“Thank you,” I reply.
Sullivan’s eyes return to mine and he spreads his thighs wider. His broad chest expands as he takes in a slow breath, sinking back into the seat a little like he’s had a long day.
I wonder how many women he’s had in here. How many times Cliff has put that privacy screen up at his request. Whether he fucks them on the smooth leather seats, or gets them to suck him off, kneeling between those spread thighs.
The thought hits me out of nowhere and I shove it away before it’s written all over my face. I looked him up online last night after receiving his contract. It was the NDA part that made me do it. Made me wonder what he has to hide. Ashley said rich people are extra fussy about their privacy, and he probably didn’t want me selling stories about all of the women I might see him with. The press is speculating over the rumor of a hotel suite he has for the sole purpose of hookups with actresses and models.
“Tonight will require an hour of your time. My lawyer is coming over with some contracts that need my attention. My father is bringing Molly home, but he can’t stay. So I need you to keep her entertained while we go through them.”
“Okay.”
The back of the car falls silent, and I clasp my hands in my lap to stop myself from fidgeting. The quiet stretches on until my throat tickles with the need to break it.
“Thank you for laundering my apron. You didn’t have to do that,” I say.
Sullivan gives a brusque nod. “My housekeeper did it. It was covered in that cocoa you make smiley faces with.”
I open my mouth, then close it again, holding back my own smiley face.
I thought he shoved the lid on his coffee too fast to notice. But it just goes to show, the cocoa works. Customers notice it. They like it.
“Sometimes it’s two coffee beans, or our logo, or even the Empire State Building. That one’s tricky to do in a rush, but the tourists appreciate it,” I say. “Then of course, I do bunnies as well. Like?—”
“Bumper,” he clips, reaching up to loosen his tie with a frown.
“You remembered.” I grin, unable to help myself.
His eyes flick to me and a muscle in his jaw flexes like he’s realized he’s going to have to talk to me, after all.
“Cliff will take you home later.”
“It’s fine, I’ll take the subway.”
His brow flattens. “You’ll be driven home so I know that you’re safe,” he clips. “I won’t have any of my staff at risk if I’m the one requiring them to travel home late at night.”
“Oh, okay, then. Thank you, Cliff.” I catch the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror and his own crinkle kindly in response.
“It will be my pleasure, Miss Miller.”
“Thank you,” I add more quietly, glancing at Sullivan.
He gives me a curt nod before he reaches up to run a hand around the five o’clock shadow on his jaw. He exhales and pulls his buzzing phone from his jacket pocket. The frown marring his face transforms into a hint of a smile, and I sneak a look at the screen before he pockets his phone again. It’s a picture of Molly in a bathing suit wearing bright yellow floaties.
The protective streak he showed with insisting that Cliff drives me home must come from being a father. It’s exactly the sort of thing my dad would do.
Sullivan rolls his lips, a scowl settling on them as he trains his eyes on something out of his window.
Or maybe he just doesn’t want to get sued if something happens to me. ‘Employee of Billionaire mogul, Sullivan Beaufort, murdered on subway after dark,’ probably won’t be good for business. Although I’m sure there was something in that six-page contract I signed about waiving my rights to sue him. Giving up all my rights, actually. There’s probably even hidden small print saying I have to ask permission to pee when on his time.
“Do you ever drive yourself home?” I ask, unease making me itch to fill the silence again. Maybe I could ask Cliff to put the radio on in future if this is what it’s going to be like. He seems much friendlier than the brooding hulk of a man next to me.
“Rarely. My sister is the one who likes to drive herself around. This is more effective management of my time. I work on the ride so when I get home, I can eat dinner with Molly.”
Despite the brusqueness of his tone, his words bring warmth to my chest. He clearly adores his little girl, even though, I presume, a job like his requires a lot of his energy and time.
“But you’re not working now. You’re talking to me,” I point out, my gaze dropping to a zipped-up laptop bag in the footwell he hasn’t attempted to reach for.
“Hm.” He grunts as those cool blue eyes meet mine again.
