Page 7 of False Comeback

When I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, my gaze shifted back toward him. He was carrying several filthy beakers and plates over to the sink. His hair was damp and slicked back, and he was only wearing a towel slung low on his hips.

I huffed in derision before I could stop myself. He always walked around in a fucking towel. Did he not even possess the basic etiquette to dress appropriately in the workplace?

His jaw was clenched, a muscle in it ticking. Wicked satisfaction made my lips curl into a little smirk. He probably hadn’t realised I was still here. He probably thought he’d won by spending so long on the treadmill earlier just so I wouldn’t be able to use it. I knew that was what he’d been doing. He’d even stayed on it, walking leisurely while chatting with Dan after he was done running. Just so I couldn’t.

Prick.

“What are you still doing here?” I heard myself say disdainfully, even though I knew I shouldn’t have been talking to him. My lip curled back into a sneer when he looked over and glared at me.

At first, I thought he was going to ignore me as he dumped his beakers in the sink and started running the hot water, but it seemed he couldn’t help himself either.

“Why do you care?” he muttered in a tight voice.

“I don’t,” I assured him immediately, turning away to stare at the wall.

I heard him snort. “Don’t worry, asshole. I have zero desire to hang around here with you.”

“Good.” I sniffed and tossed back my hair. “The feeling is mutual.”

“You’re not supposed to be talking to me, anyway.”

I could hear the smirk in his voice, and it made my teeth clench.

“You answered.” I side-eyed him in time to see him scowl at me.

“Yeah, well.” He paused in rinsing out the beakers. “In fact, while we’re here…”

My teeth clenched even harder. “What?”

“What you said about me during court was out of fucking line, Crossbody.”

An incredulous laugh scraped from my throat. “What I said about you?”

“You called me a slacker.” Anger was tightening his rough voice. “And said I don’t take my job seriously.”

“You don’t,” I said bluntly.

“Yes, I fucking do,” he gritted out.

I laughed brashly, not bothering to answer as I tossed my hair back again and looked away to dismiss him. After a few seconds, I heard a plastic cup slam onto the counter.

“Yes, I fucking do,” he repeated testily. “Just because I don’t spend all my free time alone here running on the fucking treadmill doesn’t mean I don’t take my damn job seriously. Some of us have lives.”

I laughed again, even though my muscles tensed at his words. “If you think swaggering around in a towel and playing a fool is ‘taking your job seriously,’ I can’t help you.”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” he bit out, abandoning his beakers in the sink to stalk closer. “You think I’d take advice from you? The arrogant jackass who clearly has nothing going for him outside of work?”

My jaw clenched, eyes burning a hole into the wall in front of me as I ran. “Need I remind you that I’m a fucking prince?”

His laugh was rough and cutting. “Oh no, definitely don’t need reminding of that. You don’t let us fucking forget it.”

“I can’t help it if my work ethic surpasses yours, Vince,” I drawled, slowing the treadmill to a brisk walk so I could cool down. But as I reached for my towel to dab the sweat on my neck, I tripped and almost faceplanted the console.

Embarrassment swelled into fury as I gripped the bars and jabbed the button to turn the machine off. I shot Vince a scathing look, daring him to laugh at me. He smirked, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Your shoelace is untied.”

My jaw clenched hard. I stepped off the belt and glared at him, wishing I could give him one last sneer and sweep out of the room. But I knew that if I tripped in front of him again, he’d laugh at me.