Page 10 of Bound

“Killing yourself for the team isn’t what we do here.” It’s all about work-life balance, coming together, looking after one another, focusing on the fact that a rising tide lifting all boats.Fucking weird and kumbaya from the outside, but something that makes perfect sense when you’re in the fold.

“And what I do with my personal time isn’t your business.”

“Luc might have something to say about that,” I mutter.

Her eyes flare with frustration, but there’s a thread of guilt there.

She knows I’m right.

And that needles at me, at the truth she discovered, the reason we’ve entered into this adversarial relationship in the first place.

“You know I’m right,” I press.

She grinds her teeth together and tosses her head, sending the sleek blond strands of her hair sailing through the air like a golden cape. “Iknowthat I don’t owe you an explanation of my life.”

“You’re avoiding the truth.”

“No,” she snaps. “Because the truth is that. My. Life. Is. None. Of. Your. Business.”

“This team is my business,” I grit out, temper flaring. Why won’t she just admit that she’s wrong? “Which means you are too.”

“Oh,” she says archly, “so you’re changing your story now?”

I frown. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You made it very clear that you see me as nothing more than a lowly intern, a pathetic assistant, a woman who’s qualified to make your sandwiches and nothing more.”

I blink. Once. Then again. “What the fuck?”

But she doesn’t hear me because she’s already striding down the hall, turning the corner, and disappearing from sight.

Maybe I shouldn’t go after her, but…

Fuck it.

How do I listen to her spout that bullshit and just…watch her walk away?

I catch up with her as she pushes into her office.

“What the fuck?” I ask again.

She makes an adorable fucking squeaking sound I’ve never heard before, and clamps her hand to her chest, and I want to scare her all over again, just to hear it a second time.

To have that small part of her.

The glimpse of Claire the rest of the world doesn’t readily see.

But it’s already gone as she snatches her laptop out of the cradle on her desk, starts unplugging cords, and snarks, “Did I stutter?”

My temper flares again and I grind my teeth together, keeping it in check.

Just barely.

“Fuckingsandwiches?” I growl.

Her gaze flicks to mine and then away as she shoves her laptop into the huge purse she always lugs around. It’s practically half her size and looks like it weighs a hundred pounds.

It probably fucking does, considering that she keeps the keys to the kingdom in there.

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