Read Online What's Yours Is Mine: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Cerise Preston Story Book 1) by Sasha Moore, Anita Cox - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sasha Moore, Anita Cox
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annoyance.
“I tried texting and calling you several times last night and you never bothered to respond,” he accused, as though he had the right.
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Did the thought ever cross your mind that I don’t work 24/7 and am not accountable to you after hours?” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“When I try to contact you that many times in one evening, did the thought ever cross your mind that it might be regarding something pretty fucking important?” he shot back, undeterred in the least by her sarcasm. Cerise was entirely taken aback. Typically when she challenged Blake Hamilton, he realized that she was almost always right and conceded, but there was something different in his manner today, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She pursed her lips, studying him for a moment before replying.
“And just what is so damn important that you couldn’t wait until this morning to talk to me about it?” she inquired, beyond annoyed, but wary as to what might be behind Blake’s odd behavior. He brought out a manila envelope, in a hand he’d been strategically keeping behind his back, and tossed it onto the desk in front of her. Cerise’s mind raced. Had Constance shown him the photographs with which she’d threatened Cerise? And if so, was she asking for a divorce? Blake’s low voice interrupted her thoughts as she stared blankly at the envelope in front of her, masking her reaction.
“Open it,” he ordered, through clenched teeth. Looking up at him with clear resentment in being treated in this high-handed manner, Cerise took her time selecting a letter opener out of her top drawer and sliding it effortlessly through the golden paper. She shook the contents onto her desk, and was astounded to see photographs taken at the Scat Cat of Frankie embracing her in a bear hug and kissing her on the cheek. The angle at which the photos were taken contributed to a much more intimate feel than had actually been the case. “Is this how we’re getting all the best clients?” Blake snarled, disgusted.
“What are you talking about?” Cerise was actually confused. Blake knew that she and Frank’s son were friends and that a great many of their New Starts came from auditions at the Scat Cat.
“You’re fucking Frankie Michaels,” he spat the accusation, eyes narrowed jealously. “Is that how we’re getting all of our new people? Are you fucking every club owner in town, or just the young ones?” he taunted, his mouth curling with contempt. “I refuse to have a whore working for me,” Blake thundered, “that is NOT how we do business at Black Vinyl Records.” He was quite ironically the picture postcard of righteous indignation. Those who knew Cerise best, knew that if she raised her voice, stomped her feet or slammed a door, you were still relatively safe in your interaction with her, but when she got quiet, that eerie, entirely self-possessed quiet, you’d better run for the fucking hills.
Maintaining a completely neutral expression, and not giving in to the impulse to leave her handprint on Blake Hamilton’s arrogant face, Cerise paused thoughtfully, and decided that it was time to play her ace before things escalated out of control.
“I have known Frankie Michaels since grade school,” she began quietly, taking control of the conversation by locking her unwavering gaze firmly with Blake’s. He had to lean forward to hear her words, despite the force with which they were being delivered. “I have been to his graduations and his wedding, and occasionally I go shopping with his beautiful wife. I never have, and never will fuck Frankie Michaels or any other business contact that I have. I don’t need to. If you’ll recall, I’m the best in the business and I didn’t get that way by opening my legs, Blake Hamilton, but since we’re on the subject of whores…” She decided to drop the bomb, despite the
“I tried texting and calling you several times last night and you never bothered to respond,” he accused, as though he had the right.
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Did the thought ever cross your mind that I don’t work 24/7 and am not accountable to you after hours?” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“When I try to contact you that many times in one evening, did the thought ever cross your mind that it might be regarding something pretty fucking important?” he shot back, undeterred in the least by her sarcasm. Cerise was entirely taken aback. Typically when she challenged Blake Hamilton, he realized that she was almost always right and conceded, but there was something different in his manner today, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She pursed her lips, studying him for a moment before replying.
“And just what is so damn important that you couldn’t wait until this morning to talk to me about it?” she inquired, beyond annoyed, but wary as to what might be behind Blake’s odd behavior. He brought out a manila envelope, in a hand he’d been strategically keeping behind his back, and tossed it onto the desk in front of her. Cerise’s mind raced. Had Constance shown him the photographs with which she’d threatened Cerise? And if so, was she asking for a divorce? Blake’s low voice interrupted her thoughts as she stared blankly at the envelope in front of her, masking her reaction.
“Open it,” he ordered, through clenched teeth. Looking up at him with clear resentment in being treated in this high-handed manner, Cerise took her time selecting a letter opener out of her top drawer and sliding it effortlessly through the golden paper. She shook the contents onto her desk, and was astounded to see photographs taken at the Scat Cat of Frankie embracing her in a bear hug and kissing her on the cheek. The angle at which the photos were taken contributed to a much more intimate feel than had actually been the case. “Is this how we’re getting all the best clients?” Blake snarled, disgusted.
“What are you talking about?” Cerise was actually confused. Blake knew that she and Frank’s son were friends and that a great many of their New Starts came from auditions at the Scat Cat.
“You’re fucking Frankie Michaels,” he spat the accusation, eyes narrowed jealously. “Is that how we’re getting all of our new people? Are you fucking every club owner in town, or just the young ones?” he taunted, his mouth curling with contempt. “I refuse to have a whore working for me,” Blake thundered, “that is NOT how we do business at Black Vinyl Records.” He was quite ironically the picture postcard of righteous indignation. Those who knew Cerise best, knew that if she raised her voice, stomped her feet or slammed a door, you were still relatively safe in your interaction with her, but when she got quiet, that eerie, entirely self-possessed quiet, you’d better run for the fucking hills.
Maintaining a completely neutral expression, and not giving in to the impulse to leave her handprint on Blake Hamilton’s arrogant face, Cerise paused thoughtfully, and decided that it was time to play her ace before things escalated out of control.
“I have known Frankie Michaels since grade school,” she began quietly, taking control of the conversation by locking her unwavering gaze firmly with Blake’s. He had to lean forward to hear her words, despite the force with which they were being delivered. “I have been to his graduations and his wedding, and occasionally I go shopping with his beautiful wife. I never have, and never will fuck Frankie Michaels or any other business contact that I have. I don’t need to. If you’ll recall, I’m the best in the business and I didn’t get that way by opening my legs, Blake Hamilton, but since we’re on the subject of whores…” She decided to drop the bomb, despite the
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