Page 8 of Drawn to You

He ignores me, so I walk over and sweep him off the counter.

“Where’s that thing going to piss?” Dane demands.

I glare at him. “He’s not a thing; he’s a cat, and I ordered him a litter box on Instacart. It’ll be here within an hour.”

“I don’t want him on the kitchen counters.”

“Relax,” I say, walking into the living room to pick up my book. “I’ll take him to the bedroom. Go look in the mirror and kiss your muscles, or whatever it is you do to chill out.”

I walk back into the guest room, close the door and set Mr. Darcy down.

Tonight I’ll get to find out if Dane is an asshole all the time or just to me.

At 5:29 p.m. sharp,I walk out of the bathroom across from the guest room. Dane is standing at the front door, his gaze making a quick up-and-down sweep of me.

This outfit looks great on me. My cleavage is on point and my waist looks smaller than it is. I showered and blew out my long, dark hair, taming the natural waves. With some light makeup, I’m presentable for pretty much any restaurant bar.

“You ready?” Dane asks.

I nod, and he once again holds the door for me. Which is kind of hilarious, really. Why hold the door for a woman you treat with contempt?

One thing I’ll give Dane--he cleans up well. He’s wearing gray dress pants and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s clean-shaven and smells like expensive cologne.

We take the elevator down to the garage in silence, and once we’re inside the Range Rover, I try to break the ice.

“So, which of your teammates is having a birthday party?”

“Archer Holt.”

He pulls out of the garage, the gate at the end of the driveway opening more quickly this time.

“Look, I know you don’t want me to be here,” I say. “But I’m only here because my boss assigned me to be. Both of us were put in this situation by our bosses.”

“I know that.” His gaze remains fixed on the road.

“It’ll be a lot easier if we can get along.”

“I’m trying, but I’m not used to having anyone in my space.”

He’s trying? This is himtrying?

“Is there anything I can do to make it easier?” I ask.

“Don’t talk so much.”

My lips part with shock. Does he treat everyone this way?

“You know, I’m not even a little surprised some woman stole your wallet and handcuffed you to a park bench,” I snap. “Good for her. She did a solid for womankind.”

“Great, a thief just moved in with me,” he grumbles.

“Oh, shove it, asshat. You don’t have anything worth stealing. Keep your matching Crate and Barrel dishes and boring brown furniture.”

He pushes a button on the steering wheel and turns on music. It’s Eminem, and he turns up the volume. Obviously, he feels called out about his stock photo apartment and can’t think of a response.

We spend the rest of the drive to the restaurant with the music loud, and when he parks the car and turns it off, he immediately gets out and heads for the restaurant entrance, not bothering to see if I’m following.

For a moment, I consider telling Jane to give this job to Monica. Three months of this, twenty-four seven, is too much.

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