in her place.
Peyton had met a lot of rude people during her lifetime, but she was convinced Lela took the icing off the cake. It wasn’t what she said, but how she had said it, like she had every right to talk down to people. Who had made her queen? How dare Lela assume that even though Angelo was having lunch with Peyton, that she was insignificant and that Lela could make a play for him right in front of her and show her disrespect. Anger raced through her body.
The nerve of that hussy, she thought.
“I hope that coffee you’re brewing is for drinking and not to throw on me.”
She looked back at Angelo over her shoulder. She had let him in a few moments before, and he was still there standing with his back against the closed door, as if trying to decide whether it was safe to stay. “I don’t know what I plan to do just yet,” she said, still fuming inside.
“Why are you angry at me? It’s not my fault Lela is the way she is.”
He was right, it wasn’t his fault. But still, why was he like a magnet for some of the most ill-mannered, obnoxious women around? Why?
She turned around and glared at him. “I hope you know that I had made up my mind not to get involved with you and that woman. You’re a grown-ass man who should be able to fight off unwanted advances on your own. However, Lela Stillwell takes the damn cake. That heifer had the nerve, the damn audacity, to stand there and act like I wasn’t there, like I was no better than the friggin’ ketchup bottle on the table. Who in the hell gave her the right to ignore me that way? As if I was insignificant!”
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