Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 14: Chapter 14
You are reading Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever, Chapter 14: Chapter 14. Read more chapters of Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever.
Isabelle's POV
Go inside?
Walking through those doors would make me an actual member of the Winslet family!
Every aunt, uncle, and family friend in there would dissect me under a microscope. But I couldn't just abandon this clusterfuck I'd created—if Jeremiah decided to make my work life a living hell, I'd be completely screwed.
"I... I'll do whatever you think is best..." For the first time in my adult life, my hands were literally trembling.
"Whatever I think is best?" Jeremiah looked genuinely stunned. The woman who never backed down from anything was actually willing to compromise?
"Yeah, you're the expert on your family..."
"Stay close to me then."
His stare was so intense I felt like he could see straight through to my soul.
"Okay..." I forced what I hoped was a confident smile, but couldn't stop myself from asking, "There's really no other way out of this disaster?"
"You could get in your car right now and drive away without saying a word," Jeremiah said, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
"If I bail, your family's going to tear you apart tonight, aren't they?" I searched those intimidating dark eyes for answers.
"That's not your fucking problem."
His jaw was clenched tight, every line of his face sharp with frustration.
I swallowed the guilt that was choking me. Those piercing eyes made me want to crawl into a hole and disappear. "I'm really, really sorry about this whole mess..."
Jeremiah let out the faintest sigh, turned around, and walked back to his grandfather. He helped Cleveland into the passenger seat and drove through the gates without so much as a backward glance.
I stood there like an idiot, wringing my hands and feeling like the world's biggest fuck-up.
"Did you upset her, you stubborn ass?!" I could hear Cleveland's muffled voice through the car windows.
"You finally bring home a gorgeous woman, and you can't even manage basic conversation? What's wrong with you?"
Jeremiah drove in complete silence, his face dark as thunder while enduring the verbal beatdown.
"Look at yourself—you're pushing thirty and you've been celibate for years because of some woman who never even looked back. When are you going to grow up and stop being so goddamn stubborn?"
"Grandpa, I don't have feelings for her," Jeremiah said suddenly, his voice hollow.
"Bullshit! You think I'm blind? You wouldn't spend that much time talking to someone you didn't care about. You wouldn't bother fixing a torn shirt if she didn't matter to you.
Mr. Germaphobe over here suddenly doesn't mind his hundred-thousand-dollar jacket being worn by someone else? Since when?"
The car disappeared around a bend toward the main house. Jeremiah had probably expected me to just drive away like the coward I apparently was, but something made me stay.
I sat in my car for several minutes, staring at the castle-like mansion and trying to work up the courage to either go inside or leave forever.
Finally, I pulled out my phone and texted Cleveland before I could lose my nerve.
Hi Grandpa, I'm so sorry but I have a family emergency and need to leave immediately. I'll come visit properly another time. Please just give the finished shirt to Jeremiah. Thank you for being so welcoming.
Then I opened PayPal and sent him two thousand dollars with the note: For the custom shirt and your time.
Within minutes, both the money and a response came back.
Sweetheart, don't be ridiculous! Keep your money. Jeremiah explained about your emergency—family comes first. Come back soon and we'll have a proper dinner together. The shirt is a gift.
What the hell? He'd told his grandfather we were together?
I rubbed my temples as Jeremiah's words from weeks ago echoed in my head: "Want to try being Mrs. Winslet?"
I almost laughed out loud. In this day and age, there were still people who thought sleeping together once meant you had to get married. Especially someone from such an old-money family.
But the fact that he'd apparently covered for me with his grandfather made my chest feel weird and tight.
I opened Jeremiah's PayPal to send him money for the shirt.
[$2,000 transfer] Note: Shirt payment. Thanks.
The transfer failed immediately with an error message: "This user is not available."
What the fuck? I tried again, thinking it was a glitch, but got the same result.
Then it hit me—he'd blocked me on PayPal too.
I quickly switched to text messages to confront him about this petty bullshit.
Are you seriously going to block me over—
The message turned green and showed "Not Delivered" underneath.
He'd blocked my number too.
I stared at my phone in complete disbelief. This grown-ass man, this CEO of a Fortune 500 company, had blocked me on every possible platform like we were teenagers having a fight.
