“You…you did? I mean…why?” I switch tones real quick, from stuttering idiot to unimpressed working woman, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m trying to look authoritative. I’m also trying to cover the fact that just standing close to him has my nipples so hard, you can see them poking through the padding of my push-up bra. “To make sure I lose my job?”
“Actually, I have a deal for you,” he answers.
“Let me guess. Tell the world I took advantage of you last night, or you’ll tell my boss I slept with you on the job?” I ask.
“I think the photos circulating the internet were taken by another photographer,” he says, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He’s wearing nice, fitted blue jeans and a white henley. His hair is gelled just enough to keep it out of his face, other than one rebellious stray. His eyes are masked behind shades that look like they cost more than my car, and they probably do. I drive a 2006 Dodge Stratus.
“So you’re not blaming me?” I ask with enough salt in my tone to properly season scrambled eggs. “Well, considering the activities you were participating in when the photos were taken, I’ve used my best detective skills to rule you out as the perp,” he says spicily. Lordy, if we were making an omelet, it would be tasty enough to serve a queen.
“Cute. Well, now that you’re an official member of the Scooby Gang, have you figured out who the photographer actually was?” I ask.
“Still working on that,” he says.
“So what is this deal you’re wanting to make with me?” I ask because in the midst of our verbal tennis match, we seem to have gotten off track.
Zane takes off his sunglasses and hangs them on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt before locking his sunburst eyes on mine before answering the question. It’s almost like he’s trying to throw me off my game before he gets to the point.
“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says, and I literally spit out a laugh. I think some of my saliva may have sprayed in his direction.
“You’re funny. I thought you were just cute, but it turns out you’re funny too,” I say before turning to walk away.
But before I can take even two steps, Zane grabs me and whips me back towards him like we’re going to tango across the parking lot.
“I’m serious, Ashlyn,” he says, and the way my name sounds on his tongue makes me momentarily think about all the other things he can do with his tongue. “I came here to ask you to be my girlfriend.”
I don’t know what he’s up to, but whatever it is, I can tell he’s not going to budge on it. So I take another angle myself.
“And if I don’t want to be your girlfriend?” I ask, fully aware that his hand is still on my arm.
“I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” he says and I yank away from his grasp.
“You’ll what?!”
“You heard me,” he says.
“I’m not the one who took those photos!” I snap.
“No, but you were on my property and in my bed. It looks kind of bad,” he says with a patronizing cringe.
I snort out a laugh. “It looks bad that you got laid? Please. And besides, my face is barely visible in those photos. Whoever the photographer was, he or she obviously doesn’t do it for a living because they were very amateur.”
“That may be,” he smirks. “But they’re clear as day on my security cameras. As well as other parts of your anatomy.”
My mouth pops open at the audacity of this man.
“That’s blackmail!” I hiss.
But Zane just chuckles. “Please. You’re paparazzi. Since when do you care about gray morals?”
With that, I am officially insulted and start to walk away again. But he stops me by quickly moving in front of me and putting his hands up halfway in a surrendering pose.
“Okay, that was mean. I don’t know you–”
“No, you don’t.”
“And I should not judge your life choices.”
“No, you should not.”
