Page 16 of Possessive Ink

“Because you are.”

“Usually people ask.”

“Only when they don’t already know the answer,” he says confidently, turning off the street and toward the industrial cleaning company that handles all the resort’s laundry.

When I reach for my seatbelt, he covers my hand. “Wait,” he orders, and my fingers stop moving. Slipping from the car, he strides confidently to my door and opens it, leaning over me to unfasten my seat belt. He waits for me to climb out before he places his palm on the base of my spine and follows me into the office.

“Hey, Lemon,” the manager, Louisa, calls when she spots me.

“Hi, Louisa. How are you?” I ask with a smile.

“I’m good. I don’t know why Wes is arguing over a ten percent increase in delivery costs. Doesn’t he see the price of gas these days? All I’m doing is covering the extra cost, not trying to rip him off,” she says angrily. “Did you bring the van?”

“The van?” I squeak. “I thought I was just getting the robes?”

“No, he’s taken delivery and collection off the entire account order. He said you’ll be bringing all the dirty linens, tablecloths, towels, and robes to us and picking up the clean twice a week from now on. He said you’d settle the bill too,” she says, piling plastic-wrapped mounds onto the counter before she slides an invoice for over a thousand dollars across the counter to me.

“How the fuck does this guy expect you to carry all of this back on your own?” Atticus growls, his fingers tightening on my hip as he moves me toward him until my side is pressed into his.

“I need to call him,” I mutter, trying to maintain a smile but feeling it slip from my lips as I stare at the cost of the invoice. My hands are shaking a little as I pull my cell from my pocket, find his number, and hit dial.

“Yes,” he answers abruptly.

“Hi, Wes. I just got to the laundry, and they need the invoice to be paid before they can release anything to me. Also, did you forget that I don’t drive?”

“For god’s sake, Lemon, can’t you just do your job?” he snarls. “Pay the fucking bill.”

His voice must have been loud enough for Atticus and Louisa to hear, because before I can respond, Atticus plucks the cell from my ear and brings it to his own.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but don’t ever speak to her like that again. Ever. She’s trying to do her job, but you have her walking miles across town to collect a van’s worth of stuff without any way of getting it back, and no way to pay the fucking bill. So get your fucking credit card out of your ass and pay now. This time I’ll help her get all of this shit back to you, but you can take this as her two weeks’ fucking notice, which you will be paying her in full for, but that she won’t be working because I will not allow her to spend another second working for anyone who treats her like shit. Good fucking luck finding anyone who’ll put up with running your fucking errands and being spoken to like that. And you also owe her two hundred dollars for the steak and fucking protein shakes you had her buy, and that cash better be waiting for her when she walks through the door, because if I have to come and ask you for it, you won’t fucking like it. Do we understand each other?”

A cold chill spreads across my skin, making me shake as Atticus cusses out my boss and tells him I’m quitting my job while I stand by and do nothing.

“What did you just do?” I ask when he passes the cell to Louisa, who heads for an office in the back.

Not answering, he pulls his own cell from his pocket, tapping at the screen before he lifts it to his ear. “Hey, Little Bit,” he says a moment later. “Are you still looking for staff?”

Pausing, he looks at me, his expression dark and kind of scary. “I have someone for you. I actually think you already know her. Her name is Lemon.” He pauses again, then his lips soften into a smirk. “Yeah, that’s her. She just quit her job, so she’s available straight away.”

Lifting his hand, he palms my cheek, sliding his thumb beneath my chin to lift it up. “Yeah, she’s going to be at our place for dinner later, so you can figure out the details then. Okay, love you, sis. See you later. Bring dessert. She likes chocolate.”

Ending the call, he slides his cell into his pocket, then parts his lips to speak just as Louisa stomps back over to us, my cell in her hand. “All paid. Do you need help taking this out to the van?”

“We’re in my car, but yeah, that’d be great,” Atticus answers for me, dropping his hand from my face and guiding me back out to his car with his palm hovering tantalizingly close to my ass.

“What just happened?” I ask him when he climbs into the driver’s seat and hits the start button.

“What do you mean?” he questions, glancing my way as he pulls out onto the street.

“You can’t just tell my boss I quit.”

“He was an asshole, and I found you a better job.”

“But—”

“Lemon, you hate working for him,” Atticus says confidently.

“How could you possibly know that? We met an hour ago,” I gasp.