She was furious with him. He wasn't just screaming at the top of his lungs at 12 a.m.; he was also chewing and dropping food on her plush carpet. Juliette marched over, grabbed the remote, switched off the television, and ripped the bowl of chips from his grip.
“Don't ruin the party, sweetheart! Come on, the game's almost over.” Staring at her long tanned legs and pursed mouth, he commented. With the intention of flipping her over his shoulders and into her bed.
Juliette's eyes widened as she glared at him. She commanded, “Dimitri, please go home,” as she proceeded to clean up the mess he had created. He was a pig, for one thing, which she hated.
“I can only imagine the state of your apartment when your maid takes the day off,” she huffed as she picked up the last bit of chip from the
