“I don't think that’s your decision to make.”
“To hell it isn’t.”
My temper flares, but it’s not just anger from being told what to do. It’s the way he’s looking at me like he’s already made the decision for me about what I can and cannot handle, like he knows me better than I know myself. And that is decidedly not true.
“That’s not how this works,” I say, pushing back from the table and getting to my feet. “I work for you. I certainly don’tbelongto you.”
I take my half-finished dinner to thecounter and stack the dishes next to the sink. Normally, I’d start washing up, but I’m not going to stay here a moment longer than I have to. Not if he thinks he can tell me what to do and control me as if I were his.
“You’re living under my roof,” he says from his chair at the table. When I turn, he still hasn’t moved, his dark eyes still watching me. “That makes it my business.”
“No,” I shoot back, setting my jaw. “It doesn’t. Not unless I’m on the clock.”
His jaw tightens, something dark flickering behind his eyes as he unfolds his massive frame from the chair and takes a step toward me.
“You don’t know what that place is like.”
"With a bravado I don’t feel, I toss my hair over my shoulder. “Well, I guess I’m about to find out.”
He stops, surprise registering on his features. “Now? You think you’re going to the Rusty Nail, now?”
“Why not?” I challenge, refusing to give ground as my pulse starts to race. It definitely hadn’t been my plan to head down the mountain in the dark, but now… “Seems like a good night.”
“There’s no way you’re?—”
“You can’t stop me.”
“To hell I can’t.”
The space between us feels smaller now, charged in a way that has nothing to do with me wanting to go to the bar and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me.
His gaze is focused. Intense and charged with electricity, like he’s forcing himself to hold back.
“Why?” He asks after a moment. “Why do you want to go to the bar so bad?”
I open my mouth and shut it again, unsure how to adequately explain that I need to find a man to…what exactly?
“That’s what I thought.”
The assumption in his voice is exactly what pushes me over the edge.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I snap. “And you most certainly don’t know what I want.”
“So tell me.” His voice is low and measured. “Because I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the conversation you had earlier with my daughter.”
So hewaslistening.
My heart is pounding now, my thoughts tumbling over each other, but instead of backing down, I step closer. “Feels like you already know.”
He shakes his head. “You have an ex,”he says. “And you think that by going to a bar rougher than any you could actually imagine, full of men who will eat you alive the moment you set foot inside, is going to help you get over him.”
I straighten my shoulders and puff up my chest, not wanting to admit that he’s mostly right, I correct him. “I don’t need to get over him.”
He cocks a brow.
“I don’t,” I insist. “It’s not like I’m all heartbroken and upset about it.” It’s the truth. “I’m just tired of feeling like an idiot for waiting for something that ultimately didn’t matter to him at all.”
His expression shifts, just a little, but it’s enough to make my chest tighten.
