Page 4 of Boss Daddy's Girl

Ellie's eyes pop open even wider, her hands closing into fists. "I've worked with you for a year!"

I know that, of course, but I can't help but push her buttons. "Whatever. Let's get to the hotel."

"Drake, I've been waiting out here for two hours. They wouldn't let me check in without you, so I spent almost three hours there working in the cafe. Which, and I know this is difficult math for you, equals five entire hours I've been waiting for you! Three was pushing it, but five?!"

Walking towards her, I snatch the keys out of her hand and climb into the driver's seat. Adjusted to Ellie, the seat is claustrophobic incarnate. "Christ, Ellie, it's going to take me so long to adjust this seat we'll be here another five."

She's in the car before I finish talking and somehow manages to reach the controls on the seat, setting it perfectly for me.

"How did you?"

"I added a seat profile for you. I've had a lot of time to kill, Drake."

I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, not responding. It's about forty minutes back to the hotel in Salt Lake City, and as fun as it is, I know I shouldn't wind her up if I'm going to be stuck in a car with her. I'm already fighting with enough feelings with her this close.

God, she is beautiful. Everything about her, from her cute little nose to her expressive sapphire eyes and lips that were made forkissing. Right now, her honey-blond curls are in a braid. It's a rarity for her to wear it down, but I've seen it in all its glory twice, and the memories are burned into my brain.

We get on the freeway and begin the drive, and soon enough, I can't take her silent anger anymore. "You don't have to be so dramatic," I say. "You didn't have plans until tomorrow, did you?"

Her eyes are still like fire when she glances at me. "I had a very important work call with a distributor. It's been on your calendar for weeks, Drake." I open my mouth to respond, but she holds up a hand to stop me. "Don't worry, I handled it. I just..." Ellie sighs heavily. "I just wish you'd let us check into the hotel before climbing so I wasn't stuck waiting on you."

"Well, that's why you're my assistant," I tell her, chuckling. "Without you, who would I have to pick up the slack?"

"Is that why you hired me?" Ellie asks, her voice a little less irritated. "Because I'd be so eager to clean up your messes?"

"Exactly," I confirm, a smile playing at the corner of my lips.

"I'm fired, then."

"Fired? Ellie, don't be silly. You're the best assistant I've ever had."

"Then it's too bad you've made a habit of scaring them all off."

"Well," I say, turning up the radio, "you're the first one that's lasted, and I'm not letting you go. So, tough luck."

She doesn't respond, and we're silent the rest of the drive. I can feel her annoyance and something else … something more. She's not just angry. I want to ask her about it, but I'm sure she'd snapat me. I need to offer an olive branch, but Ellie is complicated. "Look, Ellie. I'll buy you whichever bottle of stupid, expensive wine you want if you'll let me off the hook. I'm going to need you on my side this weekend, as you know."

It works. She turns to me, a little smile tugging on those sweet, tempting lips. "It better be a big bottle," she says.

"Whatever you want," I say, returning the grin.

When we get to the hotel, the staff is expecting us. We're painfully late, but I'm a big enough name that it shouldn't be a big deal. Ellie is walking ahead, checking her phone. I'm staring at her ass, unable to help myself. She finds what she's looking for on the device and shows it to the desk worker, who happily types on her keyboard for approximately three seconds before turning a strange shade of gray.

Ellie, always attentive, notices right away. "What's wrong with the reservations?"

"I, um…" Her eyes flicker to me, but Ellie isn't having it.

"I'm speaking to you, not Mr. Evans. What's wrong with the reservations?"

"Well, um, as you know, we are very busy with the convention going on, and all of the rooms are booked..."

"But we have reservations."

"So. Ah. You and Mr. Evans have a reservation. Singular."

"I'm sorry, what do you mean singular?"

"There is one room, miss. The honeymoon suite." She presses a button on her computer, and a little ding signals a printed pieceof paper. She passes it over the counter, a sheepish look on her face.

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