Page 47 of The Love You Fight For
I act like the praise pleases me. It doesn’t.
“I also scanned these into the computer like you asked,” I say casually, pulling a stack of papers from my oversized tote and setting them on top of the garment bags. I pretend the papers are nothing special, despite the fact that they contain a long list of names and donation pledges. “I’ve noticed that Belinda has been...preoccupied...lately, so if you’d like me to check over her spreadsheets, I don’t mind.”
He furrows his brow.
“Belinda?”
“The campaign finance manager?” I blink innocently. “She’s been spending a lot of time with Daddy lately. I would hate for it toaffect her job performance. Having pristine records is very important for this campaign.”
“Denise,” he corrects, but I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t care what her name is. “I’m sure she’s fine, Samantha, but thank you for the offer.” He smiles tightly. “I don’t mind helping her out where she needs it.”
“If that’s what you want.” I sigh. “I’ll see you at the office.”
I turn to leave, but he reaches out and grabs my hand, stopping me. It takes every ounce of strength not to snatch my hand out of his. When he rubs his thumb over my wrist, I have to hide a shudder.
“Samantha, I suppose your father spoke to you about the dinner tomorrow night?”
“He did,” I say curtly.
Though spoke to me is an interesting way to put it. More like ordered me via text message at four in the morning. I keep my spine straight and my shoulders back, and I don’t cower even though I want to.
“I’d like to pick you up at your condo,” he says. His thumb never stops rubbing over my wrist. “It only makes sense since you’re going as my date.”
I clear my throat and gently pull my hand from his.
“That’s unnecessary. I have a driver.”
He grabs my hand again, but this time, his touch isn’t gentle. I bite the inside of my cheek.
“I insist.” His grip tightens to painful before he drops my hand. “I’ll be there at seven fifteen tomorrow evening to drive you to the dinner.”
He reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a long black velvet box. He opens it and turns it toward me, displaying a diamond necklace. My stomach clenches.
Gifts. The last thing I want from this man are gifts. Especially not expensive ones. They always come with strings attached.
“I have something for you.” He takes the necklace from the box and closes the distance between us. “Turn around.”
I open my mouth to protest, but then I hearhervoice in my head.
Whatever it takes.
I turn around, and to be even moreagreeable, I move my hair from the back of my neck.
He hums his approval, then reaches around me and drapes the string of platinum and diamonds on my collarbone, making sure to drag his knuckles over every centimeter of my skin along the way. Goose bumps flare up on my body, but not the good kind. His hands rest on my shoulder blades as he does the clasp, and I’m grateful for the high collar and fabric on the back of my button-down shirt. I can feel the heat of his hands, the pressure, but it’s not skin on skin anymore.
When the necklace is clasped, he takes a step back and I turn around.
I smile.
“Thank you.”
“It looks beautiful on you.” He surveys the necklace, then allows his eyes to drop down my body in a disrespectful and shameful display of his interest.
Like a butcher assessing a piece of meat.
“A woman like you, with a body like yours, should be draped in fine jewels so everyone knows your worth.”
Ugh. I want to throw up on his shoes, but I don’t let my smile slip. I nod gently in thanks, but I can’t bring myself to say the words.
