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"You either." Micah glances at her again and then at me, his lips pulled down into a deep frown. He doesn't seem thrilled to see her here. She doesn't seem thrilled to see him, either.
"Can we talk for a minute?" he asks me. "In private?"
Fucking hell.
"Stay right here," I growl at Gemma. "Don't move an inch."
She makes a face at me and then nods, seemingly agreeing to do as I said. I watch her for a minute, not convinced. She's been on her best behavior so far, but something tells me not to trust it. She seems content to stay where she is for the moment though, so I move a few feet away with Micah, trying to keep her in sight.
"What's up, man?" I ask.
"Why the fuck is she here?" he growls, glaring daggers at me.
"Uh, why the fuck is that your business?"
"She works for me."
Jesus Christ.
"You're her boss?" Micah is a well-respected financial analyst. He's made millions for a whole lot of people in town.
"Yep."
No wonder they looked so goddamn uncomfortable.
I can't help but chuckle. "Well, that's awkward as fuck, isn't it?"
Micah's scowl deepens. "She's a good girl, Bronx. She doesn't belong here."
"That's her choice, not mine or yours."
"So you don't want her here either," he murmurs.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't not say it."
"Jesus Christ. You're her boss. I'm not having this discussion with you. If she wants you all up in her business, she can have it with you at work on Monday. But until then, fuck off, Micah. Respectfully. I'm not kicking her out because you don't want her knowing your business."
"That's not what I said," he protests, scrubbing a hand through his salt and pepper hair. Apparently, his job is more stressful than mine because he's only a year or two older than I am, and already going gray. "Jesus fucking Christ. I don't care if she knows I'm here. It's not like it's a big goddamn secret. Half the fucking town knows I come here. I said she doesn't belong here."
"Yeah, well, you don't get to decide that. She does."
He opens his mouth to say something and then snaps it closed, cocking his head to the side. "Holy shit," he mutters, his eyes wide. "Holy shit."
"Holy shit what?" I see her moving out of the corner of my eye and whip my head in her direction.
She freezes midstep, halfway between where I left her and the tables on the opposite side of the room. She gives me a sheepish smile and shrugs, not at all sorry she got caught breaking my rules.
I shake my head, trying like hell not to laugh. It'll only encourage her. That's the last thing she needs. What she needs is discipline. She's itching for someone to teach her that there are consequences to her actions. Maybe that'll settle her little ass down.
Or maybe it'll only encourage her more.
I'm fucking dying to find out.
"Are we done here?" I ask Micah. "I've got more important shit to do than listen to you bitch about things that aren't your business."
"We're done," he says, shaking his head like he's washing his hands of the situation. "Just take care of her, will you? I feel responsible for her, and I'm going to be mad as hell if I have to break your jaw and my fucking hand."
