Page 29 of Vicious Little Liar
“You have the floor.” He settles deeper into his seat, widening his legs before crossing one foot over a knee.
Frowning, I fold my arms over my chest and ignore the bulge he doesn’t even try to hide beneath the crisp lines of his dark gray pants. “I don’t want it.” I’ve already said all that I need to say.
“Too bad.” His eyes darken.
“You’ve gotten grumpy in your old age.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “And you have grown more brazen in yours.”
“Sucks for you.”
He smirks. “I never said I didn’t like it.”
Oh.
Setting his glass aside, he turns in his seat and holds my gaze. “We are not at war, you and I.”Well, that’s news to me.“You don’t have to treat every conversation between us like a battle to be won.”
“Uh huh.” I roll my eyes.
He sighs. “Leticia—“
I take in the exasperated look on his face, and something about it makes me justsoangry. “What?” I snap. “What do you want from me?”
“You can start by showing some appreciation.”
Throwing my hands in the air, I let out a humorless laugh. “For what?”
He growls. Actually growls at me. “For rescuing your ungrateful—“
“Oh, no. I’m stopping you right there.”
His brows furrow. That’s right. I am not one of your little underlings. I don’t give two shits about interrupting you.
“I never asked to be rescued. In fact,” I shove out of my seat. “I think it’s time that I leave.”
“Sit down,” Andres orders in a low, threatening voice.
The hairs on my neck stand up on end and a chill races down my spine, making me shudder. I drop down into my seat, but not because he told me to. I only sat down because I don’t have a phone or a car or any other means of finding my own way home. And these heels are incredibly uncomfortable.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?”
I jut out my lower lip, pouting, I know. It’s not my best look, but I’m beyond caring. Averting my gaze, I allow my eyes to wander across the room, looking at everything except him.
“The silent treatment is beneath you.”
There are a lot of things that are beneath me, yet I still do them anyway. I’m like Rapunzel. A princess locked away in a castle. A girl has to get her kicks somewhere. Besides, I’m not after his—or anyone else’s—approval. I’m a grown woman. So, if I want to behave like a petulant child, I will.
“Princesa—”
“Stop calling me that.” I grind my words through my teeth, the pet name hitting a little too close to home right now.
Gritting his teeth, he glares at me. “Fine,” he bites out.
Good.
“Now, can we get back to the business at hand?” When I make no objections, he continues. “Do you expect me to believe that you want to marry that pinche cabrón,”That fucking bastard.“Maxim Sidorov? That you desire to be his bride?”
I scoff. “Of course not.”
