Page 53 of Dirty Boss

I nodded. “Right. Um…about that.”

She arched a brow. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a date.”

“Noble bullied me into buying a table. I just figured I’d fill it with people from the office.”

“Vaughn.”

“What?”

“You are unbelievable.”

I loved it when she got exasperated with me. I’d only gotten glimpses of it these past couple of weeks. She’d put her walls up, and I told myself it was for the best. At least she’d allowed me to take care of her living situation. That had calmed the part of me that needed to control, protect, and watch over. But I loved her like this, open and annoyed and real.

I shrugged. “Look, it’s a business dinner. I’m bringing business associates. What’s the big deal?”

“What am I even doing here?” she demanded. “Have you learnednothing?”

“I’ve learned I should use the side plate to butter my bread and keep my grubby fingers off the wine glass bowl.”

She grumbled to herself, then turned back to me. “You find yourself a date. The gala is in three weeks!”

“You don’t think I can get a date in three weeks?”

“Someone who won’t see it as an excuse to get drunk on champagne and embarrass you.”

“I agree. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.”

Her jaw hardened, and her eyes flashed. She clenched her fists, then took a deep breath. “It’s your funeral. Or should I say—your business’s funeral.”

“Arlo Noble doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would stand on ceremony.”

“That’s not the point.”

We’d moved closer at some point, as we always seemed to do. I could smell her shampoo, see the glint of the lights against the gold necklace she always wore. I canted my head and arched my brows, just because I knew it would annoy her. “And what is the point?”

“You,” she said, poking my chest, “are a debutante. This is your ball. Your entry into society. The appearance that will shape people’s opinions of you.”

“How exciting.”

“You’re not taking any of this seriously, are you?”

“Five hundred dollars an hour is pretty serious to me.”

She shrugged. “Not to these people.”

The way she said “these people” made me pause. Her gaze slid away from me, and I studied the stubborn tilt of her chin, the muscle feathering in her cheek.

I wanted to kiss that frown away. I wanted to drop to my knees and worship her until she was boneless in my arms.

“There’s only one person who could be my date and not embarrass me,” I finally said.

Her eyes, blue, slitted, unimpressed, blinked back to meet mine. “Don’t even think about it.”

I took a step forward, and she took a step back. “Alba,” I started.

“Absolutely not.”

“The only other person I could bring is my mother.”