Luke pulled free a long blond strand of hair from his sleeve. “A pretty, blond, and very junior PA. Who isn’t really my type.”
A spark of anger glowed in Marisa’s eyes. “Pretty and blond? Junior? You make me sound like a freaking child, Luke.”
Too late he realized that had been the wrong thing to say. “All I meant is that you’re a minor staff member in comparison to—”
The spark of anger became a conflagration, her eyes blue as a gas flame. “A minor staff member? Way to make me feel good about my job, you insensitive jerk!”
He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh really? Then what the hell did you mean?”
“Stop putting words into my mouth. I meant that the power disparity—”
“Hey, you know what? I don’t care what you meant.” She stood with her arms crossed, obviously furious. “I’m just a pretty blonde you screwed, right? Why should it matter to you how I feel about it?”
It was a good question. And the answer—he was disturbed to discover—was that it did matter.
“Marisa—”
“Get out.”
“Marisa—” he tried again.
She threw up her hands. “Actually, what am I doing telling you to get out?” Stepping away from the door, she grasped the handle, preparing to leave.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to soften his voice, annoyed with himself that he’d said the wrong things and upset her. He didn’t set out to hurt people, but being comforting or understanding had always been hard for him. His parents hadn’t given him much of either and he hadn’t had much practice since. “I’m not….good with people.”
“Now there’s a shock.”
“Please, if you’re pregnant, I need to know.”
“Oh, why? Going to do the decent thing and marry the blond bimbo?”
“No, but I take my responsibilities seriously. Whatever else you think about me.”
“I don’t care what your responsibilities are. Thank you for reminding me of what I should have remembered before you walked in here: to stay away from pompous, self-righteous asses like you.” She pulled open the door. “See you later, asshole.”
Then she shut it in his face.
…
Marisa lurched from the supply room and headed straight for the ladies’ room opposite. Then spotted something white on the floor. Oh, God, her stupid panties. Cursing, she picked them up on her way into the bathroom, her heart ricocheting around inside her chest like a pinball.
Luckily, she had the entire room to herself.
With shaking hands she smoothed her clothes, put on her underwear, and repinned her hair. Peering into the mirror, she grabbed a tissue from the dispenser and dabbed at the lipstick smears around her mouth from where Luke had kissed her.
Pretty and blond. Minor staff member. Not my type...
She tried to swallow her hurt and her anger. Failed. Tried to think about why the hell she was so hurt and angry in the first place, when all that incident in the supply room had been about was putting their chemistry behind them.
She wasn’t supposed to care about it or about Luke McNamara’s stupid opinions.
But for some reason she did. And it wasn’t hard to figure out why.
Marisa swiped at the red mark on her neck left by Luke’s mouth and scowled.
The things he said and the way he said them made her feel young and stupid and insignificant. Like she was still that naive little girl who’d fallen for a married man, not seeing what he was until it was too late.
And though she obviously wasn’t falling in love with Luke—hell no—she’d lost it in the supply room. Revealed herself too much. Given him a little piece of herself. A piece he didn’t bloody deserve.
Jesus, what a mess, and it was her own stupid fault. Again.
She sighed and chucked the tissue in the bin, then stared at herself in the mirror. The blue-eyed china doll she saw each day stared back. Sometimes she hated that face. It had gotten her beauty pageant titles and modeling contracts, but it had also gotten her Alistair and the debt situation she was now in.
He’d been an up-and-coming photographer, charming with a hint of bad boy, and had burst into her sheltered life like a whirlwind, sweeping her off her feet. He’d taken her to London and New York, gotten her high-profile modeling jobs, introduced her to famous people, called her his muse. She’d worshipped the ground he walked on, not noticing that he treated her like a child. Gratefully paying for all his expenses and waving away his “I’ll pay you back” promises. Believing him when he said all his money was tied up investments and he didn’t have cash “right now.” Like she’d believed him when he told her he loved her.