Page 86 of His Good Girl

He just stared at me.

I folded instantly. “Fine. I did.”

“After your boss warned you yesterday about being pouty at work, young lady?”

There it was again.

He knew exactly what those words did to me, and I could see the knowledge in the controlled stillness of his face as his hand closed around the pen, and how his voice had dropped just enough to make the title feel less like a correction and more like a touch beneath the table.

My core fluttered with need so intense I had to press my thighs together.

I should have apologized. A serious employee would have apologized. A smart woman would have apologized. A woman who wanted to avoid scandal, ruin, and being emotionally disassembled by her godfather-boss would have said, ‘You’re right, I’m sorry, the training was necessary and I’ll be more respectful, sir.’

Instead, I looked directly at him and said, “I expect an equally entertaining day tomorrow.”

His jaw tightened.

“Avery.”

“Yes, Mr. Rowe?”

His eyes held mine.

The title came out softer than it should have. I knew it. He knew it. Somewhere outside the office, Benjamin probably felt a disturbance in the air and reached for a fire extinguisher.

Callum set the pen down carefully. “Are you trying to test me?”

I swallowed. “Would that be a bad idea?”

“Yes.”

I waited, but he did not look away.

“And?” I asked.

“And you seem to be doing it anyway.”

My pulse pounded in my throat. My notebook felt suddenly ridiculous in my lap, a prop held by a woman pretending this was still about training modules.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” I asserted, which was a lie.

“No?”

“I’m trying to understand the rules.”

“The rules are not complicated,” he chided, his eyes darkening.

“They feel complicated.”

Heat climbed my neck.

Callum stood. The movement made my entire body go on alert. He walked around the desk, slow enough that it did not feel like pacing, but controlled enough that it did not feel casual. I stayed seated because he had not told me to stand, and because my knees were not presently trustworthy. He stopped a few feet away, leaning back against the front edge of his desk, arms loosely folded and commanding way too much of my attention. The position put him closer to me, just near enough that I could see the pulse at his wrist and the faint tension in his forearm where his hand tucked under his opposite arm.

“I am going to say this once,” he warned.

I looked up at him.

“At work, you will take the training seriously. You will take Benjamin seriously. You will take Dana seriously. You will not roll your eyes at me because you want to find out what I’ll do.”