I was absolutely fucking livid! What kind of petty, vindictive, emotionally stunted asshole blocks someone for trying to pay them back?
My hands were literally shaking with rage as I deleted what little contact information I had left for him.
I turned off my phone and threw it onto my passenger seat. Perfect. This weird, confusing, completely undefined situation was officially over, courtesy of his tantrum.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, drove into the city, stress-ate my way through an entire pizza, and finally dragged myself back to my disaster of an apartment.
The living room was still packed with moving boxes I'd been avoiding for days. I hadn't found anywhere decent to relocate to, and staring at this mess was making my depression worse.
The next morning, I walked into the office carrying a small gift bag, keeping my head down and scrolling mindlessly through my phone.
The moment I stepped into the elevator, that familiar sandalwood scent hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew exactly who it belonged to, and of course Gordon was standing right beside him.
I couldn't bear to look up, so I pressed myself into the far corner, but I could feel someone's laser-focused attention burning holes in my back.
As more people crowded in, the small space became a nightmare cocktail of different perfumes, body odors, and stale coffee breath.
I covered my mouth and turned to face the wall, suddenly feeling violently nauseous. I dry-heaved several times, only getting relief when we reached my floor and half the people filed out.
"Belly, what's going on? You've looked like death warmed over for days," Taylor said, rushing over with genuine concern written all over her face.
"Just stressed about apartment hunting. I've seen a bunch of places, but they're all either dumps or way out of my budget." I set down my gift bag and tried to look normal.
"Well hey, now that you're officially single, want me to set you up with some hot guys? I know this investment banker who's totally your type..."
I shot her a look that could have melted steel.
"If I wanted to date someone, would I really need your matchmaking services? The line of men trying to ask me out literally wraps around the block."
"Okay, okay! Miss Future Famous Fashion Designer doesn't need help in the dating department."
"Did someone say Isabelle's looking to get back out there?"
Just our fucking luck—Stephen materialized out of nowhere and caught the end of our conversation, wearing that predatory smile that made my skin crawl.
All three of us laughed awkwardly, and I wanted to disappear into the floor.
Go inside?
Walking through those doors would make me an actual member of the Winslet family!
Every aunt, uncle, and family friend in there would dissect me under a microscope. But I couldn't just abandon this clusterfuck I'd created—if Jeremiah decided to make my work life a living hell, I'd be completely screwed.
"I... I'll do whatever you think is best..." For the first time in my adult life, my hands were literally trembling.
"Whatever I think is best?" Jeremiah looked genuinely stunned. The woman who never backed down from anything was actually willing to compromise?
"Yeah, you're the expert on your family..."
"Stay close to me then."
His stare was so intense I felt like he could see straight through to my soul.
"Okay..." I forced what I hoped was a confident smile, but couldn't stop myself from asking, "There's really no other way out of this disaster?"
"You could get in your car right now and drive away without saying a word," Jeremiah said, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
"If I bail, your family's going to tear you apart tonight, aren't they?" I searched those intimidating dark eyes for answers.
"That's not your fucking problem."
His jaw was clenched tight, every line of his face sharp with frustration.
I swallowed the guilt that was choking me. Those piercing eyes made me want to crawl into a hole and disappear. "I'm really, really sorry about this whole mess..."
Jeremiah let out the faintest sigh, turned around, and walked back to his grandfather. He helped Cleveland into the passenger seat and drove through the gates without so much as a backward glance.
I stood there like an idiot, wringing my hands and feeling like the world's biggest fuck-up.
"Did you upset her, you stubborn ass?!" I could hear Cleveland's muffled voice through the car windows.
"You finally bring home a gorgeous woman, and you can't even manage basic conversation? What's wrong with you?"
Jeremiah drove in complete silence, his face dark as thunder while enduring the verbal beatdown.
"Look at yourself—you're pushing thirty and you've been celibate for years because of some woman who never even looked back. When are you going to grow up and stop being so goddamn stubborn?"
"Grandpa, I don't have feelings for her," Jeremiah said suddenly, his voice hollow.
"Bullshit! You think I'm blind? You wouldn't spend that much time talking to someone you didn't care about. You wouldn't bother fixing a torn shirt if she didn't matter to you.
