Fuck.
My hands were shaking by my sides, and I was so angry that the thought of breaking something had my fingers twitching at my sides. She's the one that interviewed Sofia. She's the one that wrote that fucking article. She's the one responsible for my almost suspension. She's the one threatening my life, my future, and if she thought I would sit idly by, she had another thing coming.
No one fucks with me. No one fucks with the life I paved with my sweat, blood, and tears. No one. Not even little girls that I used to kiss in high school.
I stepped into the conference room with Samuel right behind me. The room consisted of a U-shaped table, chairs, and mile-high glass windows. The walls were a light blue with a projector on the end of the table.
My legal team sat on one side of the long wooden table, taking up half the damn chairs, and I saw her seated on the other side. Her hair was now pulled up into a ponytail as if letting me know she meant business, and she sat with her back straight and determined, just like how she used to sit in class. She had a tape recorder set on the table along with her leather bag, phone, notebook, and pencil.
Samuel sat by my lawyers while I went and sat on the chair next to her, which was at the head of the table.
"Mrs. Moradi," Samuel spoke, and I saw her wince at the mention of her last name.
"It's Ms." She corrected immediately, which had my eyes zeroing down on her ring finger to see that it was bare, but I could still see the imprint of a wedding band.
Samuel wrinkled his nose as he stared down at the papers in front of him, "It doesn't say that you're divorced here in the papers." He spoke, and I watched her avoid my eye contact with me as she scoffed.
"Just get to the point. What do you want?"
Sassy, my sassy girl.
"You're the one who interviewed my ex," I stated, and her head whipped to mine, and just like ten years ago; she took my breath away.
Just like that, I was that teenage boy who used to sit and admire every aspect of her face, every curve, every twitch of her lips, every gleam in her eyes, and every word that fell out of her cherry blossom colored lips. My beautiful Iris.
So fucking beautiful.
She hadn't changed in the ten years; maybe her breasts were fuller, her face wearier, and her eyes colder and sharper, but underneath that, she was still Iris.
The girl with the mole on the bottom of her lip that I would trace with my finger, then my lips. The girl who I spent nights talking to on the phone, the girl who I've tasted on my tongue, who I've brought to orgasm, and that specific thought had my cock stirring in my pants as he remembered how fucking sweet she tasted. Then, as if she were having the same thoughts, I saw her lips part slightly before she bit down on them before directing her attention back to Samuel.
"It's my job. I'm a journalist. She came to me with a nice little story about some arrogant soccer player. I hate soccer, and I'm very pro-choice, so obviously, I wrote the article."
"It's an act of defamation," Mark, one of my lawyers, said.
She scoffed. "Says who? Says you? Sorry to break it to you, pal, but the entire media world is based on defamation and slander."
"Says me." I bit. "You don't need to talk shit about me to sell your newspaper."
"I forget, sorry." She laughed mockingly, "You're an honorable man now, right?" She rolled her eyes, "Just spare me the theatrics, Rafael."
YOU ARE READING
The Ache Between Us
Romance"Tell me what you want." He murmured, his finger trailing up and down my forearm. Goosebumps erupted at his touch and I shivered, my eyes fluttering shut at the trivial touch, and deep down I knew it was ridiculous that he still had any sort of asc...
