Revenge In Sweatpants

I don’t usually waste time on morning walks. Too much noise, too many people, and frankly, not enough reasons. But that morning, after relentless nagging from my assistant about getting “fresh air,” I gave in. Two blocks in, and fate—or whatever cruel joke passes for fate—decided to slap me with a scalding cup of coffee.

She crashed into me like a walking catastrophe. Coffee everywhere. My suit—Armani, custom tailored, the kind that says I don’t answer to anyone—soaked. She looked up at me, wide-eyed, clutching her empty cup like she was the victim.

“What the hell?” I snapped, brushing hot liquid from my sleeve. Her mouth opened, probably to apologize. Instead, she hit me with attitude.

I could’ve walked away. Should’ve, maybe. But there was something about her—defiance wrapped in sweatpants—that made me pause. And I don’t pause for anyone. I signal my approaching bodyguards not to interfere, curious as to how this would go. "Oh my goodness, can't you see where you're going?" She says. Wow, she spills her drink on me and is still questioning my sight? What the actual hell?

"I can see," I snap, adjusting my soaked cuff with icy calm. "And right now, I'm seeing a walking disaster in sweatpants." I snap at her. My gaze flicks to her face—flustered, wide-eyed. Annoyance pricks... but so does curiosity. "This suit costs more than your rent. You're buying me a new one." I say, half-serious, half-expectant of her reply. "You wish I would jerk." She says and then starts to walk away. Wow, this is spiraling fast, I'm suddenly a jerk. Just wow. She's not leaving, definitely not on my watch.

"You dare walk away from me?" A sharp scoff escapes me. "I've never been denied a thing in my life—and some girl in sweatpants? Yeah, not today." I reach out and grab her arm, spinning her to face me. My grip is firm, commanding. I lean in, my tall frame towering over her. "Listen here, princess," I say, my words tinged with a dangerous edge. "You spilled your coffee on an Armani suit. You're paying for a new one, period." I say, obviously not giving a chance for questions. "And if I say no?" She asks in an angry tone. Why is she angry? I am the only one that has the right to be angry here. A slow, dangerous smile finds its way to my lips. She's feisty. I like it. "Then I’ll have my lawyers sue you for every penny you’ll ever make." My voice drops, smooth as silk and just as cold. "Or... you could save us both the trouble." I pull out a black card, snap it open with one hand.

"Dinner. Tonight. Call it… compensation." My eyes gleam—challenging, playful, unrelenting. I am curious as to who this girl is. "Say no again and see what happens." I say with a slight smirk. "Well, no." She says. Wait, I didn't hear that right, did I? She didn't just refuse dinner with me. Me. "I can also stain your reputation and sue you for assault." She continues. I am getting more bewildered as to who she is. "Sue me for assault?" I laugh. It's a hollow, mocking sound. "Go ahead. I've had a dozen lawsuits this year alone. And you? You're just some girl in sweatpants." I look at her tauntingly. "Wanna find out who will laugh last?" She says again.

A flicker of anger sparks in my eyes, but just as quickly, I compose myself. "You think you're playing hardball? You're adorable." I step closer, cornering her against a wall. "You have no idea who you're messing with." My voice drops to a low growl. "Neither do you." She replies and then shoves me to continue her journey.

She just shoved me.

She shove me.

My anger flares, hot and fast. No one pushes me aside. No one. I've built an empire on sheer willpower, on crushing anyone who dares oppose me. And here she is, treating me like a minor irritation. I grab her wrist, spinning her with more force than necessary. She slams against me, her back pressed against my chest. "I don't think you understand, you don't get to walk away from me." I hiss in her ear.

"Well too bad I just did. Now leave me alone before my story gets real." She says confidently. This confidence is getting to me in other ways than normal. "Your story? Cute." I hold her with a grip of steel. Every muscle in my body taut with barely restrained fury. "And just what 'story' is that, princess?" I sneer, my breath hot on her neck. "You spill coffee on me, you deny any responsibility, and now you're threatening me?" My free hand grabs her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "You're in over your head, sweetheart."

"No it actually goes more like, I mistakenly bump into you and you threaten to kill me unless I agree to sleep with you. How do you think that'll go, jerk boy?" I freeze, my grip on her loosening just a bit as I processed her words. Is that really what she thinks I'm after? Does she see me as a monster? I look at her, her eyes, spitting fire, bore into mine. "You think I—" I sputter, incredulous. "Is that what you think? That—" I take a step back, releasing her, my anger momentarily replaced by bewilderment. "Jesus, princess. I may be a jerk but I'm not a monster." I rake a hand through my hair, frustration warring with something else. Guilt? I couldn't believe she saw me as a monster.