“You know what I’m saying,” he growled, turning his back on me as he headed over to drink from the water fountain.
“Well, it’s not true,” I insisted. “I’m not a lady and I don’t lunch. And the day I marry a guy with a small dick and a beer gut will be a cold day in hell.”
“Money is worth more to people like you than love.”
“People like me?” I snarled, my temper burning a line of fire up my spine as I strode towards him.
“Yeah.” He rounded on me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Entitled girls who’ve only ever known the easy life, girls who barely lift a finger to wipe their own asses. You think you’re different? Bullshit. You’re all the same. I’ve seen it too many times. Girls at this school preaching about building hospitals for the sick and schools for the poor when they get access to their daddy’s money, but the second they graduate, they’re straight off to their Ivy League colleges where they get their oh so fucking honourable degrees, only to be married off to the highest bidder before graduation. Their careers are just a scam to make them seem like they have actual dreams outside of their golden walls and a bunch of just-as-entitled brats to raise in their image and grow more fat cats like them. It makes me sick.” He was in my face now, glaring down his nose, practically spitting venom.
“I guess you’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you Nash?” I said in an arctic tone, trembling with rage. “But maybe you should wake up in the twenty first century, you bigoted, pig-headed, idiot. I have never dreamed of marriage or any kind of fucking walls. I have dreams which have nothing to do with any man I might come to love, hate or fuck in my lifetime. You could take away my trust fund this very second and I would still climb to the top of the mountain of life with bloody fingernails, because I want to. Not because I need to impress some prick with a fleet of yachts or an armanda of fucking golf clubs. I’d rather live in a shack by the ocean and spend my days kickboxing for small change than marry some big-headed douchebag who wants to own the whole world and doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. I’d die first.” I turned my back on him, marching across the room and snatching up my bag.
“You’re staying at mine tonight,” he growled, striding forward to make it to the door before I could.
“I’m aware,” I snapped.
He stared at me with a searing intensity as I strode towards him, ducking under his arm as he held the door wide.
I headed outside into the fresh night air, marching in the direction of Maple Lodge as Monroe jogged to catch me.
“You can’t be seen walking to my house,” he hissed.
I flipped him the finger, turning off the path and heading up the track that led around the main staff quarters to the back of his house while he continued along the main path.
Arrogant dickface.
I was practically spitting lava by the time I made it around to his house and knocked on the back door. He opened it and I shouldered past him into the lounge, tossing my bag down and making my way directly to the kitchen. I yanked a cupboard open, taking out a huge bar of chocolate before heading to the couch and flinging myself down on it. I tore the wrapper off and took a savage bite of it, the sweetness making me moan despite the situation and I shut my eyes to savour it.
The bathroom door clicked shut and the shower turned on as Monroe left me to it. I made my way through more of the chocolate, trying not to picture him butt naked with the water streaming over his muscular ass. Except that was exactly what I was doing while I placed more chocolate in my mouth and let it melt on my tongue.
When he finally stepped out with nothing but a towel around his waist, I forced my eyes away from his bare chest and those abs which made me want to bite down on my knuckles until they bled. Screw his stupid body.
He strode off into his room and I grabbed my bag, heading into the bathroom to shower. When I was done, I dressed in a silky pyjama combo made up of a pair of pale pink shorts and a camisole top.
I headed back into the lounge and found Monroe dominating the couch in nothing but a pair of navy boxers. There was an empty plate on the coffee table and he silently pointed me towards the microwave where I found a steaming plate of greasy Chinese noodles waiting for me. My mouth watered as I grabbed a fork, dropped into a chair and wolfed down every last bite.
I felt Monroe’s eyes drifting to me from the TV show he was watching about truckers in Canada from time to time, but gave him zero acknowledgement as I devoured my food. When I was finished, I grabbed his plate and headed to the kitchen.
“Leave them,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I shot back, washing them in the sink and stacking them beside it. I drummed my fingers on the counter when I was done, then gasped as Monroe brushed past me as he headed to the fridge. A river of butterflies rushed into my belly as he grabbed a beer and offered me one.
I took it with a murmur of thanks and he cracked his open, his eyes locked on me as he took a long swig. I watched his throat as he swallowed, the tension in the air growing so thick that I couldn’t breathe. Why was
