Page 59 of Wade’s Wrath

“Apparently not,” she grumbled.

“This isn't choosing what fucking shoes you want to wear.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I know that.”

“You're talking about walking into a possible trafficking operation,” he said.

“I'm talking about sitting in a vehicle while you watch a building,” she said.

“It’s still dangerous,” he insisted.

“So is standing in your bar, but you allowed me to do that,” she said.

“Which is why you're not going back there tonight,” he said.

She blinked up at him. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said.

“You're closing?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“Then I'm working,” she insisted.

“Nope,” he breathed.

Harlow stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You're staying here,” he said.

“Wade,” she whispered.

“You’re staying safe in the clubhouse, surrounded by armed men, behind locked gates,” Wade insisted.

“I have a job to do,” she reminded.

“You've had the job for four fucking hours. The bar will survive without you there,” he assured.

“How? I'm already your best employee.” One of the Savage Bastards walking past them snorted, and Wade glared at him. The man immediately looked away, and Harlow almost smiled.

“This isn't funny,” Wade insisted.

“Didn't say it was,” she said. “I am not sitting here while you go looking for Sarah.”

“Yes, you are,” he said.

“No, I'm not,” she spat, putting her hands on her hips.

“Jesus Christ.” Wade rubbed both hands over his face as Harlow watched him.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

His hands dropped to his sides. “You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met.”

“I learned from my father.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her stomach twisted. Wade's irritation disappeared, and she hated that too. She didn't want sympathy—not from him. Not from anyone.

“Don't look at me like that,” she whispered.