Page 22 of Arrogant and Merciless

He’s inviting me to go back to his place—but in such a casual, indifferent way, like it makes no difference to him.

I used to be a champion daydreamer, but a long time ago, I had to plant both feet on the ground. Ever since my dad got sick, I became the adult in the house—yet, paradoxically, I’ve never stopped believing in fairy tales. One thing has nothing to do with the other. It’s not because I don’t allow myself to dream constantly that I don’t want, in the future, a good career, a family, lots of kids.

I grew up with just my father. My mom died when I was really young, so I barely remember her. All I have are a few pictures of the three of us and his promise that she loved me very much.

I was lucky to have him, but there are things a girl needs from a female figure—like help with the transition from child to teen, then teen to adult.

And now, here I am with a man I never imagined would look at me twice. The same man who kissed me as if my mouth were the planet’s single source of oxygen, who now acts like me accepting his invitation for sex is a trivial decision.

And for him, it likely is. How many Taylors must have played out this scenario with William? I’m not naïve. His grandmother said he’s thirty-eight, and looking like that, it’s obvious he’s been with dozens of women.

But even knowing the odds of anything serious between us are practically zero, I refuse to be treated as just a body.

I can’t figure out why he showed up in the first place. It’s clear it wasn’t planned. I think he wanted to give me a gift, then changed his mind.

He’s like a puzzle missing key pieces. The way he looks at me makes me think he’d like to lay me down right here in the car and devour me. But his words are cold, indifferent.

I don’t like indifference. I’m not having sex with someone who treats me this way.

“Yes, I’d like to go home, Mr. Marshall.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, but I don’t care if he’s confused.

“And I need to return the earrings. They’re beautiful, but I can’t accept them.”

“I bought them for you. They’re the color of your eyes.”

“Thank you, but I don’t even have anywhere to wear something that valuable. I’ll bring them to your grandmother’s tomorrow.”

“You could have places to wear them, if you wanted.”

“What?”

“You’re young but not a child, Taylor. You must’ve realized that given my age, and that I’m still single, I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. We could still have fun together.”

“By having sex?”

He shrugs, and I want to scream with rage.

How can he be so insensitive?

“I’m sorry, but I’m not that modern. Sex, for me, will never be ‘just for fun.’ When I do it, I need it to be special.” I don’t even care if the driver hears. I’m too upset.

He, on the other hand, seems to care, because he presses a button to raise the partition between us and his employee.

“What do you mean by ‘I need it to be special?’”

“I’m sure you know exactly what I mean.” I don’t want to act like a brat; I want to show we’re on equal footing.

“Are you a virgin?” he asks, in the same tone he’d use if I’d just told him I had some terminal disease.

“No, but I’ve only ever had one boyfriend,” I reply, turning to the window. What I don't say is that this ex-boyfriend was an idiot who only wanted sex. When I finally gave in, trusting him, he ended it the following week.

“I had no idea. I thought?—”

I turn to look at him.

For the first time since we met, he almost seems ashamed.

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