Page 91 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“Okay,” I answer hesitantly.
“Then Harrods. Do you have something nice to wear to class, or do we need to go to Harrods first?”
I mean, I could use less of the condescending tone that just appeared out of nowhere.
“I brought a few dresses,” I answer.
“Appropriate ones?” he asks.
Okay, sir. No need to be rude.
“Yes, they’re quite appropriate.”
“What’s appropriate to you, Sloane, might not be appropriate to others.”
Excuse me?
Hold on a freaking second.
What’s with the insults?
Have I done something wrong to warrant them? Because the last thing I remember, I just nursed this man back to health. Here I was feeling badfor the doof when I should have known his golden-retriever attitude was only temporary. It’s as though opening his email reminded him of the walls he erected earlier, reminded him of his thoughts about me, Jude’s sister—too young. Look at him asking me questions about whether I can dress myself.Uh, pretty sure the reason why you aren’t still feeling like death is because I took care of you.
God, he’s infuriating.
With a less nurturing tone, I say, “They’re appropriate, Hudson.”
“I’ll approve of them in the morning.”
He’ll approve of them in the morning?
As if I need his approval?
Uh, that’s not how this is going to work.
“Hey,” I say, turning toward him and slapping his phone down. “Insensitive prick. Maybe instead of second-guessing my ability to dress myself appropriately, you could show some appreciation for the shit I did for you today.”
He blinks a few times startled.
Yeah, that’s right, you can’t treat me like that.
“I’m…sorry.”
“That’s right you’re freaking sorry. Christ, Hudson.” I tug on my hair, my frustration getting the better of me. “You get your phone back, and in seconds you become the biggest douche in the world.”
His brows knit together. “I had things I needed to check up on, Sloane.”
“I get that, but also, you’re being a dick to me, and I don’t appreciate it. Did I or did I not lie with you for the past few hours? Did I or did I not make sure you were well-hydrated and taken care of? Even when you were dry heaving into the trash can, I was rubbing your back. Did I not show you how capable I am of managing this, nursing you, making sure you had everything you needed? And then you go and question my outfits? Treating me like some adolescent who has no idea how to act in society. Jesus. That’s being a dick.”
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
“Damn right you are. Jesus.”
With that, I turn back around and line up as close to the edge of the bed as possible because the last thing I want is to slide another inch closer to him.
God, what a freaking ass.
Do you have an appropriate outfit?
