Page 13 of The Grump I Married
“Every available woman in our circle is going to be talking about this,” he said, pacing across my living room.
More like every available woman in Houston, I thought—but I kept that to myself.
Weston snapped his head up. “What’s burning?”
My dinner!My eyes widened, and I dashed into the kitchen and pulled the chicken Kiev from the oven. It was a little more well-done than I would have liked, and some of the cheese had bubbled out, but it would probably still taste okay.
I placed the pan down on the stove top next to my pasta, trying to keep my cool as Weston walked into the kitchen. All I’d wanted was a nice meal and some time to appreciate my sexy, kilt-wearing Highland warriors. I picked up my rosé, taking a sip as I turned back to him. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
He started pacing the length of my counter. “Turning down my proposal was fair,” he said.
I arched an eyebrow. While I wanted to be impressed that he’d come to that conclusion, I had a feeling he wasn’t done yet.
“Quitting your job, with absolutely no notice, in violation of the terms of your employment contract,” he continued, “was less fair.”
I winced, trying not to dwell on those terms and conditions.
“Still, I could have lived with that. Going to Narissa, though?” He stopped pacing and glared at me. “Aiming her against me? I never would have expected that of you. I didn’t think you were capable of being so vindictive.”
I put my wine down and crossed my arms. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I said, doing my best not to throw Tess under the bus. “I was at Let It Dough, feeding my frustration with beignets.” He rolled his eyes at that. “And I was…venting. I think I was entitled to a little of that after our less-than-stellar conversation.”
“You were venting to Narissa?” he said through his teeth.
“Of course not! I was on the phone with a friend, and that woman has the hearing of an owl or an elephant, whichever one has the best hearing. I didn’t even realize she was there until she crashed my conversation.”
“You should have known better than to be having that conversation in public.”
I wanted to defend myself, but the truth was, he had a point. About Narissaandabout me being in violation of my employment contract—for quitting without notice…and for more.
Nerves fluttered in my gut.
I’d been fueled by anger earlier today when I’d quit and told Weston to sue me. But the truth was, Narissa had made it clear in her posts that I was her source, which could open me up to accusations of defamation or discrediting Weston. That was also a big no-no according to my contract. If Weston felt like being vindictive, I’d handed him the ammunition to blow my life apart.
I rubbed my forehead, my thoughts spinning. I couldn’t handle this tonight. I needed to sleep off my poor decisions and the wine and figure out what the hell to do about it all tomorrow. “You should go,” I said again, softer this time. “We can sort this out in the?—”
“We can sort it out over dinner,” he said, sitting down at my kitchen table.
I blinked at him, shocked into silence for a moment.
“What are we eating?” he asked.
“We?” My earlier frustration flared back to life, hotter than ever. Contract violations be damned! This was typical Weston,taking me for granted and assuming he was entitled to anything he wanted from me—my leisure hours, my dinner, my hand in marriage. “Weare eating nothing becauseyouare going home.” I tried to wave him out of the chair. He didn’t budge.
“You’re the one who’s always getting on my case about not skipping meals,” he said, shrugging out of his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I swallowed hard. Damn him, maybe hehadnoticed what they did to me.
Marshaling my willpower, I tried to focus on my anger. “Because you get hangry,” I insisted. “And your Scottish hangry-ness is a force to be reckoned with.”
“I donotget hangry.”
“You do. And then you’re impossible to deal with. I was trying to preserve my own sanity by forcing you to eat. But that doesn’t mean you should help yourself tomydinner now.”
Weston simply stared at me, calmly waiting for the world to rearrange itself to his preferences—as it usually did. Part of me wanted to hold the line just as a matter of principle. But on the other hand, I was pretty certain he had no intention of leaving until he’d gotten his way. So if I wanted to eat my dinner sometime tonight, I was apparently going to have to share. I turned away from him, grumbling as I dished us both up a serving of pasta and chicken Kiev.
I dropped the plate down in front of him, taking my seat. “You eat and then you leave.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Good,” I muttered, stabbing my fork into my chicken. As I stuffed the food into my mouth, I realized I was starving.Considering I was running off nothing more than iced coffee and beignets since breakfast, that wasn’t surprising. Weston ate just as quickly. He barely stopped for meals on a good day, and today obviously hadn’t been a good day.
