“Who was she?”
“What? Who was who?” Mike asked. Ilsa reared back, eyes wild, hands waving in front of her, palms out like she could not believe what he'd just said.
“The woman at the bar? How many times have you slept with her?”
Mike rolled his eyes and ran both hands through his hair. So she was on this again. Whatever. He turned to the living quarters of their suite and flopped onto the sofa. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away. Or at least shut up.
“Why won't you answer me?” she yelled at his back.
“Because you're crazy?” Mike asked sarcastically.
He probably shouldn't be pushing her buttons. But they had had this argument just hours ago.
“I can't believe you would say that to me,” she whispered just behind him.
Mike twisted on the couch to face her, one arm along the back. “Really, Ilsa? We just had this fight. I told you I don't know the woman! She was being nice, that's all.”
“You expect me to think that a beautiful woman who is all over you means nothing to you?” Ilsa's voice pitched higher.
Mike swore under his breath. “She asked me to sign a napkin. I'm famous, it happens!”
Now he was getting mad. He hated getting mad. She just wouldn't stop. She never stopped. It was the same paranoid bullshit all the time. He stood up and stalked across the room to the front door, picking up his jacket off of the chair. He knew he should have cut her off earlier. She reached incredible levels of insanity when she'd partied too much. Why couldn't she partake in something more relaxing? Why did it always have to be vodka? And why did it always have to be explosive?
“Where are you going?” she shrieked.
“Can you hear yourself?” Mike shouted at her. “Why would I stay here when I'm getting screamed at?”
He slid his arms into the sleeves and turned his back to her. In those few seconds she ripped the lamp cord out of the wall and hurled it from the balcony. Mike heard the crash on the sidewalk below and he stared at her.
Her blue eyes challenged him to do something about it. He rushed to the open balcony door and looked at the shattered pieces below. People were looking up at them and he was certain he saw a camera flash. Perfect.
Spinning back around, he found her right behind him, a blank look on her face. He grabbed her by her arm and forced her back inside. She struggled and let out a loud yelp of exaggerated pain. Of course.
He closed the door behind him and then lost his temper.
“What the hell is the matter with you?! You could have killed someone!”
Ilsa's chin began to quiver and large tears formed in her eyes. “I just want you to notice me!” she yelled.
“How could I not?” Mike swung his arms out to the sides. “You make the biggest frickin' spectacle—Oh my God, stop crying!”
She covered her face with both hands and crumpled to the floor just as someone knocked on the door. Because that's what hotel staff did when a guest threw a lamp out the window. And they normally brought security.
“Are you happy now?” Mike yelled. She sobbed loudly at his feet.