Timothy York didn't seem surprised by Summer Thorne's attitude.
He closed his eyes for a moment. After a faint smile, he finally spoke his first words since walking in—
"We've already come to this. Don't you think it's gotten ugly enough?"
"This is what you call ugly?" Summer Thorne said. "Then you clearly haven't seen much, Mr. York."
With that, Summer Thorne turned and walked to the sofa, picked up her phone, and decisively dialed "911."
The next moment, a cool hand clasped her wrist.
This was the second time Summer Thorne had been stunned tonight.
The temperature of his hand reminded her of the time he'd been gravely injured—
His hands were always warm; they were only ever cool on the rarest of occasions.
Just like that time.
And just like now.
However, Summer Thorne didn't let it faze her.
She held up her phone, showing him the number she had keyed in. "I really will make the call."
But not only did Timothy York not back away, he took a step closer.
