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Getting closer, I see she’s got papers in her hands and… Ah, shit. There’s a boot on her car.
“Olivia.”
She startles and looks up. Her eyes are puffy and red. She’s a far cry—no pun intended—from the woman who just minutes ago told me to fuck off in my own office.
“Oh. Fuck. It’s you.”
She straightens herself up, like being vulnerable in front of me is some kind of crime. There’s the woman I set out searching for.
“Yeah, it’s me. Live and in color.”
Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Listen, I don’t need you to follow me and insult me more when my day is already going down the toilet, okay?” She pushes herself off her car and makes to leave, though the devil only knows where she’d go.
Before she can storm off, I grip her by her upper arm. Her eyes snap to mine, lighting another fire in my gut.
“Get your hands off me.”
That’s the exact opposite of what I want to do right now.
“It’s a hand, singular. And listen: you’re obviously not going anywhere anytime soon. Come back with me.”
Conflict runs over her face. I can tell she wants to tell me to fuck off again, but something holds her back.
I grimace. “We got off on a bad foot. So why don’t you come back with me, we see about sorting out your car troubles, and maybe we talk a bit about what you came here for?”
Her expression is confused and suspicious. It’s also exhausted, which something tells me is the only reason that she says…
“Fine.”
Good enough for me—for now. I let her go reluctantly, but let her fall in step silently beside me as I lead the way back to my mansion. In the corner of my eye, I can see thoughts running across her face a mile a minute. Wondering where I’m going with this.
Hell, I’m starting to wonder the same damn thing.
8
REESE
When we’re back inside, I take her to my office. I leave the door open, despite my temptation to pull it closed behind us and enact one of several fantasies I’m contemplating.
Olivia folds herself up in the chair like she can’t decide which part of her body she wants me to look at least.
Before she can say anything, I call for Paula, who comes in almost immediately, as if she was waiting right outside the door. Maybe she was.
“Yes, Mr. Dalton?”
I jerk my chin at our guest. “Ms. Carter here seems to be in a bit of a situation. Arrange to pay for her parking ticket and get the boot removed from her car, please.”
Olivia’s eyebrows fly up on her forehead. “You don’t need to do that,” she protests.
“Of course I don’t. But I’m doing it anyway.”
Her lips purse. She doesn’t like the idea, but what choice does she have?
“Alright.” She hands the tickets over to Paula. “I’ll need to move it after?—”
“Don’t bother. Paula, once that’s sorted, have it put in my private garage. Olivia will need to know where that is anyway.”
Olivia gives me a confused look as Paula holds her hand out. After a moment, Olivia plops her keys into Paula’s grasp, and Paula slips away, closing the office door behind her.
