He’d better be careful. I’m happy to let the monster out.
“Now that I know you and Graham are brothers, I’ll make sure to bring your favorites.” Dani smiles at him.
“Can I make a special request? Those pecan marshmallow cookies you made last week? Divine.”
Dani had never made me cookies—even though I don’t like cookies, I’m still pissed she never made me any—but now she’s running a bakery for fucking Kraig?
Kraig gives me a smug look. “They’re better than sex.” He winks at Dani.
She giggles.
I feel something break in me.
I realize: It’shim. Kraig is work crush.
I’m going to fucking kill my stepbrother.
21
DANI
Graham’s jaw is clenched so tight I see the muscle jumping. His teeth grind. Then, without warning, he wrenches the steering wheel hard.
I scream as the car skids off the road, the tires sliding uselessly over snow, before it jerks to a stop.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, lying to me?” His hand slams against the back of my seat, the sound sharp and violent.
“Lying to you about what?”
“About Kraig. You’re fucking in love with him,” he snarls.
Lulu whines from the back seat.
“I don’t even know him.”
“He’s your work crush,” he spits out. “You obviously know him enough to bake cookies for him.”
“I’m just trying to be nice,” I shoot back. “Because that’s what normal people do. They’re nice to security guards. I make cookies for the doormen too. Are you going to scream at me about that?”
He doesn’t answer. He just breathes—heavy, uneven—leaning over me.
“I’m the only person who’s nice to your stepbrother,” I add, quieter but no less angry. “Everyone else just ignores the help.”
“I don’t want you talking to him. I saw the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him.”
“I’m not—”
His hand slams on the back of my seat again. “You’re my girlfriend, you understand? Mine. Stay the fuck away from my stepbrother.”
“I’m not your girlfriend. Isn’t that what you keep telling me?” My chest burns. My throat tightens. I’m not crying because of this asshole.
“I don’t want you to have a work crush.”
“‘Work crush,’” I repeat bitterly, making air quotes. “Also, what do you care?” I shout. “You don’t even think I’m that attractive. I had to blackmail you into pretending to be my boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t.”
The words are so quiet I almost miss them.
