Free Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) by J.A. Huss Page B

check out.”
    “OK,” I say back. It’s no use having a domestic fight with a woman like Victoria Arias. I cannot win. Ever.
    She huffs some air and mutters, “Patronizing asshole,” just under her breath.
    I choose to ignore that. I will not take her bait. I will not be the lobster in her pot. I will not have this fight again. Not ever. I’m so sick of it. And I probably should’ve given her this contract. Bowed out of the competition and just given it to her. Then I’d be somewhere else right now and we wouldn’t be stuck here together all day.
    But I can’t afford to give it to her. She has no idea what losing this contract would mean to me. None.
    Victoria disappears in the bathroom and the next time I look over at the pot, the water is boiling. So I check my watch and take this opportunity to plunge the lobster in the water headfirst, capping it tightly with a lid to avoid any splashing. I should’ve gotten two, I realize. One is not really enough to feed us both. But Victoria was screaming my name like she was in a panic when I came up and I forgot to go back down. It’s just a snack, right? That pilot will come back in a few hours. We will get through this afternoon of uncomfortableness. And I can grab dinner after I get back to my hotel and reassess my strategy.
    I could just ignore Victoria for the rest of the day. Let her spew her shit. But I’m not going to. Her insults are… well, insulting. So fuck her.
    “Is it almost done?” Tori asks, reappearing. I check my watch and realize five minutes have gone by.
    “We don’t have any butter, or salt, or pepper, or whatever you like on your lobster. So yeah, I guess it’s done.”
    She watches me as I take it out and do my best to cut open the shell with the dull knife I find in a drawer. Once the meat is exposed, I hand her a fork and she digs in.
    “Aren’t you going to eat?” Tori asks, when I don’t join her.
    “I’ll go back and get another one later. I’m not hungry.”
    “Gotta feed the women first, right?” she says, the sarcasm not absent from her tone.
    I look at her for a moment. A long moment.
    “What?” she asks. “That’s how you operate, right? Mr. Big Strong Man has to protect the weak little woman?”
    “You know,” I say, “I get why you’re like this. I probably understand it better than most. But you’re a real bitch, Tori. I don’t know why you think I’m such an asshole, but that’s your prerogative. So you’re welcome to your opinion.”
    “Come off it, Weston. You know you hate that I’m here. That I’m making you fight for something you thought was owed to you. You know it burns your ass to have to compete with a woman.”
    “Right. I got all that the last time we fought. I’m a pig, you’re a victim—”
    “Fuck you,” she says, almost choking on her bite of lobster.
    “Hey, you’re the one who wants it to be this way.”
    “You’re the one who said I’d be your little stay-at-home wife if we continued to date.”
    “So?”
    “So?” she sneers at me. “So I don’t want to be someone’s property.”
    “I called you property?” I laugh out loud, a real nice guffaw that echoes off the high ceiling. “I offered to take care of you and you practically spit in my face.”
    “I don’t want to be taken care of,” she snaps.
    “Yeah, because you do such a good job taking care of yourself.”
    She slaps my face. Hard. She goes to do it again, but I grab her wrist. She tries to knee me in the balls, but I turn to the side, grab her other wrist, then walk her over to the couch and throw her down.
    “Don’t fuck with me, Tori. I’m not gonna put up with your shit. I’m not your fucking punching bag anymore, you understand?”
    The tears well up in her eyes almost immediately. Not because I hurt her when I grabbed her wrists. Because I hurt her with my words. “I hate you,” she whispers.
    “I know,” I say in a low voice. “You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.”
    I