Page 44 of Entrapped
"Get out," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.
"No. We need to talk this over." Vaughn's tone was determined, almost coaxing, but I wasn’t buying it.
I leaned back in my chair, letting out a frustrated breath. "Talk what over? The fact that you’re obsessed with me? That you think screwing me once will somehow get me out of your system?"
He grinned, that maddening grin that always managed to get under my skin. "Only one way to find out..."
"That’s not going to happen, Vaughn." My voice was firm, but the tremor in my hands betrayed me. "Why can’t you understand that I’m with your father? I’m committed to him, and I plan to stay faithful."
Vaughn’s expression hardened, and he leaned forward, planting both hands on the edge of my desk. "What about that night in the kitchen? What if I had slipped my hand into your pants? Would you have let me go further?"
An embarrassed flush crept up my neck. The memory of that night made my stomach twist. "I thought you were Colson. Why did you switch cologne?"
"I like it," he said with a casual shrug, as if that explained everything.
I shook my head, anger flaring again. "No. You had a plan. Did you think I’d be in bed, and you could just slip in and have your way with me? That’s a violation of trust, Vaughn."
"Joey, you were mine first."
I let out a sarcastic laugh. "I was never yours. You had all those years to make me yours, and you did nothing but torment me. Did you know I used to call you and Simone the terrorist twins?"
Vaughn burst out laughing, the sound deep and genuine, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. "You did not."
I jutted out my chin, refusing to back down. "Logan and I used to agree on it."
He stroked his chin, mimicking the way Colson often did, and I hated the way it made my heart skip a beat. "Logan? I don’t think you know your brother as well as you think."
I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. "What are you talking about?"
"Ask him," Vaughn said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I doubt he thinks Simone is so bad."
"He does. He knows what she did to me," I countered, my voice laced with certainty.
Vaughn’s expression remained unreadable, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable. "We’ll see about that."
"Logan knows what you both did to me," I shot back, the anger in my voice undeniable. "Easton was the only one who cared."
Vaughn plopped down on the couch in my office, casually stretching out as if he owned the place. "You mean poor little lost boy? He was grasping for something, and he found you. He needed something after my mother died."
Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I swallowed them down. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. "And he found it with me. That would explain why he was my friend even before your mother died. He gave me the friendship you could’ve, instead of acting like a complete asshole. God, Vaughn, you’re so fucking self-entitled, and you always have been."
He scrubbed a hand over his face, a gesture that looked almost vulnerable, but I knew better. "So, you’re telling me I don’t have a chance?"
I shook my head firmly. "You never did. I don’t date jerks. And as long as I’m married to your father, you could be Mother Teresa, and I still wouldn’t date you."
He pursed his lips and slowly rose to his feet, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "You wound me."
"Let Serena soothe it," I retorted, keeping my voice steady. "She’ll be your wife soon."
"But not the one I want," he muttered under his breath as he walked out the door.
I watched him leave, my heart heavy with a mix of anger and sadness. Vaughn had always been impossible, but this—this was something else. And no matter what he wanted, I couldn’t give it to him. I wouldn’t.
I pushed my chair out and headed downstairs to see Logan. Vaughn’s cryptic statement had left me uneasy, and I needed answers. Even though Logan’s office was just one floor down, I took the elevator. I still couldn’t bring myself to use the stairs after what Simone had done.
When I entered Logan’s office unannounced, he was on the phone, speaking between bites of a sandwich. He glanced up, surprised to see me, but continued his conversation. His office was a fraction of the size of mine, with no sitting area, and the view from his windows was blocked by a taller building across the street. I sat in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish.
As he hung up, he looked at me with a raised brow. "To what do I owe this visit? Did we have a scheduled lunch I forgot?"
