"Me, going berserk? Why is it that when I bump into you, you freak out, but that guy was just inches away from you and it's all cool?"
Balfour’s eyes narrowed, a threatening glint flashing within their depths.
"What? You think I was up to no good with Ryan in my dressing room?"
Ivy scoffed, pointing at herself in disbelief, while Balfour remained silent, his silence a tacit agreement.
"Ha! What do you take me for, Balfour? You don't respect me, and you think nobody else does either, huh?"
She took a couple of agitated steps back, putting more distance between herself and this infuriating man.
Not to mention, when he barged in, the dressing room door was wide open. If she had any ulterior motives, she definitely wouldn't choose such a public venue.
Ivy and Balfour only signed a contract, for heaven's sake; he wasn’t her husband. What right did he have to lay hands on her the way he just did?
"What does this have to do with respect? You were all cozy with that guy. Is that supposed to be okay?"
Balfour's haughty, superior demeanor only fueled Ivy's anger.
"It’s none of your business! I was working! Don't forget, Balfour, our contract didn't include a clause about meddling in each other's social lives."
Ivy snapped back.
Since Balfour kept twisting the knife in her heart, it was high time she set things straight.
"What are you implying? That you want to remind me of our contractual obligations now?"
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