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“What do you think I’m doing? Playing in the rain?” I scoff. “I’m walking home.”
“In the middle of a fucking thunderstorm?” he fumes. “Are you out of your mind?”
His eyes sweep down my body, assessing every sopping inch of me. The way he looks at me…I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. It’s like he’s curious about me but hates himself for wanting to figure me out.
“Roxanne?” he repeats.
Shit, now I’m the one staring.
I roll my eyes and continue walking.
“Have a good evening, Elliot,” I call out over my shoulder.
I physically feel his eyes trailing me as I walk away. He starts driving, his speed matching me step for step.
“Roxanne!” he shouts again through gritted teeth.
“What do you want, Elliot?” I bellow against the wind, keeping my eyes trained ahead.
“Get in,” he commands in a serious tone.
“With you?” I chuckle sarcastically. “No way. Eight hours with you is long enough.”
The wheels of his luxury car keep spinning as he continues his pursuit.
“Get in the car, Roxanne,” he pushes as rain floods into the passenger window, soaking his leather seats.
“Absolutely not,” I shake my head.
“Just get in the fucking car,” he prods. “This is ridiculous.”
“I’m fine, Elliot.”
Elliot is the furthest thing from romantic, but I can’t help feeling giddy at the way he’s letting the interior of his precious car get drenched while chasing after me in the rain.
“Roxy,” he says in a defeated tone. “Get in the damn car.Please.”
Roxy.I quickly register that this is the first time he’s called me Roxy.
I stop walking and turn my head to glance at him. For the first time since I met him, he looks concerned…like he might actually give a shit about my well-being.
His beautiful face is damp from the rain, and his honey-brown hair is clammy across his forehead. Dark lashes hood his golden eyes as water droplets trickle down to his full lips. His brows are pinched together in worry, his expression nothing short of pleading.
He doesn't just want me to get in his car; he needs me to say yes. Not only his words, but his expression has given him away. He’s clearly bothered by the fact that I’m walking home in the middle of a downpour. He cares. And it’s kind of cute.
Suddenly, I don’t want to refuse him anymore. My feet are freezing and soaked, and the rain is only getting heavier. I might as well take him up on his offer and save money on paying for a ride.
I exhale a deep breath, walk towards him, and roll my eyes as I reach for the passenger door and slide into his car. My ass is instantly welcomed by heated seats, and I remind myself how thankful I am to live in the twentieth century where we have things such as ass warmers.
Elliot quickly rolls up the passenger window before resting a large hand against the steering wheel.
My lungs expand, breathing in the smell of whiskey, leather, raindrops, andhim. Elliot, wet and in a suit, acting like he cares for one second has me feeling like a giddy teenage girl. It feels as if my high school boyfriend just picked me up for a date, and we’re sitting in his car with butterflies in our stomachs, waiting to see who will cut the tension first.
I have to keep reminding myself that Elliot most certainly doesn't care. He probably just doesn't want me getting sick because we’re slammed with work this week. He’s doing this forhisbenefit.
And even if he did care, it wouldn't matter because he’s my boss.
“Where do you live?” he mutters, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.
