Behind the Scenes(33)

I stand there like an idiot while he looks at me, his hand still on the open door.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his eyebrow shooting up.

“Um, yeah.” I hurry into the car and he closes the door behind me.

Who are you and what have you done with my boss?

“Will your bags fit in here?” I ask after he climbs in next to me. He turns the key in the engine and the car roars to life.

“They’re small,” he responds.

“Okay,” I answer in a little voice.

He puts the car in reverse and we head for the exit of the lot. His arm lays on the rest between us, mere inches away from my own. I take in a slow breath, tasting the cedar and mint wafting off the man next to me.

The gate lifts for the car and the security guard nods to Mr. Mulroney as we take off into traffic. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but with a start, I realize I maybe shouldn’t have gotten in the car with him. He’s acting extremely weird. What if we’re not even headed for the airport?

“You don’t need my help,” I flatly state.

I stare at him, waiting for a response. He glances at the rear view mirror, checking traffic before changing lanes.

“No,” he responds, the word closer to a growl.

“So what? Are you taking me out to the desert so you can murder me and dump my body?”

He laughs, and — for the first time since we’ve gotten in the car — looks directly at me. “Why would you think that?”

I lick my dry lips. I’m only half kidding. I’m actually somewhat terrified the man may have a sadistic plan for my destruction up his sleeve. After all, we’ve caused each other a grand amount of annoyance in the relatively small amount of time we’ve known each other.

He speaks again. “We’re not going to LAX.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Holy shit. Was I right?

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

I don’t trust this man. But you know what else? I don’t trust myself either. There’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance he doesn’t have my imminent destruction in mind, but knowing that only calms me slightly. I don’t trust anything that could possibly come out of the crazy conglomeration of desires and fears that happens when the two of us are together. Maybe he doesn’t aim to kill me, but whatever he has planned can’t be good.

And neither can my response to it.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks.

I stare at him. What is this, a date? Stunned, I become a parrot. “Where do I want to go?”

He doesn’t respond, and suddenly I’m laughing so hard my side hurts.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, a slight scowl on his beautiful face.

“Mr. Mulroney,” I gasp through the giggles. “You came and got me from the office in the middle of the day so we could play hooky?”

His mouth twitches, but it’s unclear whether he’s about to frown or smile. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

The laughter stops immediately. “For what?”

He shifts in his seat, looking like he’s got ants in his pants. I give him a crotch check to see if he was adjusting.

“For…” He grimaces.

I wait. He glances over at me. Still I wait.

“For the way I acted,” he finally says.

“Which time?”

He twists his mouth. Obviously, he doesn’t have much experience when it comes to apologies. “I came on too strong when you first started.”

“Wow,” I murmur, relaxing into the leather seat. Outside of the window, a long row of fast food restaurants zoom by, billboards towering over them.

I peek at him. He’s staring at the road and I can’t be sure, but it seems like there’s a slight redness in his cheeks. Is this the same man I almost ran my car over? The same man I walked in on spanking a woman in his office? The same man who handed me an invitation to those exact same kinky games?

Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it. The man sitting next to me is demure and regretful. Exposed… and a hundred other things I’m only beginning to see the surface of.

“Mr. Mulroney,” I breathe out the name. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, thank you. I never would have expected an apology.”

He clears his throat but doesn’t say anything.

I look down at my hands. The situation seems to call for bluntness more so than any other one would, but he’s still my boss and there are some lines I won’t get within a mile of treading. For now, the conversation just needs to be closed.

“You’re more than I thought you were,” he abruptly says.

I look back over at him. “What do you mean?”