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“Yet,” he says. “That will change.”
“Says who?”
“Me. You like me. You think I’m hot.”
I snap my eyes to his, turning my body against the confines of the belt. “I like the job.”
“Well, I sure as hell don’t like it.”
“Well, you sure as hell don’t have a say in the matter.”
“On the contrary, Angie. I do have a say.”
“You would go to Dominic about me? Are you really that much of a bastard?” Fear creeps in that he would spread lies about me to get me fired. When the realization hits me, I am frozen stiff. I need this job. It is more flexible than any other job I have had, and right now I need that benefit in order to still focus my attention on landing an internship.
“If you like and value your job, I suggest you”—he rubs at the back of his neck—“first, stay the hell away from Tanner. He’s using you. Find another date. Tell him to fuck off. Don’t accept his requests and don’t make side appointments. Second, quit making rash decisions that will only put you in a predicament that is less than admirable. And third, start looking for a replacement job in the meantime. I can assist with all three. Just say the word.”
“You are just pissing me off!”
“I quite frankly don’t give a rat’s ass who I’m pissing off!” he roars.
“No shit! Message received!” My voice cracks with my screams. “I’m not quitting my job. I like it.” Collins must be well versed in not making his presence known, because he doesn’t even fidget at the yelling going on in the backseat. For someone who has so much money, he could seriously invest in a vehicle with a privacy screen.
“Your character judgment expertise is off. I’m here to help with that.”
His smug look deserves to be wiped off his face with a sharp smack. I have it in me. I proved that to myself already once tonight. And for someone who witnessed it himself, why is he not more afraid of my potential?
“Mark is nice.”
“Oh, I’m sure he can be. When, of course, his goal is slipping into your skimpy attire. He is so fucking predictable. He is playing you, Angie! He wants you superficial and fake. Quit tampering with your natural beauty.” He runs his hand down my cheek bone. “You are perfect the way you are, baby.”
I am not perfect. Tears well up and trail down my flushed cheeks in clear salty streams. Graham’s hand catches them. He unbuckles my belt and pulls me into an embrace. I settle my behind on his lap, encased in warmth. His cooing calms me. His gentle fingers brush over my damp cheeks, collecting more tears and drying them. I feel exhausted and emotionally drained.
“Listen. I am fully aware that I am being unreasonable, irrational, and ridiculous. I just don’t give a damn. You can do better.”
“It’s not your choice.” My words come out as a whisper. I push off his chest to detach myself from my weakness. If I stay too long, I will get swept away, and all of my determination and hard work will be for nothing. My life is finally coming back together. I cannot allow it to explode at the seams over a man who deludes himself into believing he has my best interests in mind, when in reality he is working his own agenda. I move back over to my side and snap the belt back in place.
“Take me home, Collins, or I will call the police and have you both arrested.”
Collins’s eyes meet Graham’s in the rearview mirror, and information is passed with their look and silent signal. These looks are really starting to irritate me. Not even my verbal threat shakes the two men. What is with them? They act like they are above the law. I remove my phone from my skirt pocket and pretend to call their bluff. I press a few buttons and—
“Hey!”
I stare blankly at my device gripped inside the palm of Graham’s hand. He flicks it toward the front of the car, dropping the phone onto the cushion of the front passenger seat, out of my reach.
“Don’t threaten me.”
“You bastard,” I grind out from between my clenched teeth.
I give Graham the silent treatment for several long minutes, sniffling and staring out the window. Realizing that I am done talking, he gives Collins the directive to start driving toward the townhouse.
A dizzy feeling swirls inside my head, making me queasy and weak. Every bump and turn of the car cause my stomach to rumble. I cannot tell if I am getting motion sickness or if the nausea is alcohol-induced. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling unbearable heat flame from my toes to my head. Sweat forms in beads on my forehead, over my brow, and my upper lip. I feel faint and fuzzy. My breathing turns to harsh shallow breaths as I fight back the quaking urge to expel the contents of my stomach. Shivers roll through me despite my skin feeling scorched.
“Pull over,” Graham orders suddenly, snapping the belt back from my body. His strong arms yank me around my waist when the car comes to a complete stop along the side of the road. He pulls me through the shale, pressing my knees into the guardrail, holding my hair in his hand and placing another on my back. “It’s okay, Angie. Just let it out. You will feel better, sweetheart. You had too much tonight. Let it out, baby.”
Within seconds, I am purging out the sins of the past four hours of overindulgence. Between the date with Will Jenkins and the food and beverages from The Shack, I have hit my limit on bad choices.
Violent tremors shake my upper body, as I heave and flail and double over in pain. Graham stays at my side the entire time, his soothing words comforting me in my state of utter embarrassment. The sky is dark, and the crisp clean air sobers me. Circles are drawn on my back over and over again, making me soften—my anger is completely dissolved, as my sickness comes to an end.
