Page 55 of Bidding War

When our food comes, I’m still trying to figure out how to tell him about Andre’s offer. I shouldn’t want to take it. It feels like a huge mistake. But there’s an undeniable appeal to the job, and my curiosity about it burns every time some creep at work takes too long of a glance down my cleavage. I don’t have to sling drinks anymore. I can go back to my real job. Or, in this case, I can do something better.

Thankfully, my cheese omelet is to die for, and I can’t stop scarfing it down. Anderson notices. His lips curl in amusement. “Might I try a bite?”

You can order your own. “Sure, go ahead.”

He takes a respectable-sized bite that is entirely too large for my liking. “Oh, you win dinner. That is so good.” Then he goes back to his fries.

Part of me is jealous that he can survive on protein bars to make up for the fries and booze and milkshakes he loves. But part of me is just plain mad at him for being able to when I cannot. I’d feel like shit if I ate his enviable diet all the time. Meanwhile, he sits there with visible abs, not worrying about how he’ll feel tomorrow or bloating or, god forbid, losing an ab. Even if Anderson’s money is all tied up because of his Dad’s bullshit, he can still do whatever he wants.

Well, so can I. “I got a job offer from Andre Moeller, and I’m thinking of taking it.” Shit. I am too tired to keep secrets, apparently.

He drops a fry into his ketchup and wipes his fingers clean of the grease and salt. Then he sips his coffee and sits back, staring at me like I have two heads. “I’m not sure I heard you right. Can you say that again?”

“You heard me, Anderson. Don’t play coy.”

“No. I cannot have possibly heard you right because what I heard sounded like you’re thinking of taking a job with the man who kidnapped you and scared the fucking daylights out of us both just to piss off my father. I know, deep down in my soul, that you could not possibly be considering such a ridiculous thing because you are my incredibly smart girlfriend who knows better, so please, June. Repeat yourself.”

“He emailed me. I went to his place. He made the offer, which is far more money than I had made at my last firm, and I’d have less than half my old workload. Plus, he wants to give me a bonus for the kidnapping to smooth things over in that regard?—"

“Do I get a bonus, too?”

My frown is so deep that it hurts. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, you were the one kidnapped, but I am the one who?—"

“Don’t even, Anderson. Your rough day of trying to find me is nothing compared to what I went through, and that is such a false equivalency that I am not going to justify it with any more of a response than that.”

His next exhale is closer to a hiss than breathing. “Apologies. That was untoward.”

I nod and sip my coffee, feeling every minute of my day right now. This conversation is just beginning, and I’m already praying for it to end. I circle the rim of my mug and muse, “The biggest bonus of all is how much your father would hate it.”

He bitterly laughs. “Silver lining, I suppose.”

Another pregnant pause hangs in the air between us. I hate this. I hate it so much. I wish he would just jump on board already. “This is a huge opportunity?—"

“Then I am extra sorry you’ll have to turn it down.”

I blink at him. “What was that?”

“You absolutely cannot take a job with Andre Moeller.”

“Okay, first things first.” I sit up, leaning forward because I am ready to jump out of my seat to scream at him, and this is the only way I can stop myself from doing exactly that. “You are my boyfriend. That means we enjoy each other’s company and make some decisions together. That does not mean you get to tell me what to do. Ever. Second, you need to consider this from my side of things. I cannot get a job in my field anywhere else, thanks to your fucking father, and as much as I love playing bartender, I am tired of making a living off my cleavage, Anderson. I want to be back in my field. This is the only way to do it.”

“Bullshit. Other firms will hire you, but you gave up too soon on your job hunt because it was easier to go back to the familiar than to keep trying?—"

“Oh fuck you, Anderson! I went back to the bar because I have fucking bills to pay! I know you don’t get that concept because of your family money, but for me, it’s working my ass off or starve!”

He closes his eyes and takes a beat. “I’m sorry. I was out of line?—"

“You think?”

His jaw feathers under the strain of gritting his teeth. “I was out of line, and that does not change the fact that you cannot work for the man who kidnapped you, June.”

I laugh, too angry to think straight. The words come out slowly at first. “You’re still trying to tell me what to do? You and your fucking ego! You think I will give up on my career, my livelihood for you?”

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