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He inclines his head, and she sprints away.
We check out of the hospital and leave the building.
Ivan is waiting inside the car.
The Impaler opens a door for me in a gentlemanly fashion, and I climb in, making sure to plop on the seat opposite to where his laptop is. I don’t think it’s wise for me to sit next to him after all of this.
I might expire from blushing.
Before he decides to buckle me in again, I do that myself—same reason.
He takes a seat next to his laptop, as I hoped he would, but for some reason, I feel a pang of disappointment.
Ivan floors the gas pedal.
The Impaler raises the partition between us and his minion, and glances at his laptop before pinning me with an intent stare.
Crap. I’m probably interrupting him from something important.
“So…” I shift in my seat uncomfortably. “What now?”
He cocks his head. “We’re taking you home, of course.”
Since it’s been whole minutes since I last blushed, I do so now. “I meant, testing-wise.” Or put another way, do I still have a job?
“You need to rest.”
He’s really good at making statements that sound like military orders. At least I don’t salute or yes-sir him this time.
“How about after I rest?” I dare to ask.
“You’re not going to worry about that right now.”
That again. Should I just ask him straight out if I still have a job? Or will that just put the idea in his head?
“You went to Brooklyn College, right?” he asks out of nowhere.
“I did.” Wait. How does he know? Did he notice it in my file when he looked for my address?
“Great computer science program,” he says. “Soothing campus.”
I blink at him. “How do you know? Are you a fellow alum?”
“Guilty.” Something almost like a smile touches the corners of his eyes. “I graduated eight years before you, so our paths never crossed.”
Huh. So he did look up my file, even down to the date of my graduation.
I wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d met in school and he weren’t my boss squared.
Are you crazy? Who says he’s even attracted to you? He’s just giving you a ride home, followed by a possible job termination.
I moisten my dry lips. “Did you also major in comp sci?”
Did his gaze just fall to my mouth?
“What else?” he asks, the corners of his lips tilting slightly—a definite smile, and a panty-wetting one at that.
“History,” I blurt—and thank goodness don’t add, “That would be easy for you, since you lived it.”
