HIS MUSE, HIS MADNESS
There's no way I'm taking my leave and letting this asshole win.
"No?"
His eyes snap to mine, pinning me with a curious look.
I clear my throat.
"If you want this arrangement to go as seamlessly as possible, you'll give me what I want, and I'll be your obedient little personal assistant."
Thomas laughs.
"Do you think you're in the position to call the shots?"
A breath escapes my lungs.
"There's a mold infestation in my office— also, no printer, no AC."
"Oh, about that," he drawls, pinning his eyes back to his phone. "I didn't choose your office, you did. And if you need to print anything, you'd have to go to the third floor for that."