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“Here are all the samples…” Paige’s words died when she saw me, and I about choked on air. She stood up straight and ran her palms down her pencil skirt, cleared her throat, and looked at Roman. “Anything else, sir?”
“Yes. We’ll need shoes.”
“No!” Both of them looked at me, but I didn’t care that I had just
yelled. “No, I can get my own shoes.”
I didn’t know exactly what I was supposed to be getting dressed for—maybe every event on Roman’s calendar. All I knew was that Paige, who worked twelve-hour days and then some, didn’t need hours of searching the Web for pictures and posts about Roman and me, and acquiring outfits for me. No, she was not going to be a gopher for these people, or for me.
“It’s fine,” she mumbled to me. “It’s part of my job.”
“No,” I said again.
“Is there an issue here?” Roman asked, looking between the two of us.
“No, sir,” Paige said, at the same time I said, “Yes.”
“Will you excuse us, Miss Levine?” he said to Paige, but kept his eyes on me.
Paige left the room, shutting the door behind her, but not before I’d seen the look in her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was angry, embarrassed, or both, but she was right. I was affecting her job. And watching her bring a rack of clothes in when I knew she’d spent all week proofreading budget adjustments and documents was too much take. Whatever rubber band had been holding me together snapped.
“We need to talk,” I said to Roman with all the guilt I felt. “About everything.”
He lifted his chin. “You know the rules.”
“Yes, I do. So name your place, Governor.”
His nostrils flared and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “My house. Tonight.”
“Fine.”
Chapter Eight
I managed not to stomp through Roman’s house on the way to his bedroom, but once he’d shut the door, I couldn’t help it. Emotions had been bubbling since this morning, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“You can’t just barge into people’s lives and order them around whenever you feel like it,” I said, pacing—not stomping—in front of the hearth. “When I signed up for this—”
“Ah-ah,” Roman interrupted, motioning in my direction. “No chatting about that until you’re undressed.”
The gleam in his eyes and the smirk on his face made me hot. And he knew it. But in that moment, I didn’t know if I was more on fire from anger, or the fact that this overbearing, domineering, incredibly sexy man was burning holes right through my skin and igniting something dark and needy in my core.
He sat down in the chair I had occupied last time I was here—the chair he’d bent me over—and casually leaned back.
“Proceed, Miss Underwood.”
I froze. It was an odd reaction, considering the fire currently warming my shoulders. Looking at Roman and trying to keep my wits was difficult, because the man looked like he owned the world and everything in it. Including me. He sat back, comfortable and calm, resting his chin between his thumb and first finger, gazing at me as if awaiting a show. Those hot eyes daring me.
I lifted my chin and mustered every ounce of courage I had.
Dare accepted.
Gritting my teeth, I pulled at my shirt, untucking it from my skirt and yanking it over my head. The collar caught on the tight bun of my hair, so I reached up, undid the stupid thing, and let my hair fall.
Roman sat forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees, and watched. Perfectly still, yet completely engaged.
Something odd and new came over me. Control. Power. The governor was entranced by me for once. The feeling made me a little giddy. What had started out as anger, then rage, now felt a little edgy and hot…very hot.
Power respects power, I mentally repeated.
