I give her a sharp smile. “Do that,” I offer, “and I might let the protest continue.”
She swallows hard.
I step up to her, crowding her with my height. Sure, flirting’s fun, but this is business.
Her eyelashes flutter.
“And here I thought,” I say, “I was one of your biggest clients.”
Her face blanches. Sure, the fresh-pastry budget is an insignificant line item to me, but to her small business? It’s a lifeline.
She looks like she wants to die.
Good. Let her feel the pressure. She’s not the only one who can be cornered. If she loses this hospitality contract, she’s finished. We both know it.
But only I know that I won’t rip up the contract.
Set her free?
Never. She belongs to me. Wholly.
She just doesn’t realize it yet.
I follow her as she rushes toward her grandmother, my hands jammed in my pockets, in full control as I slowly trail her.
Over by the fireplace, two elderly women string up a knitted banner.
KNOTS NOT HOTELS!
“You need to grow a pair,” her granny is shouting at her. “You can’t let a man treat you like shit and still expect to hit that.”
My eyebrow lifts.
Winnie glances back at me. “He’s not hitting anything.”
“If you don’t get these half-naked elderly women out of my tower, I might.”
“Gran…” Winnie begs.
Her granny steps into my space, hands up for a fistfight.
“You’re a bully.”
“Booo!”
“Bread, not beds!”
“Crochet, don’t pay!”
The topless women encircle us.
I squeeze my eyes shut. If they’re not Winnie’s, I don’t want to see them.
“He acts like he’s never seen tits before,” Granny Frances huffs. “Maybe youshouldfuck the neighbor’s son, Winn.”
My eyes snap open. Straight to Winnie.
Heat. Anger. Something darker. “Is that why you refused to go on a date with me, Creampuff?”
