Page 67 of The Naughty Elf

When I finish, I stomp toward the stairs, pausing to calm myself down before climbing them. Jackson is on my heels. In the doorway to her office, I pause.

Ginger is stuffing things in her bag and her briefcase. Her cheeks are red and wet from crying. She peers up at us briefly before sniffling and pulling open her desk drawers.

“Sorry, but I quit. I can’t do this anymore.” Those words slice through me.

How could we let this happen to her? I clench my hands to keep from reaching out for her. She doesn’t need me to manhandle her right now, even if all I want to do is hold her until she feels safe.

“I’m driving you home,” I say.

Jackson bristles behind me, like he wants to fight her leaving. Now is not the time to try to convince her to stay.

Shaking her head, Ginger snaps her briefcase closed. “No. I can drive myself.”

I let the fury wash through me again before I let it go. “I’m driving you home.”

Because the last thing I need is for something else to happen to her. Being distracted will only increase that risk.

She meets my gaze, and she must see where my thoughts went because her shoulders deflate. “Fine.”

Looking around the room one last time, she huffs a sigh and nods. “I’m ready.”

I let her take the lead and meet Jackson’s gaze one more time. “Call Bentley.”

Jackson nods. He probably would have done so without my suggestion, but it feels better to have said it. Kaleb needs to be reported to the police. And Bentley is our local sheriff, a long-time friend of ours and the Thatchers.

I trail behind Ginger, trying not to crowd her, and I’m surprised when she lets me settle her bags in the back of the cab and close her in the passenger side of my truck.

Sitting in silence for a moment has me itching to crawl out of my skin. I’m usually a fan of silence, especially with Ginger so close, but the tension swelling in here is like torture.

“What happened before I got there?” It’s too soon for the question. I know that, but I can’t hold it back any longer.

“You know what happened. The details don’t matter.”

Closing my eyes, I take a slow, deep breath to calm the rage simmering inside of me. “They do matter.”

After a beat, I start the truck and pull us out of the neighborhood.

When I glance over at her again before pulling onto the main road, I find fresh tears wetting her cheeks.

Fuck.

My fingers grip the wheel. I want to slam my fist against it but refrain. She doesn’t need to see this side of me. It takes a lot to provoke me to anger, and I am furious.

The silence stretches for a minute until we make it to the highway. Her voice comes out small and soft. “You would have killed him if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“Yes.”

The hum of my tires over the highway creates background noise as I imagine fifty ways to get rid of that punk’s body. I could still do it.

“Even though I brought it on myself…”

“No. You didnotbring it on yourself.”

“Get off of it, Sawyer. I know what I am. I got my job through nepotism. Got paid to wear that darling little costume. I flirt with every man on site. I’m sleeping with my three bosses. It’s no wonder the men there think I’m the company whore.”

My teeth grind together so hard that I’m going to crack my molars. “Is that what he told you?”

Her arms fold across her chest, and she peers out of her window to avoid looking at me.

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