Maggie’s feathers are easily ruffled. And right now is no different. “Why? That is really out of the way.”
The denim-clad douchebag, who is already standing a little too close to her, has the nerve to whisper something into her ear.
I’m right here, fucker. I can hear you asking her if she’s staying at her mother’s house.
And no, she isn’t.
She came to work with me.
She’s leaving with me.
I’m her fucking boss—well, technically not yet, since I haven’t officially accepted this job. But if I do, then I will be, asswipe, so don’t be hitting on my girl—my employee, I mean—in front of me.
With a shake of her head toward Elliot—Elliot, who has a name like that anyway?—she glances over at me as if she is waiting for my answer.
At least she answered him with a no because if it would have been a yes, I think I just might have thrown her over my shoulder and hauled her out of this club.
Wouldn’t have been the best way to end my first day of a new job.
I raise a brow. “Not that I need to explain myself, but I need a copy of the spring catalog.”
She wrinkles her nose as if annoyed. “Just ask Jordan to have it couriered to the store in the morning.”
Impatience bites me hard. “I want it tonight. Now let’s go.”
Okay, so I sound like a thirteen-year-old girl having a tantrum. And I fully acknowledge at this point that it is my feathers that are ruffled.
There’s a look of uncertainty on her face, but it seems to clear up when I narrow my eyes at her and with a turn of my head, indicate the door.
“Elliot, I have to go. I’m sorry,” she says.
“It’s fine, I get it—duty calls,” the chump says and leans in to kiss her.
Duty?
Duty!
Is he for real?
My blood is on fire as I watch his lips pucker and I feel like I’m viewing a really crappy slow-motion video, every second more torturous than the last. Then relief flushes through me because she turns her head and his lips land somewhere between her ear and the back of her hair.
Sucker.
To avoid gloating, I turn around and stride through the dance floor.
Once I hit the main level, I turn around to see if she followed.
Sure enough, she’s hot on my heels, but the look she’s giving me tells me she isn’t any too happy.
Good . . . neither am I.
Maggie
Forty-two minutes of nothing but hard rock. That’s 2,520 seconds of deafening noise.
And not one single word spoken. I’m ready to pull my hair out . . . or maybe his, which would be a freaking shame considering how nearly perfect his is.
Finally, his Porsche 911 Turbo lets out a low cough as he decelerates in order to weave his way through the rows and rows of buildings in the Santa Monica Commerce Park.
Almost gleefully, I contain my chuckle because at night, you can’t read the signs on the doors and all the buildings look the same.
I think I’ll let him drive in circles for a while.
From out of nowhere, a dog runs in front of his car.
“Shit!” Keen nails the brakes hard and his arm goes flying across my chest.
The physical connection releases a coiled need deep between my thighs and I adamantly deny myself even a second of thinking about the pleasure that might unfurl if he touches me again.
Slamming the car in park, he gets out and looks around for the dog. It already ran off, though, and even with the dim glow of the overhead parking lights, the dog is nowhere to be seen.
Keen gets back in the car and shifts into drive. “You okay?” he asks, his voice sounding concerned and controlled at the same time.
“Yes, I’m fine. I didn’t take you for an animal lover.”
“I’m not,” he mutters under his breath, but I can tell he is—well, at least a dog lover.
“The building is over there.” I point for no other reason than I just want to get home and take these shoes off.
Really.
Just because I love dogs doesn’t mean he hit one of my soft spots or anything. In fact, the Metro Expo line opened this past spring and it is a straight line from Santa Monica to LA. I might just decide to stay at my mother’s after all.
Keen shoots forward and parallel-parks the car right between two trucks on his first try.
I’m so not impressed.
In fact, I’m rather bored.
Switching off the ignition, Keen gets out of the car. I kick my shoes off and take my phone from my purse.
Just as I click on the Candy Crush game, he opens my door. His eyes travel the length of my bare legs and land on my naked feet. “Aren’t you coming?” he huffs.
With my fingers moving in an attempt to match the three candy pieces, I don’t even look up. “I’ll wait in the car.”
All of a sudden his hard chest is reaching across my body and all I can smell is his delicious clean, fresh scent. Cartier. He’s wearing Cartier, the same cologne he wore that night, and it smells just as good. So much so that I consider the possibility of licking his neck, but then decide against it. I need to seal the new cracks in my armor very soon.