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I walk around, mostly to annoy him by eating into his schedule, and take note of the lack of decoration on the walls—other than a framed photo of him and the partners from Myles & Lee.
I give him a pointed glance. “You kept that up?”
He swallows, and my eyes follow the motion, taking in the expanse of his throat and the spot where his green tie begins its journey downward. I feel a swell of pure lust that makes my knees wobble.
“My mother had it framed for me.”
My eyebrows wing up, because I get what he’s not saying. “You haven’t told her you got canned?”
“It’s not a good time for that,” he insists, looking out the front window, like he’d magically transport us into a car if he could.
“But you’d be able to tell her you have a new job. You don’t think Freeman’s worthy?” I ask, taking offense for the older man. True, I hardly know Mr. Freeman and I am hoodwinking him at Shane’s request. But he struck me as a very nice, very genuine person, so I at least have the courtesy to feel bad about it. “I guess you’re already planning your next move now that you know the Burkes’ trial date.”
My brother told me about that, not Shane.
He shakes his head, and annoyance flashes in his eyes. I can tell he’s pissed, genuinely pissed. “You’re always determined to think the worst of me, huh? Nothing I do is with good intentions. Everything is to benefit myself.”
“Are you saying you don’t think you’re too good for Freeman?”
“That’s not why I didn’t tell my mother about the job.”
I notice he didn’t answer my question, for what are probably obvious reasons, but that’s not what I latch on to. “So why didn’t you?”
He flexes his hand, then says, “That’s her business. She wouldn’t want me talking about it.”
“Have you told Danny what’s going on?” I ask, taken aback.
His eyes meet mine and hold. “No, but he probably wouldn’t be surprised.” He watches me for another moment, his gaze rising a flush to my skin, and then says, “Can we please just go? There’s no way in hell I’m going to show you my bedroom right now.”
He says the word in a rumbled growl that shakes me. As if he’s barely holding himself back from carrying me in there over his shoulder. My whole body is begging for him to do it. To make me feel, the way he did the other night.
But, to my surprise, I want him to open up to me even more. Maybe I’m the vain one to think I could succeed where so many others have failed. I’m foolish to even want to—I’ve called him vain and conceited a thousand times and meant it. Why would I want a man like that?
“When did your dad—”
“Let’s go. I’m driving.” He surprises me by reaching for my hand. I give it to him, nearly gasping as it engulfs mine—his grip warm and firm and overwhelming.
When I feel his fingers run over the fake red ring, that gasp does escape me. There’s something possessive about the gesture, like he’s leaning in toward my ear and whispering, “Mine.”
“You didn’t show me the kitchen,” I object. “The second bedroom.”
“Josie told me you’re moving in here next week. I’m guessing you’ll have another chance to see it.”
“Excuse me?” I say, putting my free hand on my hip.
“I didn’t say I believed her,” he tells me, but there’s no hint of a smile on his mouth, wry or otherwise. Having me here has made him uncomfortable, which perversely makes me want to stay.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“I don’t keep any prescriptions in there,” he says, finally giving me a flicker of a smile. “I regret to inform you that you’ll find minimal information from going through my trash.”
“What about Rogaine? Are you secretly going bald, Vain?”
“Not yet, but if you really move in, the stress will get to me eventually.” The smile is almost fully there now, and I feel a sense of victory for having pulled it from him. No, more than that. I’m glad for it. I wanted him to smile for his sake, which is a worrying development.
“Well?” I say, angling my head.
He waves a hand down the hall. “You’re welcome to go smell my shampoo.”
