Page 56 of Unleashed

I laughed bitterly. "What do you want me to say? That this whole job is a farce? That you hired me just to get me in bed?"

Michael’s eyes darkened, and suddenly, he slid across the booth, trapping me against the seat. His forehead pressed against mine, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck, holding me in place.

"You’ll stop this now," he said quietly, his voice laced with warning. "I want to get to know you, and I would never use my authority to get you into bed."

"You already have," I whispered, feeling the heat of his body against mine. "You don’t give me much choice."

"You think I’d fire you if you didn’t sleep with me?" he asked, pulling back slightly, his expression hard.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I watched as he drained his vodka, his wild eyes searching mine before grabbing the second glass and slamming it back.

"You’re exasperating," he muttered.

"I know," I said, smirking. "I need another martini."

"You’ve had enough," he snapped.

"Don’t tell me what I’ve had enough of," I shot back. "I don’t need a father. I have one of those."

Michael tapped something on his phone, and moments later, Rey appeared, ready for orders.

"What we had on Monday will be fine," Michael said tersely, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I don’t want sliders. I want filet mignon and another martini, four olives this time,” I demanded, my voice sharp as I waved a hand at the menu.

Rey shot a questioning glance at Michael, who gave a subtle nod. “Whatever she wants,” he agreed, though a hint of tension tightened his jaw.

Michael ordered the same, adding another vodka to his list. I leaned back against the cushioned seat, feeling the buzz settle in, warmth spreading through my limbs. A lazy smile stretched across my face, one I couldn’t quite control.

“I think this should be your last martini,” Michael said, his voice soft yet firm, eyes narrowing in concern.

“Oh, do you? I think I’m an adult,” I shot back, swirling the remaining liquid in my glass with deliberate defiance.

“If you have any more to drink,” Michael’s tone dropped lower, “I’ll be carrying you up to your apartment.”

I arched a brow, leaning forward as a smirk played on my lips. “Perfect. Then you can have your way with me.”

Michael’s frown deepened. “I like my partners to be active participants, not sloppy drunks.”

I laughed, loud and careless, the sound cutting through the low hum of the restaurant. “Always such a gentleman, aren’t you?” I teased, raising my glass to my lips, but the sting of his words lingered. He wasn't wrong, and that irked me.

By the time Rey returned with our entrees, the filet mignon searing hot and another martini with exactly four olives, I could feel the alcohol taking full control. The room spun slightly, and I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.

Michael watched me closely, his eyes flicking between my glass and my face, but he didn’t say anything. Not anymore. Dinner passed with little fanfare—though I did everything Icould to piss him off. Sarcastic comments, biting remarks, even flirtatious jabs designed to cut deep. Yet Michael kept his cool, his responses measured, never giving me the satisfaction of seeing him snap.

By the time we finished, my vision blurred at the edges, and I was certain I was more than just tipsy. I was drunk—gloriously, defiantly drunk. And Michael? He looked at me like I was a storm he’d have to weather.

CHAPTER 12

“This… this isn’t my place,” I slurred, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a messy jumble, barely recognizable even to my own ears.

“No, it’s mine,” Michael replied, his tone firm yet laced with exasperation. “I’m not leaving you alone in your state of inebriation.”

I giggled, the sound escaping in hiccupped bursts. “In-ee-bree-aaa-tion,” I mimicked, drawing out the syllables, clearly amused by my own drunken mispronunciation.

Michael sighed, glancing down at me as he lifted me higher in his arms. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I’m tired,” I mumbled, my voice barely audible as I let my head droop against his chest.

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