His brilliant green eyes lit with anger. “What guy?”
“The guy. The guy who everyone has—you know.”
He rolled his eyes and raised his hands. “Rox, it’s me. It’s just me. We travel together every month. I’ve certainly never assaulted you.”
“Well, there was that one time in Japan that you dragged me into your room—” she mused.
“I carried you out of the bar on the night when you discovered sake. I held your hair back. That night was like the aftermath of a frat party.”
“You took my clothes off.” This was one of their comedy routines. They’d been through it a dozen times, but Cash was still ranting so much that he didn’t recognize it.
He insisted, “It was an act of charity to take that vomit-soaked blouse off of you, and I got you into one of my tee shirts before I rolled you into the bed.”
She was trying to repress a smile at his sputtering. “You stayed in my room when I was too drunk to give consent.”
“I slept on the floor to make sure you didn’t choke to death on your own vomit, and it was actually my room.”
“That’s still not consent.”
“I have never behaved improperly or even suggested such a thing.”
Cash was well into a good rant. His ears were even turning pink. Rox blinked hard, trying to get the teary crap out of her eyes.
God, he smelled good, like cookies and fresh lumber and something darker, masculine, and clean.
He demanded, “And where is your husband during all this? Is he sleeping in his car, too? Or has he gone to stay with someone and left you out in the cold?”
It wasn’t particularly cold in early autumn in Los Angeles, especially with three traumatized cats who had slept draped on top of her while she reclined in the passenger seat, but that wasn’t the point.
Rox said, “Grant is on a month-long shoot in Thailand. He’s been gone for over a week. He doesn’t even know. I didn’t want to worry him.”
Cash’s deep voice rose, along with his hands. “Good God, Rox. So you were alone, in your car, with three cats, and you didn’t call me. I can’t bear it.”
“It didn’t seem like the right thing to do.”
His voice rose further. “Damn you and your bizarre Southern proprieties. Get your cats. Get your things. We’re taking everything to my place so that you can concentrate on work the rest of the day, and then you’ll stay in my guest suite until we can find a proper apartment for you that accommodates pets so this doesn’t happen again. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
He was so funny when he was outraged. Even though Rox saw it a couple times a week, it was still kind of cute.
And because it was cute, she provoked him further. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“I assure you, I am actually the boss of you,” Cash said, still ranting. “I am your boss and you will do as I say and you will not sleep in your damned car even one more minute.”
Cash paused, taking in the fact that she was grinning at his tirade, even though her eyes still burned a little.
He said, “Oh, I see how it is. Fine. Get these beasts packed up. We’ll pick up some lunch while we’re out. Have you been eating?”
Rox rolled her eyes at that. “I have money. I just couldn’t find a place to stay.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“It’s just for tonight. I’ll find someplace starting tomorrow.”
“Fine, then. I’ll be back in ten minutes to carry your things downstairs to my car.” He turned to leave.
“I can drive myself,” she insisted.
“My car is larger, and yours has been recently used as a flop for homeless people and unwashed beasts. It’s not fit transportation.”
She laughed at him that time. “You don’t have to do this. I’m really fine.”
Cash rolled his eyes, finally thoroughly exasperated. “I will brook no more arguments. Pack up your cats.”
“Okay, boss.”
His shoulders relaxed as he finally simmered down, and she could see the snark building in him. He asked, “Also, you belong to a gym?”
Oh, a chubby crack.
Rox popped her chin up. “Yeah, I do. Where I take kickboxing, and I will pound your skinny, arrogant, lawyer butt if you make a fat joke.”
Cash chuckled. “That’s not what I meant. You should try mine. It has an excellent juice bar with very good food service. The treadmills have desks. I often look at contracts on a laptop while I’m there. You might like it.”
She rolled her eyes at that, too. “Dude, you have a serious workaholism problem. There’s gotta be a twelve-step program for that.”