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“Three months?” I repeated.
Andre nodded. “To be safe. I’ll readjust if it looks like things will take longer than that.”
Longer?
Longer than three months? With Duke? The man I was already uneasy with after three goddamn minutes? Three months of that cold stare? Three months of trying to hide my attraction and borderline infatuation with the man?
I snapped my head to focus on blue, impatient eyes. “Surely this isn’t going to take longer than three months?”
He just stared at me at first, his gaze unreadable. Maybe he was already regretting taking this job. I hoped so. There was still time for him to call any one of the other badasses to take his place. They most likely wouldn’t feel any different about me, but what was important was me feeling differently about them.
“Can’t say how long this takes, I’m just the guy employed to make sure you stay alive for however long you need to in order for this to be over,” he said finally. The longest sentence I’d heard him utter.
“That’s not good enough,” I declared. “I’m not leaving until I can have some idea of how long my life is going to be turned upside down.”
How long I’m going to be tortured with my want for you, was what I didn’t say.
Obviously.
Another jaw twitch.
“We’re leaving in two minutes,” Duke replied. “You can either walk out on those stupid fuckin’ heels or I can carry you over my shoulder.”
Duke was pissed.
And not just because he was fuckin’ disappointed he didn’t get to carry Anastasia over his shoulder like the brat she was being. Fuck, he had to battle the urge to put the woman over his knee.
Especially wearing those fucking shoes. The shoes that made her legs go on for days, that put her on a level height with him. Even without them, she’d reach a space on his chest that not many women could match. He was tall, over six foot, and used to towering over women. Not that he used it to intimidate them, but there was something primal in him that liked it.
But Anastasia Edwards was not someone who could be towered over. Even if she wasn’t tall, she wouldn’t let herself be towered over. She was far too fucking stubborn and superior for that.
Duke didn’t think he liked that. Tall women. But Anastasia descending the stairs in that all black outfit, looking every bit the movie star…he liked that.
Well, he liked her legs, he liked her tits—though she was too fucking skinny—he loved her lips and that red hair.
He did not like the woman herself.
Did not like her spoiled, superior tone, or the fact that she could not seem to get it through her head that she was in a fucking serious position. She was too busy worrying about spending three months without her marble fucking floors, grandiose mansion, and army of assistants. Three months out of the spotlight.
With him.
Jesus, it was going to be torture.
Duke had never wanted to fuck a woman so badly in his life. He’d never disliked a woman as much either. As much as she had lorded her apparent superiority over him on the last job, she didn’t do anything radical to justify him disliking her that much. Plenty of clients were rude, plenty more were insulting, but Anastasia hadn’t called him names, sworn at him, or threatened him like one starlet had after he refused to fuck her.
She was nowhere near the worst of the lot, yet he disliked her with a power that shook his very bones.
Maybe he hated the effect she had over him, hated that he was attracted to such a haughty bitch.
Hated that she glared at him, tilted her head upward, and strutted out the door to his waiting vehicle. She left her bags by the door, obviously expecting him to carry them.
Her publicist was still grinning, and Duke didn’t like that knowing glint in his eye. It was one Duke himself had worn watching the chaos his best friends had enjoyed throughout their courtships.
He gritted his teeth.
Andre picked up the bags. “You know, she’s not everything she seems, big guy,” he said. “She’s a great actress, and pretending she’s not scared of what’s ahead of her is her most challenging role.” There was something moving in the man’s eyes. A fear of his own? He seemed to care about this woman, even though she’d treated him like shit this entire night.
He turned and walked out the door.
“Fuck,” Duke muttered under his breath.
His eyes zeroed in on the single bag left by the door. Had the publicist left it there as some kind of test? Taunt? He didn’t really seem like the guy to pull that shit, in fact, Duke liked the guy. He had a quick wit and was calm under pressure. Seemed genuinely nice too—which begged the question as to what the fuck he was doing working with someone like Anastasia Edwards?
