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“You’re staying till the end of the week.”
“It doesn’t seem like your father wants that.”
“It’s not his choice.”
“Look, I don’t want to work somewhere where I’m clearly not wanted.”
“Youarewanted. My father is… difficult. Ignore him.”
“Ignore him? Have you seen the man?”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get near you again.”
“Well, thank you, but believe it or not, needing a bodyguard to leave the office doesn’t exactly instill a feeling of safety.”
As Grey lets out a breath, I take a step backwards, my arms wrapping around my waist as hurt blisters through me.
“He said my mother’s name. Your father did. He told me I lived in a, quote,shithole. Like he had it checked out or something. I thought you said you wouldn’t be checking into me without my permission.”
Grey shakes his head, confusion roughening his features.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I don’t,” he utters breathlessly. “I don’t know your mother’s name, I swear to God. As for where you live, I saw the address. I know the area a little, but not what your place is like.”
My demeanor softens as I take in the earnest plea in his voice.
“Well, your father had no right to look into my family.”
“No,” he replies. “He didn’t.”
As Grey turns a little, glancing over at the door as if to make his way back out, my hand reaches unconsciously for his arm, pulling on it, my fingers pressing into thick, tense muscle.
He turns slowly, blazing eyes meeting mine. “I don’t know about your family, Indie. I’ve respected that boundary despite wanting to know… more about you… than I do.”
I swallow, removing my hand from his arm.
“Well, paying someone to get information is not any way to go about that.”
“I agree,” he responds, his jaw tight. “Which is why I’ll be respecting your wishes and not doing that… in the hopes you don’t do it to me either.”
“Well, I wouldn’t.”
He nods before glancing down at my body and the thick but tight gray cotton wrapped around my torso and thighs. “I told you I don’t want you wearing clothes like that around here. I know what the men are like around here.”
“The men?” I ask. “Or your father?”
His fingers tense. “You’re driving me fucking insane, Indigo.”
I thought wearing Carrie’s stretchy gray sleeveless dress which hits me just below the knees would be acceptable for Grey’s puritanical tastes… or at least, when it comes to me.
“I had clothes sent round to you last night to avoid this fucking problem,” he continues.
“Yeah, thick shirts and long black pants. You know it’s ninety degrees outside, right? What do you want me to wear, a freaking snowsuit? And anyway, as I told you on Monday, it’s not our responsibility to not look ‘distracting’. It’s men’s to behave half-decently. I mean, we don’t go around harassing you when you wear tight shirts and pants.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll be wearing something more decent.”
