unwise but real smile. “Kidnapping the waitstaff isn’t going to do your rep any good.”

I make no reply.

“I never had you pegged as a bully.”

“CEO, darlin’. Thanks to your dear old dad, you know those two are adjacent.” The old bastard had more money than Croesus and thinks the world revolves around him.

“Only my dad never frightened me in public.”

I refuse to bite. Whatever that meant is not my concern.

“Could you slow down, at least?”

“No.” The elevator bank is in sight.

“You’re behaving like a crazy person.”

“I have been called way worse by much nicer people.”

“That I believe.”

“You’ve got some nerve,” I say on an unhappy chuckle.

“I do, one in particular screaming in the base of my spine—” Her posture suddenly changes, and her sudden smile reminds me of a beauty pageant contestant. “Oh, hey, Shanti!”

“Where’s your tray?” The woman frowns before her gaze flits my way.