“Get in my office.” His lips curl back. “Now.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, and the flecks of rage in his eyes are enough to keep me from back-talking.
“Fine, just let me—”
“What did I just say?” he snarls. “You work for me. When I tell you to get in my office, you get in my office. I tell you what to do and when to do it, and I expect to be obeyed immediately.”
Head pounding, I turn and march into the glass-enclosed space then dump all of my bags in a mess on his floor. Pepper yelps as the garment bag holding Salinger’s dry cleaning bumps her snout.
Salinger swears.
Corgi under one arm and coffee in my other hand, I glare mulishly at him.
He regards me, unimpressed. He crosses his arms, and his chin raises slightly.
I suck the sweet coffee noisily through the straw.
“You’re such a wreck.” He’s circling me now, those gray eyes tabulating every flaw, storing them up as ammunition. “It’s embarrassing. You’re wearing two different-colored socks, there’s a big mat in the back of your hair, and you have dog drool on your pants. No one in their right mind would think you’re worthy of being my girlfriend.”
“Good,” I choke out, “because the last thing I want to do is be with a man like you.”
“You cry at the drop of a hat,” he continues.
Not today, Satan.My teeth clench.
He smiles. It’s unpleasant. “Too bad for both of us that I need a date tonight, and unfortunately, it has to be you.”
“No.” The answer is automatic. “I have plans tonight.”
“Liar. You’re going to go home and knit or online-shop overpriced bullshit for that animal.”
I lock eyes with him. “Trader Joe’s is coming out with their new fall products. I want to be first in line.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Mandy. It’s for the port contract. I will accept nothing less than your full compliance. The details should have been sent to you.”
In my arms, Pepper struggles.
“And bathe that dog.”
The non sequitur catches me off guard. I raise my sunglasses.
Salinger waits a beat. The scowl deepens on his handsome face. “It’s a dog-friendly restaurant,” he admits with disgust.
“A doggie tea party? You must really want this port contract.”
“Like I said, nothing about this evening is desirable. I want you at the restaurant at seven thirty.” As I gather up all my bags, he adds, “Make sure you look suitable before I take you out in public with me.”
That’s a tall order. I was the one who, when I was in high school, tried to keep my friends from flirting with boys. The one who played with dolls while other girls were going to concerts, cutting up their jeans, and wearing makeup. Shoot, I’m in my midthirties and still don’t really have the hang of makeup.
Now I’m supposed to be Salinger’s date?
“I could just find you someone else?” I croak.
He sneers. “Like you did last time? No thanks.”
I turn to leave.
“Mandy,” he warns, “Don’t fuck this up.”
