“You didn’t pick a floor,” I say, eyes narrowing.
He shrugs, the corner of his sinful mouth twitching in amusement. “That was my floor. I was about to step out.”
Oh, God.
Did I just make this man miss his flight?
“You were?” I glance around. No luggage. No jacket. Nothing.
“Yup.” His mouth quirks. “I was about to check on a passenger. That is, until you line-backed my ass.”
Fucking hell.
He’s a pap.
Damnit. Is being magnetically drawn to idiots my one true superpower?
I straighten, tip my chin up, and switch from defense to offense.
“Well, can you blame me?” I flick my hand up and down his broad frame. “Your human roadblock of a body took up the entire doorway.”
He leans against the wall, the move putting him that much closer, eyes bright and sparkling. “Well, instead of charging at me, you could’ve just asked me to step aside.”
By now, I’m flustered. Irritated. And the heat rolling off him isn’t helping. This man is straight-up combustible, a danger zone when I’m dry as a desert.
My mouth fires a shot before my brain can intervene.
“I did not charge at you.”
“Did so.”
“Word to the wise, lumberjack.” I point to his face. “If I come at you, you’ll know it. I come hard, fast, and without warning.”
His eyes widen. Just a fraction.
Holy fucking… fuck.
That came out way dirtier than intended.
What if this guy works for Page Six? I just handed him the sound bite of the century.
The press will be brutal.
My family will disown me.
And Myra? She’ll drop me faster than a muddy pair of Louboutins at a sample sale.
My entire career flashes before my eyes, spontaneously combusting in a fiery ball of humiliation.
I swallow hard and try not to freak out.
The lumberjack just blinks, slow and unbothered. He clears his throat.
“Noted.”
Shit.
CHAPTER 8
