Page 286 of One More Kiss

His laughter rang out sharp and unapologetic. He absolutely fucking loved this, and I hated him for it. But if I wanted Cora, I had to take the beating.

“I think there’s an opening right now, so you have a good shot of being hired.” He sniffed, immersing himself in his paperwork once more. “If nothing else, we’re always looking for janitors. Ten dollars an hour, and it will get you in the door.” He glanced up at me. “After all, you’ll do anything, won’t you?”

This time, it was my turn to laugh. “You’d rather I walk away from 250 thousand dollars in profit to take your below poverty-level job?”

“I need you to show your commitment to the Margulis family.” He was unfazed. What an absolute, unrepentant bastard.

“By scrubbing your toilets.”

Allan blinked dramatically, as if he profoundly did not understand my issue. “Is it the type of work that’s stopping you? I figured you’d feel more at home at that level. Isn’t that how your father made his thousands?”

His thousands. I could have drowned in the sea of condescension he’d filled the room with. My adoptive father wasn’t a janitor. But my biological father had been. How Allan knew that was anybody’s guess. I doubted Cora had given him the rundown of my sorry family history. Which meant Allan had been doing his homework, even while actively loathing me.

He’d prodded deeper than I’d expected.

“Listen,” I began, expelling a defeated burst of air. But nothing followed it. I had nothing left to offer him that wouldn’t ruin what miniscule chance I still had left. He’d beaten me down, and I’d held back the insults.

Allan checked his watch. “Your time’s up, boy. It was real nice talking to you.” In an exaggerated southern accent, he added, “Y’all come back now, hear?”

“Fuck you,” I said. The glare this prompted served as the final push over the edge of my restraint. “You want to talk about lack of respect. Every last fucking thing you’ve said to me in here was the definition of disrespectful.”

“Look around, you naïve child. You’re in my building. Enjoying my view. Breathing my air.” He wasn’t wrong, since buying air rights in the city was common practice. He hefted with a scoff. “I don’t owe you shit. Now take a good look around, because this is the last time you’ll ever see the inside of my world.”

Anger slashed at my chest. I had to leave. Now. Allan thought he’d won, but this battle wasn’t fucking over. I tore myself out of his office, hurt and bewilderment crowding the edges of my vision. I could barely see where I was going, yet somehow I made it into the elevator. I paced the small box as it plummeted downward, tugging at my hair as I struggled to take deep, calming breaths.

Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to smash his face in, but I’d have to settle for imagined acts of vandalism.

In my head, I was pissing all over his office and swinging a bat against the glass flames sculpture in the lobby as I stormed out of the elevator. I was so angry I almost forgot my jacket, so I had to stomp back across the gleaming floor to snag it. All eyes fell on me—maybe I was seething too hard—but I couldn’t give a fuck.

The only thing keeping me from actually pissing in the lobby was the fact that I still planned on marrying Cora. Trace’s voice of reason echoed in my head as I tugged my coat on and headed for the revolving glass doors of the north entrance. “If you piss in his lobby, you know he’ll pay off all the town clerks in the tri-state area to make sure your marriage license doesn’t go through.” Imaginary Trace was probably right.

I didn’t need to give him more ammunition against me, because Cora and I were getting married.

No matter what Asshole Margulis thought.

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