Page 22 of Worth Your Wild

I didn’t even know he was standing there.

Wait. What the fuck did he say?

Did he just whistle?

“What do you mean ‘she sure is something’?” I drawl, carefully.

“I mean…” He gives me an anxious wince. “I’m thinking of asking her out.”

Those six words ring in my head like a death toll. “Asking out June?”

“Yeah. She’s single. I’m single. It makes sense.”

My head is going to explode right off my shoulders. “You’re thirty-four.”

“Come on. That’s not so crazy.” He’s staring at June. I want to rip off his glasses and shove them down his throat. “She’s just so damn pretty. I’m going to shoot my shot.”

“You shoot that shot, Whit, you’re going to get shot.”

He does a double take. “What? By who?”

“Me, motherfucker.”

The manager stares at me, open-mouthed. “Are you interested in her?”

“I’m interested in you leaving her alone. That’s all you need to know.”

He turns to me with his arms crossed, like he’s suddenly some kind of tough guy when in reality he builds model airplanes in his spare time. “You need to give me a better reason than that.”

“That’s Sandy’s niece, Whit.”

Yes, I heard myself. I know I’m a hypocrite.

“I asked Sandy for his permission,” Whit counters.

My heart is starting to pound ominously in my ribcage, like it might shatter the bones and jump out onto the ground. This is happening. Right now. Whit beat me to the punch and did the right thing by June. “You did what?”

“Why are you acting so shocked? She’s⁠—”

“You’re fired.”

Whit stares at me in pure shock. Some of the crew has obviously overheard our argument and stopped their conversations to listen. “You’re firing me?”

“No, I fired you. Past tense. Better book a plane ticket.”

“This is ridiculous,” Whit sputters, looking around for help. Everyone stares at the floor, whistling. Properly afraid of me, the way Whit should have been. “Good luck finding another manager who is willing to put up with your shit!”

I’m already walking toward the bus.

I’m walking toward June.

Obviously sensing there is a drama afoot, she pops out one of her headphones, looking at me with an eyebrow piqued. “Is everything okay?”

Before I know my own mind, I’m pointing at the entrance of the bus. “Get on. Now.”

She rears back an inch. “Excuse me? You can’t talk to me like that.”

My stride doesn’t break and I keep going until I’m nearly upon June. Until she must tilt her head back to keep eye contact with me, her lips parting on an intake of breath at whatever hell she sees in my expression. “Daddy is telling you to get on the fucking bus.” I lick my lips while looking at her luscious little mouth. “All the way in the back. March.”