Page 11 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

My own gaze narrowed. “Good snacks?”

“I can’t answer that. I don’t know what kind of snacks you like. The mini fridge is fully stocked, though.”

My shoulders dropped, and I relented. “Fine.”

Shuffling to the open car door, I shoved the discharge paperwork in my purse and ducked inside. It was surprisingly roomy, not quite a limo but bigger than a sedan. Blakely was seated beside me, his long legs spread and his arm resting on the window frame.

When the driver closed the door, Blakely leaned forward and pressed a button, and a mini fridge slid open in front of us where the front seats’ center console should have been. I saw small bottles of alcohol, a variety of sodas, and a good selection of snacks. I grabbed a chocolate bar that promised to be studded with almonds and a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” I told him primly.

Blakely pressed the button again, and the mini fridge disappeared. The car was whisper-quiet as the driver put it in gear. We went around the circular drive and back out toward the hospital’s exit. The only noise in the back seat was the crinkling of my chocolate bar wrapper.

“I’ve never heard of this brand,” I noted, inspecting it.

“I get them flown in from Belgium.”

“Well, la-di-dah,” I said quietly, and took a bite.

At that brilliant riposte of mine, the billionaire in the seat beside me turned to stare at me, the passing streetlights casting his face in alternating light and shadow.

Decadent chocolate exploded over my tongue. I let out a surprised noise, letting the rich flavor melt in my mouth for a moment before crunching through the perfect amount of almonds. I closed my eyes and leaned back, enjoying one more bite before shaking my head. “Wow,” I said.

“I’d like you to explain your comments to me,” Blakely said, voice harsher than I thought was really warranted.

I frowned over at him, only to find him glaring at my chocolate bar. Maybe it was really expensive, and he’d missed the day in preschool where he was supposed to learn to share?

“What comments?”

His gaze traveled over my now rumpled dress, lingering on my collarbones before rising to my eyes. “You said firing you would be a mistake.”

“Well, duh,” I said, and took another bite.

That was the thing about being in an expensive car with a very rich man the day that you got fired for getting injured, ruined a multiple-hundred-thousand-dollar photo shoot, and then discovered that not only would you be homeless soon, but you’d also be in a mountain of debt. It tended to put things in perspective.

In other words, I didn’t give a rat’s ass what this arrogant, privileged man thought of me. I eyed the space where the mini fridge hid, wondering if I could snag another chocolate bar before he dropped me off. They were flown in from Belgium, after all.

“Explain.”

I turned to look at him. “Explain what?”

“What kind of mistake are we talking?”

I blinked. “The kind of mistake that you regret, obviously.” I frowned at him. Firing me was his loss! I might have been a peon in his company, but I was a hard worker, and I always went above and beyond. I knew I was a valuable employee, even if my previous boss hadn’t appreciated me. That washisloss too! My old boss would have to hire three people to replace me, and he could stick that in his fancy consultant’s pipe and then take the pipe and shove it up his hole.

But Blakely’s reaction was strange. His eyes got intense, and his jaw went hard. A muscle feathered in his cheek until he faced forward and took a deep breath, like he needed to gather himself.

I finished the chocolate bar and eyed the mini fridge again before scanning the door on my side. Maybe one of these buttons would open it up. Belgian chocolate was worth looking like a glutton in front of a man I’d never see again.

“The company will cover your medical bill,” he finally said in the silence.

I started. “What? Why?” Then, because this was a gift horse and I’d just told it to goahh, I added, “I mean, thank you. That’s the least you could do, really.”

He hummed, and I watched his hand curl into a fist before stretching out again. All they’d given me at the hospital were a couple of ibuprofen, but maybe they were stronger than what I was used to. I was having trouble following his reactions.

He seemed…stressed? Angry? At me? But why? I hadn’t asked him to find me and personally escort me home. That had been his prerogative.

My gaze dropped to the chocolate bar wrapper on my lap. Was heactuallymad about the chocolate? How much could one chocolate bar cost? Wasn’t this guy a bazillionaire?

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