You feel your eyebrow arch of its own accord, and you can’t stifle the incredulous huff that leaves your chest. “Excuse me?”


What the fuck? Did this guy just tell you that what you do is his business?


Frost gives you a hard look, his features becoming a bit more tense than usual—and that somehow makes him appear even more handsome, if you can believe that.


“I don’t like repeating myself,” he begins, “but since you probably didn’t know that about me prior to now, I’ll make an exception for you this one time. I said—”


“I heard what you said,” you counter angrily, and he knows you heard it, too. He’s just trying to be snarky, and all that’s doing is pissing you the hell off. But what’s pissing you off even more is this ridiculously audacious attitude of his that seems to have come out of nowhere.


“Look, pal,” you begin, your tone dry and mirroring the irritation you feel, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but let me assure you that, if you think that somehow, you have a right to feel involved in whatever it is I do, then you are sorely mistaken.”


However, your stern words don’t seem to faze him one bit. He moves even closer to you so that your faces are only inches apart before he continues. “And that’s where you’re mistaken, Ramona,” he says, his tone firm and unyielding. “Or is it Raven you go by now?” he adds, a sarcastic smirk easily forming on his face.


You think you’re beginning to agree more and more with Jeff from earlier. You have no idea what kind of game he’s trying to play or what his intentions are being as nosy as he is, but he’s certainly not the only one here who has a snarky streak in them.


“Your friend was right. You are an annoying smart-ass,” you counter, offering a sarcastic grin of your own.


Still, he doesn’t move from his position, easily towering over you in the corner he just backed you into. He’s really crowding your personal space, and you think he realizes just how uncomfortable he’s making you by doing it. You try to move away from him, but he’s relentless. He actually looks like he’s enjoying cornering you.


You liked it better when he was stooping. You hate how small he makes you feel.


“What are you doing here?” he finally demands.


You cross your arms over your chest defensively, your face scrunched up in annoyance. “Like I said before, it’s none of your business, Doctor Frost. Or do you just happen to be a detective as well?”


You really don’t know why he’s being so nosy and pushy about this, but by God, you can’t stand it, and you refuse to feel intimidated by him—or at least, show him that you feel intimidated by him. You can only hope you’re doing a decent job of masking your anxiety.


He simply chuckles, almost as if he’s mocking you. And soon, you can’t take any more of it.


“I have somewhere I need to be,” you finally say. You don’t wait for a response. You try to sidestep his large frame, but once again he easily stops you.


After a few more tries, you finally manage to squeeze past him, holding your shoes by their straps and feeling their weight dangle from your hands as you try to dodge this ridiculously good-looking but annoying man.


He’s quickly getting on your nerves, and probably just a few seconds away from downright pissing you the hell off. You’re not sure which you want to do more at the moment—slap him or fuck him. You never thought you’d find yourself in a situation where you’d be getting this angry at a guy who makes you instantly cream your panties at the mere sight of him.


Your body can’t seem to decide on how it feels around him right now. It’s obviously confused as hell and all over the place; the way it always seems to get whenever it finds itself in ‘Dexter Frost Zone’.


Plus, you really wish it wasn’t the case, but for some absurd reason, a part of you sort of likes the attention he’s giving me—as unexpected and irritating as it is.


Ugh. You really don’t even know which is more frustrating anymore; the fact that he’s being so nosy, or the fact that you kind of like that he’s being so nosy. He’s clearly violating your personal space, and somehow, you’re not entirely sure that you mind. And that really bothers you. This can’t possibly be good.


You need to get away from him. Fast.


“Are you going to let me leave or no?” you ask impatiently, your hand moving to your hip in a show of irritation.


His answer is straightforward, and also annoying as hell. “No.”


You frown. “Well then, what exactly do you want from me?”


“I’ve already told you,” he says calmly. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”


“I got an invite,” you simply say, trying to avoid going into any details.


“So did I,” he challenges. “And we obviously got very different types of invites, but that still doesn’t answer my question.”


You decide to cut to the chase. You’ve had enough of this back and forth. You’re wasting time here.


“I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing here, Doctor,” you say snarkily. “I’m sure you can put two and two together. After all, you seem to be a smart guy. Or, at least, I assumed you were a smart guy.”


You know he knows. Even though he’s probably the most intelligent person in this entire compound, it doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out why you’re here with the way you’re dressed. Fuck, the real mystery is why he’s even drilling you about any of this. Why does he even give a damn? Surely, a world renowned oncologist has better things to do with his time?


You know you probably sound mean as hell right now, but two can definitely play this game of his, plus, you’re irritated that he’s wasting your valuable time. You sure as hell didn’t come all the way to this place so that you could let him keep you from doing what you came to do by asking you questions as if you’re under some sort of police interrogation. He’s messing up your chance at making a good impression on Mindy, and therefore, he’s getting in the way of your opportunity to get some real money—money that you desperately need. This is the absolute last thing you want to be dealing with right now.


Out of the blue, his tone changes. “I wonder what your brother will think if he knew about this,” he says, pretending to look thoughtful. “Something tells me he wouldn’t approve if he found out you were here…doing what you’re doing.” He narrows his eyes at you suggestively as he says the last part.


You scoff at his blatant and shameless attempt to blackmail you.


“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you say defensively, “and your friend, Danny, could care less about what I do with my time,” you add bitterly, annoyed that he would even bring Danny into the conversation. Now you’re really pissed off.


You refuse to stand here and continue to listen to him any longer. You start to walk away from him, and he doesn’t try to stop you this time—at least not physically.


It doesn’t take long for his voice to come through again.


“And your grandmother?” he calls out once you’re a few feet away. “Would she give a damn about what you’re doing with your time?”



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