I met him on Monday and was ready to murder him by Friday.
Egotistical. Prideful. Mean.
I didn’t care that he had a godlike jaw structure or a body that was masculine perfection.
I detested men like Jackson Tate and he was about to find out why.
Except, the metaphorical ball I was ready to throw at his head landed in his court instead, giving him the upper hand and intel he shouldn’t be privy to.
Now I was at his mercy and playing by his rules.