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I flush. "I wasn’t fishing for compliments. And you shouldn’t speak like that."
"Just telling you the truth. You’re the most perfectly-formed woman I know… when you’re not speaking, that is."
"What the—" I gape at him. "That was so sexist. So inappropriate. But why should I be surprised? It’s exactly the kind of thing you would say. And just when I was thinking that, perhaps, you’re not that bad a person. I really don’t get you." I pat my mouth with a napkin, then drop it on the plate. "You get me my favorite food—I don’t know how you found out it’s my favorite cuisine. It’s something I rather not know actually—and then you compliment me and insult me in the same sentence. It’s messing with my head. You—" I stab my finger in his direction "—are messing with my head. It’s time for me to get back to work."
I rise to my feet, and this time he doesn’t stop me. I brush past him when warm fingers circle my wrist. "I’m sorry."
"Excuse me." I whip my head around. "Did you just say what I think you did?"
He rubs the back of his neck. "I didn’t mean for it to come out that way."
"Sure, you did."
His lips twitch. "Yes, I did. I’m old-school. I believe a woman’s place is in the home."
"Don’t you mean barefoot and pregnant and cooking for her man in the kitchen?"
"That, too."
I scowl. "And having a hot meal ready for the hard-working husband who comes home in the evening."
"Err, yes?"
Anger flushes my chest. My stomach flip-flops. I don’t find the thought of cooking for him a turn-on. I don’t. I pull at my wrist but his grasp tightens. "Why are you upset?"
"I’m not upset." I toss my head. "Why should I care that you have such an archaic, outdated, pre-historic view of the world?"
"Would you rather I lie to you?" he asks softly.
"I’d rather you not talk to me at all," I say through gritted teeth.
"I tried that. Didn’t work, remember? It only had you getting your knickers in a twist."
"My knickers are fine, thank you very much."
He opens his mouth, and I raise my finger. "And not one more inappropriate comment from you about my knickers,Mr.Kane."
He seems taken aback, then mimes zipping his lips. And when I tug on my hand, he releases it. Why is he being so compliant? It’s a ruse, it has to be. Jerkass is playing another game with me, no doubt.
"I really do need to get back to work to finish that pitch," I mutter.
“Your boss is a slave-driver, huh?” he murmurs.
I blink. Is that JJ being nice? And did he just make a crack at himself? That is so weird. And I’m too tired to deal with him right now.
“Can I get back to my work now please?”
"Why don’t I help you?"
Two hours later, I lock my fingers together and stretch my arms above my head. "I’m beat." I yawn so long, my eyes water.
Daddy J—I’m definitely exhausted which is the only reason I called him that—glances up from behind his desk where he’s putting the finishing touches on the presentation on his computer. After dinner, we moved to his desk, where we worked in almost complete silence. We were very productive. What would have taken me a minimum of five hours to complete on my own had been done in less than half the time. The man’s brain is razor sharp. He was always ten steps ahead of me. In fact, it felt like he was holding back and waiting for me to catch up as we’d worked on the pitch. Now, he narrows his gaze on me. "Why don’t you take a nap while I wrap this up?"
"I can help," I protest.
"You’ve done a lot already."
"All I did was work out the outline of the revised deck. It’s you who’s been filling in the words."
