Chapter Forty

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I feel my eyebrow arch of its own accord, and I can't stifle the incredulous huff that leaves my chest. "Excuse me?"

What the fuck? Did this guy just tell me that what I do is his business?

Frost gives me a hard look, his features becoming a bit more tense than usual—and that somehow makes him appear even more handsome, if you can believe that.

"I don't like repeating myself," he begins, "but since you probably didn't know that about me prior to now, I'll make an exception for you this one time. I said—"

"I heard what you said," I counter angrily, and he knows I heard it, too. He's just trying to be snarky, and all that's doing is pissing me the hell off. But what's pissing me off even more is this ridiculously audacious attitude of his that seems to have come out of nowhere.

"Look, pal," I begin, my tone dry and mirroring the irritation I feel, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but let me assure you that, if you think that somehow, you have a right to feel involved in whatever it is I do, then you are sorely mistaken."

However, my stern words don't seem to faze him one bit. He moves even closer to me so that our faces are only inches apart before he continues. "And that's where you're mistaken, Ramona," he says, his tone firm and unyielding. "Or is it Raven you go by now?" he adds, a sarcastic smirk easily forming on his face.

I think I'm beginning to agree more and more with Jeff from earlier. I have no idea what kind of game he's trying to play or what his intentions are being as nosy as he is, but he's certainly not the only one here who has a snarky streak in them.

"Your friend was right. You are an annoying smart-ass," I counter, offering a sarcastic grin of my own.

Still, he doesn't move from his position, easily towering over me in the corner he just backed me into. He's really crowding my personal space, and I think he realizes just how uncomfortable he's making me by doing it. I try to move away from him, but he's relentless. He actually looks like he's enjoying cornering me.

I liked it better when he was stooping. I hate how small he makes me feel.

"What are you doing here?" he finally demands.

I cross my arms over my chest defensively, my face scrunched up in annoyance. "Like I said before, it's none of your business, Doctor Frost. Or do you just happen to be a detective as well?"

I really don't know why he's being so nosy and pushy about this, but by God, I can't stand it, and I refuse to feel intimidated by him—or at least, show him that I feel intimidated by him. I can only hope I'm doing a decent job of masking my anxiety.

He simply chuckles, almost as if he's mocking me. And soon, I can't take any more of it.

"I have somewhere I need to be," I finally say. I don't wait for a response. I try to sidestep his large frame, but once again he easily stops me.

After a few more tries, I finally manage to squeeze past him, holding my shoes by their straps and feeling their weight dangle from my hands as I try to dodge this ridiculously good-looking but annoying man.

He's quickly getting on my nerves, and probably just a few seconds away from downright pissing me the hell off. I'm not sure which I want to do more at the moment—slap him or fuck him. I never thought I'd find myself in a situation where I'd be getting this angry at a guy who makes me instantly cream my panties at the mere sight of him.

My body can't seem to decide on how it feels around him right now. It's obviously confused as hell and all over the place; the way it always seems to get whenever it finds itself in 'Dexter Frost Zone'.

Plus, I really wish it wasn't the case, but for some absurd reason, a part of me sort of likes the attention he's giving me—as unexpected and irritating as it is.

Ugh. I really don't even know which is more frustrating anymore; the fact that he's being so nosy, or the fact that I kind of like that he's being so nosy. He's clearly violating my personal space, and somehow, I'm not entirely sure that I mind. And that really bothers me. This can't possibly be good.

I need to get away from him. Fast.

"Are you going to let me leave or no?" I ask impatiently, my hand moving to my hip in a show of irritation.

His answer is straightforward, and also annoying as hell. "No."

I frown. "Well then, what exactly do you want from me?"

"I've already told you," he says calmly. "Tell me what you're doing here."

"I got an invite," I simply say, trying to avoid going into any details.

"So did I," he challenges. "And we obviously got very different types of invites, but that still doesn't answer my question."

I decide to cut to the chase. I've had enough of this back and forth. I'm wasting time here.

"I think it's pretty obvious what I'm doing here, Doctor," I say snarkily. "I'm sure you can put two and two together. After all, you seem to be a smart guy. Or, at least, I assumed you were a smart guy."

I know he knows. Even though he's probably the most intelligent person in this entire compound, it doesn't take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out why I'm here with the way I'm dressed. Fuck, the real mystery is why he's even drilling me about any of this. Why does he even give a damn? Surely, a world renowned oncologist has better things to do with his time?

I know I probably sound mean as hell right now, but two can definitely play this game of his, plus, I'm irritated that he's wasting my valuable time. I sure as hell didn't come all the way to this place so that I could let him keep me from doing what I came to do by asking me questions as if I'm under some sort of police interrogation. He's messing up my chance at making a good impression on Mindy, and therefore, he's getting in the way of my opportunity to get some real money—money that I desperately need. This is the absolute last thing I want to be dealing with right now.

Out of the blue, his tone changes. "I wonder what your brother will think if he knew about this," he says, pretending to look thoughtful. "Something tells me he wouldn't approve if he found out you were here...doing what you're doing." He narrows his eyes at me suggestively as he says the last part.

I scoff at his blatant and shameless attempt to blackmail me.

"I haven't done anything wrong," I say defensively, "and your friend, Danny, could care less about what I do with my time," I add bitterly, annoyed that he would even bring Danny into the conversation. Now I'm really pissed off.

I refuse to stand here and continue to listen to him any longer. I start to walk away from him, and he doesn't try to stop me this time—at least not physically.

It doesn't take long for his voice to come through again.

"And your grandmother?" he calls out once I'm a few feet away. "Would she give a damn about what you're doing with your time?"

***

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