Page 17 of Direct Action

Please say yes.

Scratch that, please say no. If I’d missed out on my one chance of having Ryan in bed with me, I wasn’t going to kick my own ass, I was going to slap myself silly.

“You fell asleep before we finished talking.”

I impatiently waited for him to say more. When it was obvious he’d said all he was going to say, I decided to take the bull by the horns and end this once and for all.

“I told you last night I wasn’t quitting. My answer hasn’t changed, and now I’m late, so you need to leave.”

“Chloe—”

“No, Ryan. Unless my job performance at the Plank suffers, you have no right to tell me where I can and can’t work. And even then it’s debatable if you’d have a say. And I’d debate, it’s never your call. If you think I’m slacking at work, write me up.”

“You need to listen to me.”

Hell to the no.

Not only did his statement incense me, but his tone infuriated me.

“The only thing I need to listen to is the front door shutting behind you,” I bit back. “I have shit to do and I’m late doing it, so now would be the perfect time to end this and for you to leave.”

I held Ryan’s irate stare for three beats. Yes, I counted—that was what one did when they were biting their tongue to stop themselves from lashing out at their boss.

On beat four he declared, “We’re not done talking about this.”

“We are.”

With a shake of his head and predatory grace, he closed the distance between us. “No, baby, we are not.”

Baby?

I didn’t want to swoon. I wanted to hold on to my anger, but Ryan made it impossible with all his stupid good looks and manliness that I also wanted to hate but couldn’t.

“See you tonight.”

Oh, no. If he thought he was ambushing me again, he had another thing coming.

“Tonight?”

“You work at five,” he reminded me.

Shit. Goddamn. Son of a motherless goat.

“I’m at the bar to work and make tips. Not have annoying conversations with management.”

“Tonight, you’re doing both.”

With that maddening declaration, he stalked out of my room. I didn’t want to watch his ass while he exited my bedroom, yet my eyes latched on to his fine backside and stayed planted there until I lost sight of him.

The front door opened, closed, then I sprang into action.

First up, I needed clothes. And since my couch was currently doubling as my closet, I rushed into the living room, skidding to a stop when my gaze landed on my laundry.

I think I heard angels singing when I took in the neatly folded piles on my coffee table.

I glanced at the couch, seeing the throw that was normally on my bed crumpled on the cushions.

So that was where he’d slept—not in my bed next to me.