Rhea POV:
"Why the hell did you pour water on me?" I demanded, my voice louder now. My hands were trembling from the shock, the frustration, but mostly the rage. How dare he? How dare he ruin the one moment I was actually enjoying?
He didn't even seem phased by my outburst. Instead, he just shrugged, rolling his eyes like I was some sort of inconvenience.
Like he was too important to care.
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, trying to salvage what was left of my dignity. But this guy was pushing me, making it harder and harder to keep it together.
"Will you scan this damn book already or I'll call your manager?"
I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Did he just say what I think he said? He was ordering me around like I was the help, like my job wasn't just as important as his shiny suit and his inflated ego.
It was all too much. I had been so absorbed in the novel, so lost in the story, that I didn't expect the universe to remind me that real life wasn't nearly as captivating.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap him. But I just stared at him, seething. He didn't care about my feelings. He didn't care about the ruined book.
I had been so caught up in the novel, so wrapped up in imagining what it would be like if I was the one being kissed like that, the one pinned against the wall, but the stupid jerk had to ruin it!
"Excuse me?" I asked, pulling off my reading glasses to really look at him. The audacity of this guy!
I snapped, barely holding back a hiss. "You just ruined the best part of my book! The least you could do is apologize for splattering me with your ridiculous water."
But instead of looking sorry, he just tilted his head. Again. Like I was a problem he had to deal with. His eyes narrowed, and then—ugh—he smirked. The smirk! The one that made me want to throw my book at him.
"You need to do your job," he said, his voice low and patronizing.
I blinked at him, my pulse quickening. I hated him. Absolutely hated him.
"I won't let you borrow your stupid book. Since, instead of a simple 'excuse me, miss,' you'd rather drench me in cold water!" I practically shouted, which, I admit, probably wasn't the best idea, especially when I'm the one who tells people to shhh in the library. But I was beyond pissed. I could feel my face burning with anger, and I didn't care anymore.
He sighed, a low, exaggerated sound, then turned to walk toward the exit with the book in hand.
Oh hell no. Nobody steals one of my babies—not on my watch. I know, I know, it sounds dramatic, but books are my babies. And this jerk? He was walking out without paying.
Without thinking, I rushed to him, blocking his way by spreading my arms wide. I stood there, defiant, glaring at him as if he would actually stop. He raised an eyebrow, looking at me like I was some annoying fly he was just going to swat away. I was blocking his path with my arms outstretched. Wrong move. His gaze dropped—directly to my chest, which, thanks to the water he'd poured on me, was now exposed because my shirt had turned transparent.
Quick as a flash, I crossed my arms over my chest, heat flooding my face. "Pervert!" I snapped.
He raised a single eyebrow—damn, that was cool—before smirking. "They're not even worth hiding."
My face went crimson. I couldn't even think of a response, too busy burning from embarrassment.
Without missing a beat, he pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and coolly said, "I didn't know your library had a rat."
Then, as if the universe did see i was currently busy, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
"You need to get that," he said, almost as if he knew something I didn't. His voice was so casual, like everything was just a game to him.
I narrowed my eyes, ready to snap back at him. "No, you need to give me that book back!"
The smirk on his face only deepened. "I'm sure by now you don't have the right to tell me what to do. Think you just lost your job. If you pick that call, you'd know."
I froze. My stomach did a quick somersault, and for the first time, I felt real fear creep up on me. His tone was icy, cold, and everything about him screamed power. Was he threatening me? Was he really that important?
Before I could process the words, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I suddenly had this sinking feeling in my gut. I stared at him, hesitant, and he just stood there, his gaze fixed on me, cold and calculating. I knew something was coming. Something bad.
I swallowed hard and took a deep breath before pulling my phone out of my pocket. I looked at the caller ID, and sure enough, it was my manager.
I clicked the call open, trying to hold onto any semblance of composure, even though my mind was racing. I couldn't help but glance up at him. He was still staring at me, watching me closely, like a predator waiting for his prey to make the wrong move.
"Rhea," my manager's voice cracked through the phone, cold and detached. "Do you have any idea what this is? I just got a report that you harassed and refused to serve Mr. Cortez."
Then, like the cocky jerk he was, he sidestepped me and walked out.
Before my brain could process what just happened, the man slid into a luxury Mercedes-Benz—something I couldn't afford with a whole year's salary. My manager was still continuing blasting me.
Wait. Did he just call me a rat? And was that my manager who he was talking to?
Then the three words that followed shattered everything I thought I knew.
"You are fired."
The word "fired" hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt my entire body freeze, and I'm pretty sure I lost all the color in my face.
The second my manager hung up, I was left standing there, completely stunned. Mr. Cortez—the idiot—had just gotten me fired. Fired.