Page 24 of Power Play
But did my bad luck stop there?
Of course, it fucking didn't.
I pass the hotel bar on the way to the elevators. I want a long soak in hot water and my bed. I know we have to be up in a few hours for our flight to California, but I just want to feel human again.
Unfortunately, there's a lone figure sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of dark amber liquid.
Jonesy.
God, I really don't want to deal with him right now. I'm still so confused about how I feel about him, and I really don't want him seeing me looking homeless.
But see me he does.
He throws a handful of bills on the bar and follows me to the elevator.
And it looks like he's aiming for a fight.
"What the hell happened to you?" Jonesy asks, wrinkling his nose as if I smell as bad as I look.
"Not now, Jonesy. Please."
"Seriously, is that a leaf in your hair?" He raises his hand to my hair and sure enough, pulls a leaf out of it.
I stare at the elevator display, letting me know it's on the fortieth floor, and slowly making its way down to me.
"Lost my purse. Didn't have cash or my phone to call for an Uber. Had to walk home."
"You look like you slept under a bridge."
"I thought about it." I said ruefully.
We step into the elevator car, but in this confined space, I'm forced to feel the nervous, chaotic energy thrumming off of him in waves. Something's wrong. And there's something predatory in his look. I swallow. I know that look.
It's someone in need of a victim. I wince. I thought we had come to some sort of working arrangement. I was attracted to him, and I thought he was attracted to me, but then he pulled that stunt with Tracey and things at work since the cabin have been... neutral. Or at least I thought they had.
"What's it like being the hot mess twin? Your sister's always so put together."
"Jonesy." I warn. I get needing a punching bag, and 99% of the time I'm calm enough to let whatever insults or backhanded compliments slide off of me. But he was seeing me at my most vulnerable. I'm tired, cold, and hungry and just so fucking done with this day. And he can't even have the decency to just let me walk away. I'm trapped in this elevator with him. An easy victim.
"What was it like growing up with Tracey? Must be hard playing second fiddle to your literal twin."
I bristle and my shoulders tighten. He's staring at the side of my face, grinning like a shark, but I stare straight ahead. I won't give him the satisfaction.
"I don't have any siblings, so I don't know what that would feel like. Not to be the center of my parents' attention."
I grind my molars and clench my hands into fists. He tracks the movements and his grin widens. He knows he's getting to me.
"Let me guess. You guys had birthday parties, but they were really only for her. You had to go to all of her games and practices, but never participated in anything yourself. You sat on the sidelines while your sister took up the spotlight." He gives a sardonic chuckle, not knowing just how close to the truth he was.
And like the asshole he is, he went in for the kill. "No offense, but I can see why guys would go for Tracey first. She has the 'it' factor. You have more of a 'friend-zone' factor."
He got it nearly right. Yes, most men flocked to Tracey, but I didn't care about that. I cared about the men she tried, and some she succeeded in stealing from me. Whether it was the culmination of the shittiest day of my life, Jonesy acting like a righteous asshole, or the fact that I wanted to stop him talking before he got closer to the actual truth, I lose my shit. Angry, embarrassed energy surges through me and leaves my arms hot and tingly.
I spin on him, grabbing two handfuls of his shirt and using his surprise to shove him hard against the wall of the elevator. I punch the emergency stop button and the elevator lights dim, a red warning light appearing.
"I don't know where the fuck you get off," I growl, chest heaving in angry, sawing breaths. "But you don't know shit about me, or my family. You're not a bad guy, Jonesy, but you're acting like an absolute fucking douche, and I don't have to put up with it. So shut the fuck up or I'll kick you in the balls so hard youcan'tkeep talking."
I hate how easily he can get under my skin, hate how his words echo the doubts I’ve fought to bury. But more than that, I hate how much I want to prove him wrong.
