“Hopefully Thomas figures out I’m missing sooner rather than later.” Rip pulls an unopened box marked fragile in front of me and sits on it. “But if not, I’m sure your family will notice their Prince Kingsley is gone.”
Prince Kingsley? Please, I’m anything but their prince.
Out of everything, how is that the impression Rip has of me?
It’s Rip’s dead stare that makes me realize I haven’t responded. “Bloody hell, Kingsley. Speak.”
I can see my breath in the cold air as I sigh. “Prince is not the word my family would use to describe me.”
“Oh, my bad. They call you King,” he snarks, then pulls his knees to his chest and hugs himself. “How cruel of me to forget your rank.”
“Holy projection,” I scoff.
“I’m not projecting. I’m calling it like it is.” Rip shrugs loosely. “It’s the only reason I can come up with for why everyone around you lets you treat them as if they’re irrelevant. Princely behavior.”
God, must we argue when we’re so cold we can’t even think straight?
He thinks I’m rude when I’m quiet, but if I straight-up told him how little I care about what others are saying, he’d call me a jerk. It’s easier to listen to people because at least then I can’t fuck things up with my words.
I roll my eyes as a sudden heat roars in my chest. It’s the warmest thing in here. “I’ve been nothing but kind to you, Rip. I may not talk to you like we’re friends, but we aren’t supposed to be. We work together. That is why I say all of your issues with me come from a place of projection, darling. I’m not the jerk here.”
Rip’s gaze is piercing. His blue eyes hang on to every word I say, as if he’s trying to see into my very being.
Then, in a low, challenging tone, he says, “Roll your eyes at me again.”
I should find his threat offensive, but all it does is make me want to do it again. To see what the hell he’ll do about it.
The thought sends a pulse straight to my dick, and I shift against the floor. I haven’t gotten a reaction this easily in a while, but one threat from Rip, and here I am. Even when I can barely feel my fucking limbs. There has to be something seriously wrong with me.
I mimic Rip’s position, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on them. “For a social media and advertising manager, you’re pretty intimidating.”
Thomas has an inviting, child-like, happy vibe I would imagine advertisers need, but not Rip. His intricate tattoos travel all the way up his neck, his muscles bulge through his tight shirts, and his intense eye contact is enough to put off any normal person. And the tongue piercing? Shit, I wonder how that would feel against my tongue.
Yeah, something is definitely wrong with me.
The old Kingsley wouldn’t think this way about an employee, someone not only beneath him in the corporate world but not at all involved in his dangerous life. He struggled with impulses, so he wouldn’t even allow himself to recognize attraction to someone like that.
Rip swallows, the red on his face and nose intensifying as the room gets colder. He still isn’t as chilled as I am, and I think I know why. He’s bigger than me. I have a lot less mass than I once did, thanks to my year alone, but Rip’s broad torso and big muscles are still larger than mine ever were.
We’ve been sitting like this for at least thirty minutes, if I’m counting correctly. If we move closer together, we’ll be a little warmer from each other’s body heat. Maybe we should.
“You look like you’re about to keel over,” Rip says. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s a bit of concern in his tone.
Well, considering I’d bet Antarctica is warmer than us, he’s probably right. I nod once.
Rip lowers himself off the box and onto the cold floor beside me, but still keeps a small distance between us. “You can’t fucking die.”
“I’m fine,” I grit out. At least the crippling cold has me feeling something for once.
Before I know it, Rip has leaned against me. His face is only an inch away from mine; the closeness between us helps tremendously with the chill. His light pink lips aren’t chapped like I’d expect in this condition.
“You piss me off,” he grumbles and shivers against me.
“You piss yourself off,” I retort, still thinking about his lips. I bite my lip, close my eyes, and lean my head on the wall before I do something incredibly stupid. As I sit there, I start nodding off, but I can’t figure out if it’s the chill or my exhaustion.
Rip must notice, because he shakes my shoulder with a gentle yet firm grip. “Kingsley, you can’t fall asleep.”
I shake my head as best I can, but I don’t know if it actually moves. If I open my eyes, I might do something deranged and impulsive, like kiss my employee. We don’t fraternize with the staff, even if he is the first to make me feel anything since Sylvie.
