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I had to leave because if I didn’t, I would have hit on her.
Or worse, propositioned her.
Or even worse, closed the distance and kissed her right then and there.
I’m trying to break this girl down, and instead, she has the upper hand. I’ve tried everything, but all my assumptions about her have been wrong. I thought she would balk at the toilet cleaning, the laundry, the extra studying.
She didn’t.
Even volunteering didn’t garner the reaction I wanted.
She freaking smiles the whole damn time.
Every punishment I dole out is the same thing.
I see her on the surveillance videos; she can’t stop being happy, doing all the asinine things I come up with for her to do without a complaint or issue.
This is fucking annoying and drives me motherfucking insane.
The only time she scowls is when she’s talking to me.
Which is quite telling.
After I clear my head, I make my way back down the hallway and to the garage. She better be in the damned car waiting for me. This whole thing is a massive imposition.
Truth is, even though I didn’t want to admit it to her, it wasn’t her fault.
I watched the scumbag plow right into her.
She’s actually lucky she didn’t get even more hurt.
It was almost deliberate.
And the truth is, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t really want to hurt her.
Ruin her, sure.
Physically hurt her? Not so much.
I might spend time with the most ruthless men in the world, but I’ve never had a bloodlust.
Thankfully, when I make it into the garage, I see her sitting in the front seat of my car. I already sent my driver off on another errand, so it’s just us.
It’s up to me to get this woman to school on time.
Opening the door, I get into the driver’s side. Her lavender fragrance hits my nose. Fucking son of a bitch.
Does she have to smell good, too?
I tear out of the garage. Driving way too fast. But I’m pissed. I need her out of my car ASAP.
The faster she is out, the faster I can get myself in check.
I pull out into the New York City streets and start driving around to get us to the island. I take the bridge, weave my way through traffic, and the whole time, the car is silent. I have nothing to say to her, and she probably has nothing to say to me.
When we’re finally over the bridge, she proves me wrong. “Thank you for driving me.”
I grip the wheel tighter. “We aren’t there yet. You shouldn’t thank me.”
