Page 19 of Bad & Bossy

God, why did it sound so good when he said my name? “What happened to it?”

“Faded. As most things do.”

He ensnared me again, catching my gaze and holding it for far longer than I should have allowed. It was foolish of me to even try to pretend that I didn’t find him attractive. There was a reason I’d fallen in with him so quickly before, but I needed to keep myself at bay here. He’d fucked me over once, and he was more than capable of doing it again.

No way was I going to let that happen.

“Are you going to write that one down?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “No,” I said, my mouth feeling like it was full of sand. “I was just curious.”

He chuckled darkly as he shifted in his seat. “Do I get to ask you questions just because I’m curious?”

“Absolutely not,” I deadpanned. “Why this building?”

“At the time, I liked that it had originated as a brewery right before prohibition. Did you know they continued brewing in secret here during most of that period? They moved everything to the basement,” he explained. “It wasn’t on the blueprints. It still isn’t. The only reason we know is because of the abandoned machinery down there. I thought it was really brave of them and I wanted to continue the legacy.”

I took a deep breath. “And do you still feel that way?”

His gaze lingered a second too long once again before he turned from me. “Next question.”

A chill went down my spine. I wasn’t expecting that. “Okay. How did you fund the business?”

“Trust fund and an investment from my aunt,” he replied. The words were quick, snappy, inattentive. I wondered if the previous question had gotten under his skin.

“Do you have any plans for expansion?”

“No.”

“Is your aunt involved in the business?”

He winced. “No.”

Was it just the questions I was asking that made his answers become so short or had I done something to ruin it? I couldn’t tell. I wanted to know more, wanted to ask more questions that weren’t on my list. “What’s your family like?”

Again, that piercing glare met mine. “Next question, Dana.”

“What do your parents think of the business?”

Silence fell over us in a quick, startling wave. I could hear the footsteps passing in the hallway, the sound of my breathing, the honking of horns three floors below on the street.

A storm brewed behind his eyes, menacing and angry, and I knew then that I’d royally fucked up. My heart pounded in my chest, aching and expanding, and my grip on the pen grew loose enough for it to fall from my hand and clatter against the hardwood floor.

“That’s enough for now,” he said, his voice like gravel as he broke his gaze and flipped open his laptop again. “If I were you, I’d leave before you regret coming in here more than you already do.”

What the fuck did that mean? “Okay,” I breathed. But I didn’t move from the chair, couldn’t find the will. I hated that this happened with him, this freezing up, this immobility that felt like a fucking trap. I wanted to stay. I wanted to know the answers to the questions he’d avoided. But more than anything else, I wanted to ask for an apology. I also wanted to give him one.

“I’ll go,” was what came out instead.

Finally willing myself to stand, I turned to the door, feeling his gaze like an iron barb in my back as I turned the handle.

“Dana,” he said.

I halted, glancing over my shoulder. His mouth, perfectly symmetrical and far too inviting, opened and closed a handful of times before he spoke as if the words he wanted to say got stuck behind his teeth. I’d take anything—the smallest mention of what we’d shared, a brief apology, an acknowledgment of something. But he couldn’t seem to find it in him.

“Close the door on your way out, please.”

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