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I twirl around so fast, I almost fall over. “No. I’m done taking orders from you. And don’t give me this ‘I can’t fire you’ bullshit. ’Cause you’re fucking fired. I don’t care what I signed or who’s in control. From here on out, I’m the one deciding how things are going to be.”
“Not until you’re safe.”
“I am safe. Didn’t you hear? I did this to myself. There’s no bad guy out there. You can go back to wherever you came from and leave me the fuck alone.” I stride down the sidewalk. To where I have no clue. Just away from him.
Which lasts three seconds before I’m in his arms.
“You can’t keep doing this!” I yell, my voice cracking.
“I’m not the enemy.” His words skate along my ear. My back is pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around my torso. I want to kick my leg straight into his groin, but the fight in me quickly dies. “Atta girl. Let that shit go.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap back.
His chest rumbles against my back. “All right, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe either.”
“If I let you go, will you behave and get in my car?”
“Probably not.”
“How ’bout you let me take you out for tacos since you didn’t get them earlier?”
Dammit, he’s playing dirty. “What kind of tacos?” I ask, not that I’m giving in.
“Steak carnitas with extra onions and cilantro. Double order of rice. Guac with lime slices because you like the extra tartness.”
I twist in his arms and look up at him from under my lashes. Of course he knows my favorite. And of course I can’t say no. “That’s low. Even for you.”
“What’s it gonna be?” His lips graze my ear as his grip on my waist begins to loosen. He’s testing me. Or maybe he knows he won and I’m no longer a flight risk. Only psychopaths turn down tacos. His thumbs skim along my belly, and he lets me go. I don’t run. I don’t even think about it.
My stomach growls, giving me away as I backtrack toward his SUV. “I’m only going for the tacos. Then you’re for real fired. Oh—andyou’re buying.” The locks release, and I climb in and shut the door. I’m only doing this for the free tacos.
Chapter eight
Mindy
I’m going to murder him.
“You did this on purpose.”
“Exactly what did I do?” he asks as I throw myself on my couch.
“You fed me so many tacos, I can’t even think about firing you. I’m too stuffed.”
Chuckling, he sits next to me, picks up my feet, and rests my legs on his lap. “You told me not to talk to you.”
“And I meant it. It was the most peaceful lunch I’ve had in a while, but you could have at least waved a white flag. Anything that said maybe you want to stop after the fourth taco.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Never seen a woman moan so much eating Mexican.”
I lift my head up, “I was not moaning.”
“Babe, you were moaning.”
My eyes narrow. “Yeah, don’t call me babe.”
“You were moaning.”
