Mia
I look at Jaxon, and he looks at me.
Neither of us speaks, but I’m sure my glare says enough.
He's leaning against the doorframe, his face serious, almost dark, as if my presence is unbearable. But I don’t care. Just like I don’t care how that tousled hairstyle, with a few ash-blond curls falling over his forehead, makes him look ridiculously sexy.
No, no. I haven’t noticed at all.
He pushes off the doorframe and steps further into the room, shutting the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place makes my body stiffen in the center of the enormous bedroom. I don’t like feeling trapped in a space with him.
With a man I hate.
Or should hate.
"You have a nice penthouse," I say, trying to break the suffocating tension hanging between us.
He scoffs, shaking his head