Mr. Germaphobe over here suddenly doesn't mind his hundred-thousand-dollar jacket being worn by someone else? Since when?"
The car disappeared around a bend toward the main house. Jeremiah had probably expected me to just drive away like the coward I apparently was, but something made me stay.
I sat in my car for several minutes, staring at the castle-like mansion and trying to work up the courage to either go inside or leave forever.
Finally, I pulled out my phone and texted Cleveland before I could lose my nerve.
Hi Grandpa, I'm so sorry but I have a family emergency and need to leave immediately. I'll come visit properly another time. Please just give the finished shirt to Jeremiah. Thank you for being so welcoming.
Then I opened PayPal and sent him two thousand dollars with the note: For the custom shirt and your time.
Within minutes, both the money and a response came back.
Sweetheart, don't be ridiculous! Keep your money. Jeremiah explained about your emergency—family comes first. Come back soon and we'll have a proper dinner together. The shirt is a gift.
What the hell? He'd told his grandfather we were together?
I rubbed my temples as Jeremiah's words from weeks ago echoed in my head: "Want to try being Mrs. Winslet?"
I almost laughed out loud. In this day and age, there were still people who thought sleeping together once meant you had to get married. Especially someone from such an old-money family.
But the fact that he'd apparently covered for me with his grandfather made my chest feel weird and tight.
I opened Jeremiah's PayPal to send him money for the shirt.
[$2,000 transfer] Note: Shirt payment. Thanks.
The transfer failed immediately with an error message: "This user is not available."
What the fuck? I tried again, thinking it was a glitch, but got the same result.
Then it hit me—he'd blocked me on PayPal too.
I quickly switched to text messages to confront him about this petty bullshit.
Are you seriously going to block me over—
The message turned green and showed "Not Delivered" underneath.
He'd blocked my number too.
I stared at my phone in complete disbelief. This grown-ass man, this CEO of a Fortune 500 company, had blocked me on every possible platform like we were teenagers having a fight.
I was absolutely fucking livid! What kind of petty, vindictive, emotionally stunted asshole blocks someone for trying to pay them back?
My hands were literally shaking with rage as I deleted what little contact information I had left for him.
I turned off my phone and threw it onto my passenger seat. Perfect. This weird, confusing, completely undefined situation was officially over, courtesy of his tantrum.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, drove into the city, stress-ate my way through an entire pizza, and finally dragged myself back to my disaster of an apartment.
The living room was still packed with moving boxes I'd been avoiding for days. I hadn't found anywhere decent to relocate to, and staring at this mess was making my depression worse.
The next morning, I walked into the office carrying a small gift bag, keeping my head down and scrolling mindlessly through my phone.
The moment I stepped into the elevator, that familiar sandalwood scent hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew exactly who it belonged to, and of course Gordon was standing right beside him.
I couldn't bear to look up, so I pressed myself into the far corner, but I could feel someone's laser-focused attention burning holes in my back.
As more people crowded in, the small space became a nightmare cocktail of different perfumes, body odors, and stale coffee breath.
I covered my mouth and turned to face the wall, suddenly feeling violently nauseous. I dry-heaved several times, only getting relief when we reached my floor and half the people filed out.
"Belly, what's going on? You've looked like death warmed over for days," Taylor said, rushing over with genuine concern written all over her face.
"Just stressed about apartment hunting. I've seen a bunch of places, but they're all either dumps or way out of my budget." I set down my gift bag and tried to look normal.
"Well hey, now that you're officially single, want me to set you up with some hot guys? I know this investment banker who's totally your type..."
I shot her a look that could have melted steel.
"If I wanted to date someone, would I really need your matchmaking services? The line of men trying to ask me out literally wraps around the block."
"Okay, okay! Miss Future Famous Fashion Designer doesn't need help in the dating department."
"Did someone say Isabelle's looking to get back out there?"
Just our fucking luck—Stephen materialized out of nowhere and caught the end of our conversation, wearing that predatory smile that made my skin crawl.
All three of us laughed awkwardly, and I wanted to disappear into the floor.
End of Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever Chapter 14. Continue reading Chapter 15 or return to Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever book page.