TROUBLE 2 by Kristina Weaver Page A

beside me.
    “Hannah, look at me please.”
    I do, keeping my face blank as I meet his hard, determined eyes.
    “We haven’t spoken since Monday.”
    No, I know, I’ve done my utmost not to be alone with him long enough to have this conversation, and he damned well knows it. But as I’ve said, my reprieve is up, and I know he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.
    “I’ve made an appointment at the doctor for week after next. When I know, you’ll know,” I say in a no-nonsense voice I am immensely proud of.
    He leans back with a huff, and I see the frustration written all over his face. This can’t be easy for him. I mean, the man is so used to getting his own way in all things, so my attitude is probably a foreign concept, like snow in June.
    “You’re skirting the issue here, Han.”
    “I am not your goddamned ‘Han.’ Or ‘darlin’.’ Or any other thing you want to call me!” I hiss, coming to my feet with a speed that leaves me dizzy. “I work for you. End of story.”
    He’s upset now, angry that I won’t just fall in with his plans, as if by some quirk of fate he’s only now meeting resistance from a woman. I want to laugh, a real, out-loud belly laugh, because his expression reminds me of a sulky child’s.
    “You forget so easily what we shared?”
    Oh, so now he’s going to look at me with scorn? I wasn’t the one who’d fled the bed with a haste that signalled more than fear of commitment.
    “We shared one night,” I laugh scornfully. “One hour’s worth of ho-hum sex that I’d rather not repeat again. Thanks though.”
    So what if it’s a bald-faced lie? I’m not proud of how traitorous my body is, but I am so on board with the reasonable part of me that insists that sleeping with Gregory will be the biggest mistake I have ever made.
    Apparently I’ve become a comedian, because my proud little speech is met with laughter and a look that spells out just how much he believes me.
    “It was perfect and you know it. Stop trying to piss me off, and sit down, Han. We have to talk about this.”
    I sit, but only because if I don’t he’ll probably make me. The door is locked, and I’m not getting out of here until he’s good and ready to dismiss me. Again.
    “What do you want to talk about, exactly? The fact that you treated me like crap? No,” I say, holding out a hand to silence him. “I am not even a little interested in whatever bullshit story you want to peddle me. You know what you did.”
    “Yes.”
    “What about the fact that you’re engaged to another woman?” I ask, and I can’t keep the hurt and anger from my voice. “You pursued me to the point that I wanted — never mind. But the fact remains, I told you this wasn’t a good idea, and you did it anyway. And now you want more?”
    This is worse than I thought. He’s worse, because as I talk his face becomes expressionless and I know I’m wasting my breath.
    “I just met the woman you’re going to marry, for God’s sake. What kind of lowlife are you?”
    “The kind who isn’t willing to give you up just because of a marriage license, Hannah. Now get used to the fact that we’re together,” he growls, pinning me to the spot with a look that brooks no argument.
    “Mr Lu—”
    “Stop fucking saying that! My name is Gregory. Use it. Now get back to work. I’ll be by to pick you up at eight. Be ready. Oh, and darlin’?” he says, dragging the word out like a caress. “Don’t make this harder for yourself than it has to be.”
    That’s all. That’s the sum of our ‘talk’. I leave him without a backward glance, cursing him and myself as a thrill zings through me. I’m more excited at the prospect of being with him again than I am appalled by what we’re doing.

Chapter Two
     
    “What! You can’t honestly mean…he’s an asshole, Hannah!”
    “Come on, Chris, please try to understand. I really like him.”
    It’s seven on a Friday night, and I’m an hour away from what I now think of as