Page 6 of Threaded Lies

Chills chase over my skin and my nipples harden in a natural, reflexive reaction that most women would have when flanked by three sexy men like I am.

“We’re not selling sex.” The four words thunder through the room and suck the life out of the playful mood.

My pulse roars in my ears and my heart races, but I keep my hands steady and my voice even when I meet his eyes for the first time. His stoic expression is a sharp contrast to the words he just uttered and a stark reminder of just how duplicitous he can be.

It fuels me in ways I never could have expected.

“No. We’re selling women on equality. On them getting to have whatever the fuck they want. Men. Careers. Ownership. Honesty. You name it.” I lift my brows as if I need to reinforce my words, but I’m pretty sure the defiance in my tone did that already for me.

“I didn’t okay this,” he says flatly.

“You say that like I need to ask for permission to run my own department as I see fit.”

“How cute. You think you have a leg to stand on. My company. My rules.”

There is a lump the size of Texas lodged in my throat, and I struggle with a comeback because there are so many things I could say—want to say about his my company claim—but I grit my teeth instead and say what would be expected of me. “You mean my family’s company. Until you sign those papers, it’s still mine.”

I meet his eyes and look for any flicker of deception. Of regret. There isn’t a single iota of guilt etched in the lines of his face when he speaks. “Still with that song and dance?” he murmurs.

My only response is a lift of my eyebrows. Better to say nothing than to say something that will put me more at a disadvantage when it comes to Holden Knight.

“Again?” I say to the men around me, who suddenly feel so much stiffer in posture. Almost as if a silent threat was sent via testosterone wavelength from Holden for them to stay the hell away from me.

Screw that.

I lean forward and reach out to the third model, Noah, in front of me, thread my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck with my free hand, and look up so that our silhouettes are mirror images and only an inch apart. I hold up the TinSpirits can to get it in the shot but I don’t give a damn about the photo shoot right now.

Right or wrong, immature or not, I care about making Holden jealous and showing him just what he’ll be missing.

Unfortunately, I don’t think it works. A glance his way has that indifferent mask back on his face.

So I try harder. More touching. More flirting. More skin. All while Lyle murmurs encouragement for us to keep putting our chemistry on display.

“Are you wanting a kiss somewhere in here?” Lyle asks. And I’m assuming he’s asking me and not Holden, but Holden speaks before I can respond.

“You went blond,” Holden finally says, the words again cutting through the room like a knife.

I shrug and adjust my top but don’t look his way when I respond. “They say blondes have more fun, and since being a brunette netted me absolutely nothing, I figured I’d give that theory a try again.”

“Look at you conforming. I’m sure your mother must be thrilled.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable and earns him a glare.

“Last I checked, following the rules screwed me over. It won’t happen again.”

Holden’s brow furrows in confusion. He opens his mouth to speak, to ask questions no doubt he can’t ask with company present, but then shuts it. “So you’re making your own rules now, or what?”

If looks could kill, the one I level him with would land him in a casket. “There are no rules anymore.”

“Huh,” he says and tucks his tongue in his cheek with a ghost of a smile on his lips. So glad one of us finds this amusing.

But why? Because he is who he is and always has to pretend to have the upper hand even when he doesn’t? Or because he’s figured out that I know and is operating under the theory that the game must go on?

I have a hard time believing the latter and an even harder time processing that he doesn’t know that I know about the contracts being signed just yet.

“Rowan? Sweetheart?” Lyle says, breaking the visual standoff between Holden and me. “Can we try and soften the eyes a bit. We want customers to buy the product, not think you’re going to murder them, right?”

“Yes. Sorry. Sure.” I fall back into character, forcing myself to ignore the giant presence in the room.

I’m successful at it. At least I think I am. But freaking Holden stands there with his quiet judgment and unnerving silence for the rest of the shoot.