Page 23 of Dirty Martini
“W-What’s t-that?” I stutter, unable to contain my fear as he leans forward, so close that his nose brushes against mine. “Rhys?—”
“Take care of him, look out for him, be there for him,” he says, huffing to himself. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll do the bare minimum to keep my promise. But Everest, if you push me, if you egg me on, if you do anything to fuck with me, I won’t be keeping that promise.” One hand raises to wrap around my throat. “Listen to me because I’m only going to say this once. Fuck with me, and I’ll do everything possible to make your life a living hell. Challenge me, and you’ll find that I’ll fucking win. I’ll win and reduce you to absolutely nothing, just like you deserve, just like you’ve done to me. Do you understand?”
I’m completely speechless. I knew his hatred ran deep, but this… This is too much. This is a declaration of war, a very clear line being drawn, a threat.
But even though I want to argue and lash out and defend myself, I keep my mouth shut. I don’t say anything as he gives my cheek a solid pat, almost like a slap, and steps away. He gets into the car, and I think he realizes that I might need a minute to process what just happened.
It shouldn’t matter what Rhys thinks of me. We just have to cohabitate and that’s that. Elton will come back from his trip eventually and act as a buffer. I don’t have to engage with Rhys or do anything remotely resembling trying to build a friendship. All I have to do is avoid him.
That should be easy, right?
CHAPTER NINE
Everest
It is,in fact,noteasy.
It seems like everywhere I go, Rhys is right around the corner. For someone who sleeps all day and works all night, he’s unusually present. Whether it’s coming home while I’m still awake, running into each other in the kitchen, or seeing the other by the elevator, it’s like he’s everywhere.
That might be why I’m hiding out in my room right now. I can hear him in the kitchen getting ready for work, and even though I’m starving, I’m determined to wait until he’s done and gone. He made himself very clear. The threat was put out there, a lingering sword hovering over me, and I don’t know what it’s going to take to make that chord snap. He hates me, and I can see it plain as day every time he looks my way. And since I don’t want to feel like a piece of shit twenty-four-seven, I choose to not engage.
When I hear the ding of the elevator, followed by the whoosh of it closing, I fly out the door. I take the stairs down to the kitchen two at a time, sort of hilariously, as I tear into the fridge. But when I see there’s nothing to eat, I get annoyed.
That motherfucker ate my food.
I growl as I slam the fridge shut. If he really despises me, he should want nothing to do with me and my leftovers. I know it’s petty as hell—on both his part and mine—to care this much but, damn it, I wanted my fried rice.
Yanking the fridge door open again, I look through the contents until I spot a six-pack of local beer. Beer that belongs to Rhys and an idea forms in my brain.
Is it petty? Absolutely.
Do I care? Not one single bit.
I take the entire pack to my room, because fuck him. Stripping down to my boxers, I flop on the bed, opening the can with a satisfying hiss, and gulp the first sip.
It tastes a little likefuck you, Rhys.
It’sthe loud pounding on my bedroom door that wakes me up hours later. I look at the clock and see that it’s nearly four in the damn morning.
“What the hell?” I mumble, slipping out of bed with annoyance. The pounding continues, and I curse, screaming out, “Calm down! I’m coming!”
When I open the door, I’m immediately greeted by an extremely enraged Rhys. He’s still wearing his sleevelessXOshirt that looks irritatingly good on him and his backward baseball cap that’s drool worthy. It’s my sleepy haziness that causes me to take an extra second to recognize the look on his face.
He’slivid.
“The hell. It’s so fucking early. What do you want?”
But Rhys ignores me. Instead of answering, he shoulders past and into my room. His eyes dart everywhere as if he’slooking for something, and I have to bite back a snap. It’s too late—or early—to get into it with him.
Finally, his eyes settle on the empty beer cans on my nightstand. He whips his head at me, narrowing his eyes. “Seriously? You took my beer?”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding? You took my leftovers!” And even I can hear how childish I sound.
This is fucking ridiculous.
“That was nearly twenty bucks you owe me,” he bites out, walking toward my nightstand and lifting the cans. “You drankallof them?”
“What are you doing buying twenty-dollar beer?” I counter, ignoring his latter question.
