He groans.
“Jesus wept.”
And for some reason, I’m not nearly as annoyed about this arrangement as I was ten minutes ago.
Chapter4
Ego
Okay, so.
My first reaction to this assignment aside?
I’m about ninety percent sure now that this is all part of some grand cosmic design.
My client?Sabrina Rosetto.
She’s the stuff dreams are made of—mine, specifically.
Soft curves, smart eyes, sweet voice.A kindness in her that feels completely out of place in this world, with just enough snark to make her irresistible.
So, what does the universe do with this magnificent human being?
It assigns me—me—to stand guard while she attends a speed dating event.
In a fucking church basement.
Why, Jesus?Why do you hate me?
Because if one more of these pencil-neck motherfuckers looks at my curvy little goddess like they want to take a bite out of herfun bags, I will commit violence.
What?I can’t help it.
Okay, fine.I won’t kill them.I’ll just shoot a couple of them.
What?I don’t mean that literally.
Probably.
Maybe I’ll just punch one of them.Or two.
Depends how many of them wear boat shoes and try to use corny jokes about the wordworshipto flirt.
God help me.Seriously.I need some divine intervention here.
I’m leaning against the wall like some undercover bruiser in an after-school special, arms crossed, trying to act like I don’t want to murder everyone in a ten-foot radius of her.
But I do.
Because she’s sitting there, tight sweater, even tighter skirt, cheeks a little flushed, lip caught between her teeth as she smiles politely at the guy across from her.
He’s wearing some ugly as fuck mustard-colored shirt.And his tie has cows on it.Actual cows.
I wish I was joking.
But this guy?This actual bologna sandwich of a man?Just made her laugh.
So, naturally, I fucking hate him.
