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She tries to pull away from me, but I keep a firm grip on her, irrational panic flooding my chest at the thought that she's going to run from me again.
“Because I couldn't stand the thought of you interning for that fucking prick, Monroe.”
Her brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
I realize my slip-up at the exact moment comprehension dawns on her face. “So, you only offered me this internship because Monroe Industries was going to offer me one and you didn't want me working for Mr. Monroe. Why?” she asks again.
“Because he's an entitled prick who would have been trying to bend you over his desk on day one,” I grit out, my fingers tightening on her waist possessively.
Her eyes flick down to my hands before she plants her hands firmly on my chest and pushes me away from her.
I’m so shocked by the pleasant feeling of her tiny hands on my chest that I allow her to do it. My hands fall from their hold on her waist. Her eyes are flashing fire as she crosses her arms and looks up at me. “So, what is this? Some little competition you have going on with Mr. Monroe, and I’m just a pawn in you two’s sick game? I thought I was here based on my merit.”
I exhale heavily and run a hand through my hair in irritation. “You are here because of your merit.”
She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously, and I'm quick to add, “I've seen your transcripts, Faith. You really are the top of your class and the only one I would offer an internship to.”
I mean it too. Her work is impressive, but the main reason I offered her an internship is to get closer to her.
“Mr. Foxworth—"
“Warren,” I growl out.
She cuts her eyes at me before she corrects herself, “Warren, I don't know if this is such a good idea—”
“Why did you run from me?” I interrupt her and ask her the question I’m dying to know the answer to. Dammit, this isn’t how I planned this to go. Hell, I don’t know what I planned, but it doesn’t matter anyway because this girl makes the normally calm, cool, and collected Warren Foxworth who’s so cold in his business dealings go out the window.
Her eyes widen. “What?” she asks me in a shaky little voice.
“That night a week ago. The Halloween party. I came up to talk to you. I turned my head for one moment. When I turned back around, you were running away from me. Did I do something to scare you? You asked me if I was the devil,” I grumble. “I assumed that meant you knew who I was and that my reputation preceded me.”
She bites her lip and looks away from me.
I tip her chin up to force her to meet my eyes. Her hazel orbs look so vulnerable and unsure. It causes protectiveness to surge up within me.
“Or was it just me you were scared of?” I ask her softly, hating the thought that I scared her. I don’t care if I put the fear of Satan in other people but not her. I never want to scare this precious angel.
She holds my gaze bravely as she finally admits in a breathy little voice, “I don't know, okay? You made me speechless, and that's never happened to me before. I guess I just didn't know what to do with it. I guess it kind of freaked me out.”
“I made you speechless.” I can't help feeling a flicker of pride at the thought that I managed to do anything to this girl that no one else has ever done. “Why did I make you speechless?”
“I don't know.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “There you were, this tall, dark, handsome stranger who everyone called the devil, and you'd honed your gaze in on me, and I didn't even know who you were.”
My heart does a somersault in my chest. She just admitted to being attracted to me. “How did you know I was called the devil if you didn’t know who I was?”
“My friend. She told me the moment you entered the room.” Her cheeks burn, and she tries to extricate herself from my grip. “This is completely inappropriate. There's no way I can intern for you now.”
“So then don't.”
Her eyes flash up to mine.
“You don't have to intern with me,” I elaborate. “I'll still teach you anything you want to know.” I don’t do it intentionally, but my voice drops a note at the thought of teaching her. There are so many things I want to teach her.
She must pick up on the innuendo in it too because her cheeks flame again. She’s so motherfucking pretty, it hurts to look at her.
“Why?” she asks again, the confusion evident in her tone. I let my eyes rove over her face again before I answer. She looks so sweet. So beautiful. So perfect. Sogood.
“Because every devil needs an angel,” I finally say.
