Page 49 of Strictly Against Policy

“It’s not a ruse. I was genuinely worried about you and your safety.”

“You don’t do this with all of your employees. As far as I’m aware, you don’t offer to help your employees move or take them home from their failed blind date.”

He let out a soft breath. “No, I don’t.”

I expected him to refute my claim, so I froze. He swallowed thickly. The wet sound of his throat working bounced in the tiny space that made up his car, making it feel smaller and tighter. It was as if we were in that janitorial closet again. Chest to chest. Face to face—noses barely brushing against one another’s.

“Why me?”

“Lina, I hate to break it to you, but we’re much more alike than you care to admit. We both always want to win.”

I had no comebacks. No sassy words to rebuke his observation. It was true. I wanted to win, and so did he. Always.

“We’re water and oil. Similar in some way, but never able to mix,” I stated plainly.

“We’re both fire, Lina.” I could practically hear the way the grin on his lips tilted into an arrogant smirk. But I didn’t turn to look. It would only give him satisfaction if I gave him attention. “We yearn to burn one another—down, up, and every single possible angle there is.”

I leaned back into my seat. “Sounds dangerous.”

His tone dipped so low I could feel his words trace down the hollow of my spine. “We would be if we joined forces.”

A strained, cool smile pulled taut across my lips, and I let that icy, bitchy voice slither out of me. “And I thought we were meant to be enemies.”

Jonathan laughed. Light, amused, and wholly delighted. Unlike before, he wasn’t deterred, let alone triggered. To my utter surprise, I smiled a genuine one, too. The corners of my lips lifting into a shy and lopsided grin.

Something had shifted between us. He was right. We were more alike than I wanted to admit.

Jonathan pulled the car into the half-filled parking lot of a church and parked on the far, empty side. There, in the middle, stood a taco truck with a long line of people clad in sweats and flip-flops, and short dresses paired with heels—all ready to place their orders for a night in or out on the town. Excitement roiled in me, making my mouth water. When he parked the car, I moved to get out.

“Just wait in the car for me. Your feet hurt,” he said.

“But how would you know what to order for me?” I asked.

“I’m getting carne asada tacos. How about you?” He arched a brow. “What meat would you like on⁠—”

“Get me two al pastor tacos,” I cut in.

He hummed, unbuckling his seat belt. “Good choice. Corn or flour tortilla?”

“Always corn tortilla,” I replied quickly.

“And drinks? They always have watermelon and hibiscus agua fresca along with horchata.”

“No, I’m good with drinks.” I reached for my purse to grab my wallet.

Jonathan reached out to stop me. The heat from his hands prickled against my skin. “Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me. Lock the door as soon as I step out, okay?”

Before I could refuse, he closed the door and walked off. I could’ve been stubborn and walked out as well, but I didn’t. I stayed there and finally took off my heels. I sighed as I eased into the car seat. With the car and the heater off, the cold soon crawled its chilly tendrils into the vehicle, nipping at my hands and feet.

It wasn’t long before a dark figure walked toward the car.

CHAPTER 23

Lina

Through the foggy condensation clinging to the windows, I watched a man clad in all black approach. He wasn’t wearing a coat despite the chilly February night winds. Even then, in the darkest of clothes and under poorly lit conditions, anyone could see his strong physique.

He had a wide chest that tapered down to a slim, lean waist. He had burly arms, and with his long legs, he looked taller than he was. The fall of his black hair over his forehead and the quirk of those cynical lips moved with intention and confidence. Arrogance, even.