He blinked and stared at me like I had two heads. “What?”

“I have the approval. The contract is coming in on Monday.”

“I need those rooms.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, placing the papers on the edge of my desk. “Those rooms have been contracted. You can see about—”

“I need at least room D. It’s the only one that can be converted to include a kitchen based on the wiring and floor plan,” he shot back, cheeks flushing.

I shook my head, having no idea what to say to him at this point.

“This is bullshit!” Paul exploded, and I jumped in my seat, unintentionally flinching. He then barked out a harsh laugh. “Why am I even surprised? Seriously. Of course you got that stupid dance shit approved.”

Paul started to turn away, and I don’t know what exactly triggered in me, but my back stiffened as if a steel rod had been dropped down my spine.

This isn’t right.

The way he talked to me. The way he looked at me. This man didn’t have to like me, but he needed to respect me—respect my position and my authority. What had I told myself before? That I would not tolerate this. I was not the same nineteen-year-old Jillian who let people walk over her—who had been cornered by a guy before and had to be saved by Steph.

That was not me.

Oh hell no, I did not survive a gunshot wound to the motherfucking face for this dickless prick to speak to me like this.

“Paul?” I called out.

He stopped and turned, impatience written clearly on his face. “What?”

The hair along the nape of my neck bristled. There it was. That tone. It made my skin feel like it was stretched too tight. “Close the door and please take a seat.”

His eyes flashed. “I have a session about to start.”

“Please close the door and have a seat,” I repeated, refusing to allow him to excuse his way out of this. “Your session will have to wait.”

Paul hesitated for a moment and then he turned. I saw his lips moving, and I knew he was muttering something under his breath as he closed the door. He took his sweet-ass time making his way to the chair and sitting. He met my stare a bit belligerently.

I drew in a deep breath. “As you may have realized, I’m partially deaf. I can’t hear out of my right ear, but the interesting thing about losing a part of your hearing is that it forces you to pay attention to people when they’re talking. You have to follow conversations closely, watch their lips, and read their body language.”

Paul looked back at me like he was already bored with the conversation.