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“Excuse me?” I continued to set up the chairs for opening later, not bothering to face him.
“Who works for whom here?”
“Have you ever been to Brunei?”
“Yes.”
I blinked dumbly for a few seconds before I recovered.
“Good. Then you’ll be able to recognize a dictatorship.”
He set a hand on the chair I grabbed, so I’d stop moving.
“The thing about dictators is, they don’t care what their subjects think… They will, however, punish those who don’t follow their orders without hesitation.” His voice dipped lower. “Would you like to be punished, Miss De Luca?”
Wow.
Those words actually came out of his mouth.
Instead of fighting him, I pulled my shoulders back and tipped my chin up to stare at him.
“You’re insufferable. In any other company, human resources would have a field day with you.”
“Good thing I am human resources.”
He turned and walked out the door without waiting for my reply. I barely had time to grab my phone and sweater before I chased him down the street, running at him like a jilted lover.
He didn’t stare at me as I caught up to him, and he slid into his car without opening the door for me.
I pulled the handle of the flattened sports car, and instead of opening outward, it shot upward, nearly hitting me in the face. Amusement gleamed in his eyes as he watched me struggle to slide into the car in my short dress.
I didn’t know how he got his massive frame in here without looking ridiculous. The passenger seat had probably been set for Tessie or something, because it had been pulled as far forward as it could go.
My knees bucked against the glove compartment as I stared at the dozens of buttons in front of me. Bastian could have taken pity on me and moved the seat back, but he didn’t.
He started the car and drove off, stopping at a light to eye the top of my thighs as my short dress rose up in my position.
My panties peeked out of my dress, but I couldn’t do anything about it, and he wasn’t a gentleman enough to put me out of my misery.
To fit the sleek aesthetic of the car, none of the buttons had labels on them. There were no buttons on the doors either.
I twisted a random knob, and a screen slid out of the center console. I pressed a button, and cold air blasted me in the face.
Finally, Bastian pushed the rectangular button nearest to my hand. His knuckles brushed against mine.
I sucked in a breath and moved my hand away as fast as I could without looking like I was running from his touch.
The seat moved back. I bit back a groan as I stretched my legs.
“I hate your car,” I told him.
“Duly noted.”
We pulled in front of a building. Tall, shiny, and expensive—like most things in New York.
Bastian slid out of the car, handed the keys to the valet, and actually opened my door for me. I took his proffered hand, waiting for him to use it to push me or something.
He didn’t.
