Roxy’s gaze collides with mine, and we stare at each other. The air between us fills with pent-up energy, undue animosity, and something more potent.
Unknown. Undiscovered. Unavoidable.
Slowly, deliberately, she lowers her eyes to my hand wrapped around her arm.
Fuck, what am I doing?
I let go of her and put my hand on the doorknob. “No, I’m not your boss. Only you are. And I’m yet to see you fold for anything or anyone. Don’t fucking start now.”
She blinks, her breath hitches. “Why do you care?”
An excellent question.
“Little Thunder, you shouldn’t be changing who you are to please a bunch of assholes.” I pull the door open, but Roxy pushes it shut again.
We stand so close now, I can count every single line on her face. We engage in yet another staringcontest, each of us avoiding words and actions we don’t want to regret.
With my hand still on the handle and hers just above it, flat against the door, it would be so easy to snake my arm around her waist.
To pivot us and push her against the wall. To take that mouth of hers and ravish her until she forgets why she hates me.
She parts her lips, as if she were thinking the same thing as me, but then she squares her shoulders.
Suit or no suit, she is still Roxy. A warrior. A thunder. A temptress.
“Why are you wearing this suit and this tie, Liam?”
Fuck. She got me there. I gape at her, my nostrils flaring because she is right. The dress code is expected.
But it pisses me off that she needs to adhere to it. She should be able to be herself.
When I say nothing, she gives me a saccharine smile. “Yeah, you dress for success, so don’t you dare judge me for doing the same.”
I wasn’t judging, I think. “Fine,” I spit out like a petulant child instead.
Roxy snorts and opens the door.
Why do I keep insulting her when I mean to compliment her? Why, instead of my admiration, does judgment come out?
It’s like I lost my mind.
And forgot that I don’t want her as my enemy. I need her as my ally.
She is not a hurdle. She is the goal.
How else am I going to get to her father?
The driver keeps checking the rearview mirror, probably wondering if we will kill each other and destroy the precious leather on his seats.
Roxy hasn’t spoken to me since we left the office, ignoring my attempts at conversation.
I, because I clearly lost my mental faculties, am now sulking.
And catching glimpses of her.
She’s reviewing the presentation on her tablet while answering messages and setting reminders on her phone. No pause. No hesitation. Two devices, full focus.
While I have only Cal’s projects and nothing else, she’s carrying all her other responsibilities. All of it.
