I spot Rae through the crowd. She’s at the other end of the lobby, her arms full of used cups and plates. Our eyes meet. A long second ticks by. Another. Even from here, I can see that her hair is piled on top of her head, leaving her nape bare. The Dom in me really does not like being disobeyed.
Someone punches a balloon in my direction, and Rae disappears from view. I step out of its path, coming back to the present with an almost physical jolt.
Instead of standing here in the entrance, my lunch in one handand a box of cat repellent in the other, I make a beeline for our office, slip inside, and shut out the uproar. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I struggle to set down my things and pull it out to see that it’s my mother. I’ve got to talk to her eventually. I’m just not in the mood to hear about the new fiancé and how in love she is.
Instead of answering, I head over to look at the list, undeniably curious to see what rule Rae has added in my absence.
The excitement plummets when I see what she’s actually done. No new rule. Just a thick, black line through my last one.
I’ve rarely felt anything so righteous as the anger that fills me, burning through all theshoulds andshould nots as I go to the door and fling it open. Rae is all I see as I storm across the lobby, ignoring one human resource violation after another, to where she’s gathering up the team’s dishes.
“Rae.”
“Grant,” she replies, voice light, eyes huge, that little Betty Boop mouth just begging to be bitten.
“I need a word.”
The eyes get bigger.
A voice beside me sings, “Aaaaaaaaw, someone’s in trouble.”
I turn and glare at the man until he scurries off.
“Can it wait?” Rae asks, eyebrows raised in an expression of polite interest that drives me bananas.
“Now.” My lips are stiff. “Office.”
“Sorry.” She lifts the cardboard box she’s filled with dirty dishes. “Busy.”
“Kitchen, then.”
“Fine.” With a prim smile, she leads the way through the unruly crowd and down the hall, into the break room.
I shut the door, cutting the decibels in half and turning everything between us way up.
She sets the box on the counter and watches me, her arms crossed. Is she settling in for a fight or about to bolt? I hope it’s the former.
“I saw what you did,” I tell her, putting my back to the kitchen door. “To my rule.”
“Oh?” More of the false innocent act. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I want to wipe that bored expression from her pert little face and replace it with something more interesting.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I tell her, sliding out of my jacket and carefully hanging it on the back of a chair. Her eyes follow my progress.
“Why would you say that?” Her tone’s all casual curiosity as she turns to open the dishwasher and gets to work filling it. “We don’t need that rule. It’s ridiculous.” Her little shrug sends her shirt off one shoulder, and I swear to god I’m going to bite all of it: the shirt, the shoulder, and the bra strap playing peekaboo with her freckles. “What could possibly be wrong with me putting my hair up?”
Does she not get what’s happening here?
She tosses her head, sending a few curls dancing around her face. The rest are pinned to the very top of her head, in direct opposition to my request. The very important—absolutely necessary—rule five.
“I decided we don’t need the rules.” She flashes a look at me, all hot challenge, before returning to her dishes. Like I don’t exist. Like it barely matters if I stay or go. “We’re civilized people.”
“Civilized?” Is that what she thinks? “You’ve got no fucking idea, do you, Sunny?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rae
