~ Camilla

I hated him.

That was the only explanation for why I flung the door of the goddamn limo open with the kind of drama usually reserved for reality TV stars and funerals. He didn’t have to book a limo. He chose to. He did this deliberately, wanted to trap me in a plush, leather-scented coffin on wheels with nowhere to run and all the air sucked out by his arrogant cologne and even more arrogant silence.

I slid in with a tight jaw and tighter thighs, trying not to sit too close. Which was impossible. Because of course, he was sprawled in the corner like he owned not...