Page 32 of Possessive Mr. Pen

“Why?”I demand.

“Because I was concerned,” he says.

I grit my teeth and speak with the contempt festering in my soul.

“Yourconcerndoes not constitute an emergency.It was wrong of you to contact her.”

“My communication with Ms.Thompson was cordial and brief.I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I requested one day off work.One day.The first day in years, and you had to worry my family?You couldn’t give me one day of peace?”

I don’t mention how my time away from work was anything but peaceful.He doesn’t need to know how much he hurt me.

“I apologize for overstepping,” he says.

I drop my hands into my lap and tighten my fists.

His easy capitulation does nothing to appease my anger.With nowhere to direct it, it threatens to turn inward.

I dig my nails into the fleshy part of my hands and use the pain to center myself.

Connor sits so still I wonder if he’s even breathing.The intensity in his gaze pulls me in, and I swallow as his sincerity dissipates parts of my rage.

I will never believe he contacted my sister out of concern—he’s too calculating and manipulative for that—but if all he did was buy them treats, then maybe I overreacted.

It still feels like a breach of trust and a violation of my privacy.

I take a deep breath and loosen my hands.

“I also apologize for Friday night,” he says.

Every cell in my body contracts, and I fight to appear unaffected.

“Are you apologizing as Mr.Pen or Connor?”I challenge.

He leans forward and props his forearms on the table, but instead of emanating menace and intimidation, regret and sincerity shine from his clear green eyes.

“Both.I didn’t present my intention correctly and caused you harm as both Ms.Winthrop and Hilary.I’m sorry,” he says.

I swallow my emotions, lean back, and drape my forearms across my armrests as though at ease.

“I believe you’re sincere in your apology, but I’m not currently in a position to forgive you,” I say.

He follows my lead and lounges back.

“I’ll accept that answer only because it comes from you,” he drawls.

My stupid heart skips a beat.

“Allow me to try again without Connor fucking everything up.”

The self-reproach in both his words and his tone shocks me into silence.He slides a black folder across the table to me.

Dread congeals in my veins.I don’t want to try again.I need this job too much.

When I press my palm down on it to push it back across the table, he props his elbow on his armrest, drops his chin into his palm, and quirks a brow.

The judgmental challenge taunts my competitive side.