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“Yes, I’m staying in Hunter Valley,” he continued. “Yes, it’s because of Jason Jimenez. But it’s not your fault he was fired. He was an asshole. A shit leader. A shit human. I don’t employ men like him.” His fingers squeezed gently. “You need to tell me what he said and did.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“You heard what he said to me. That locker room talk.”
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
“What else did he do?”
I shrugged, then looked out the window. “Wonder how I could be so smart and have such a nice ass. Things like that.”
His fingers clenched, then he pulled his hand away to rub it down his face. “Did he ever touch you? Jemma?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you report him?”
“Because I need my job, that it’s his word against mine. Against Jemma’s. I’m just his assistant.”
“Right.” He was angry. A blood vessel throbbed at his temple. “You did his work for him, too.”
I licked my lips. Nodded.
“Even though he’s already fired, on Monday, you and Jemma, and anyone else he fucked with, will file formal complaints with HR. Trust me, I’ll make sure he doesn’t find a job. Anywhere.”
I believed him. The fact that he had the power and ability to protect not just me, but other women he would work with.
“You need to tell me if someone’s bothering you. Whatever it is.”
I give my head a slight shake. “You can’t fight my battles.”
“Like hell I can’t. Look at me.” He pointed to himself, but his finger tapped the words Steaming Hotties on his pink t-shirt. “You think I’m not big enough to handle it?”
I laughed. “You can handle anything.”
“There’s one thing I’m struggling with,” he said softly, glancing at the gear shift, then at me through his dark lashes.
“Oh?” He was powerful, successful, handsome and every other adjective I couldn’t think of right now.
“You.”
17
MAVERICK
* * *
I wanted to punch Jimenez all over again for the way Bridget looked at me right now. Unsure. Her confidence dented. That was fucking wrong.
She was brilliant and beautiful and I wanted to make her see that. To believe it.
Any other woman who read my sex quiz would be naked and riding my dick by now. Every word of it had been accurate and I’d thought of Bridget, and only Bridget as I’d typed it out. The fact that she wasn’t just clothed, but unsure, meant she wasn’t a fling kind of woman. She didn’t do casual.
Neither did I because if that was what I still wanted–and I’d lost interest in that back in my twenties–I’d have gone to a bar and picked up someone. Fucked her. Left her. All of that and not learning her name. Was my age showing? Was that her holdup?
“Did you mean what you wrote?” she asked, a flush creeping up her neck.
My dick got hard, and I shifted in my seat. “Every word.”
