True to form, he had that brooding, heartbreaker look plastered all over his face.
He glared down at me, hands in pockets, towering and ominous, "Hand her over."
Like hell I will!
Keeping up appearances, I tiptoed and met his gaze, saying each word slowly, "Wise men don't fall in love, let's make America beautiful again, get it?"
The so-called dominant CEO couldn't seem to handle his own love-sick brain.
With all this 'chase her, catch her, she can't escape' effort, imagine how much wealth he could have created, how many aircraft carriers he could have built for the nation, or how many meals he could have provided for kids in the mountains?
Think bigger, will ya!
Having not seen this coming, he was clearly stunned by my rant.
Just as I thought, a small fry in a big pond—nowadays, any schmuck thinks he can be a top dog, thumbs down!
I mentally scoffed at him and didn't hide my disdain, speaking up again, "Clayton Blackwood, Eleanor wasn't here, and even if she were, you had no right to burst in here—that's trespassing, and there are legal consequences for that."
Not only was he narrow-minded, but also clueless about the law. No matter how handsome, he was a total turn-off.