"Look, I appreciate everything you've done, but you do not get to tell me what to do. My clients depend on me. If I don't show, their dogs will be alone all day.”
The protective rage that's been simmering since I found those cartel fucks in her apartment flares hotter. Sure, I offed those two, but they’ll send more. Does she have any clue what they'll do to her if they find her?
"And if you do show, you'll be dead by nightfall." I step closer, using my size to make my point. "Is that what you want?"
She doesn't back down, doesn't cower. Instead, her chin lifts in stubborn determination. Christ, she's brave. Reckless, but brave.
"Of course not, but I need this job. I can't just?—"
"I said no." The words come out harder than I intend, but she needs to understand this isn't up for debate.
We stare at each other. Her full breasts rise and fall rapidly as her anger increases. My cock twitches at the sight, remembering the feel of her naked body pressed against mine in that bathroom. How soft and pillowy she felt. God damn.
Not the time, asshole. Focus.
But it's hard to focus when those gorgeous eyes are locked on mine with such fierce determination. When her small hands are clenched into fists at her sides like she's ready to fight me. When everything in me screams at me to lock her in this room and never let her leave.
"I have rent to pay," she says finally, her voice smaller but no less determined. "Bills. My grandmother's care facility. I can't afford to lose either of my jobs."
Grandmother. Care facility. The pieces click together—the shabby apartment, the worn shoes, the textbooks. She's working herself into the ground to care for a loved one.
No wonder she’s barely keeping her head above water.
I heave a sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Write down the addresses. I'll send prospects to walk the dogs."
Her eyes widen with surprise, and fuck if that expression doesn't make me want to give her everything she asks for. "Really?"
"Really." I'm already mentally running through which prospects I can trust with this. "But they'll report directly to me, and you're staying here."
Relief floods her features, making her even more beautiful. Then worry creases her brow again. "Wait—if tattooed bikers show up on my clients' doorbell cameras, they'll freak. And probably call the police."
A valid point.
"What do you suggest, then?"
"They need to look...normal. Like regular dog walkers. Nerdy. Dorky, even." She bites that full bottom lip, and I have to suppress a groan. "No leather, no visible tattoos."
I stare at her, processing this request. Then I can't help it—I bark out a laugh. "You want me to tell my prospects to dress like dorky nerds?"
"Basically, yes." A small smile tugs at her lips, and Christ, it transforms her whole face.
I shake my head, already imagining the shit I'm going to get for this. But I'd order them to wear fucking clown costumes if it kept that smile on her face. "Fine. They'll dress like dorky nerds. Anything else, sweetheart?"
I watch her reaction to the endearment. The way her breath hitches slightly, the pink that creeps into her cheeks. Good. I want to lift the weight of responsibilities off her. Give her a fucking break.
"No. Only that I need to run an errand this morning."
Jesus Christ. Is she serious right now?
"What part ofyou're staying hereisn't clear?" I hear my tone getting harsher and feel my jaw clenching.
"It's important. I have to?—"
"No." My voice comes out louder than I mean it to, but fuck. "Whatever it is can wait."
Her temper flares again, those eyes sparking with fire. "It can't wait. I have to visit my grandmother."
The wind goes out of my sails. "Family emergency?"
