"Hey, who do you think you're cursing at?" Boss Lynch shot up as if someone had stepped on his tail. Bristling with rage, he slammed his hands on the table and glared down at Claire Sinclair.
Startled by the loud slam, Claire Sinclair felt a flicker of fear. But she forced herself to remain composed and retorted, "I'm talking to you, you old lech. Why don't you take a good, long look in the mirror? You're so repulsive, and you want to be my sugar daddy? Are you even worthy? You're trash!"
The more she spoke, the more Claire Sinclair realized that telling someone off actually felt pretty good, especially when she was in the right.
'I can totally handle this. There's no reason to be scared at all!'
Boss Lynch's face flushed crimson with rage. He furiously cursed, "You stinking whore! So you want to do this the hard way, is that it? I'll make you see what happens when you cross me—"
"Dexter Lynch!" A stern voice suddenly cut in, abruptly halting Boss Lynch's arrogant tirade.
