Page 13 of Playing with the Boss

SEVEN

Lisa

He doesn’t have much of a task ahead of him. With every blow he gives my resolve, it crumbles a little further.

God. The man’s lips, that jawline. His face is the kind that incites a woman to sin, and with the way my core buzzes right now, I’d be first in line to tick all seven off my list.

“I’m sure the board would love to hear about your unethical practices,” I threaten weakly.

He knows as well as I do that I wouldn’t have the brass to face up to my superiors with accusations that paint me in the same red light as Mason.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t fucking care,” he counters, reaching for his glass with a nonchalant glaze in his eye. “Half of them have done much worse. You’d shudder if you saw the kinds of things HR are paid to cover up.”

“Old boys’ club, huh?”

“Of the worst kind.” He glowers at his empty glass. “I think we should go somewhere else to eat.”

“Why?” I tug the menu card from the display in the center of the table. “The kitchen will be closed anywhere else this time of night.”

“At a dive, sure.” His nose actually wrinkles at the thought. “Not at an upper-class establishment.”

“I’m fine with buffalo wings. Honestly.”

“I’m not.” He waves a coaster between two fingers before slamming it on the table.

“What’s your issue?” I refuse to move from my seat, even though he rises from his. “You asked me to come out with you on the pretense of work. You then lure me back to your hotel room so you can test the waters, see if you can get a quick fuck out of me, and now that you lost your little game”—I gesture to the money he swipes from the table—“you want to leave and rub your expensive tastes in my face. Grow up, Mason. Nobody likes an entitled jerk.”

He catches my arm as I rise from my seat, prepared to march my ass out of the place and to the nearest cab.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.”

“I’m not done with you, though.” What I can only describe as a flash of rejection washes over his face.

“Everything okay here?”

I whip my head to the left to find a well-meaning guy in a rumpled suit looking between the two of us.

“Everything’s fine,” Mason barks.

The guy narrows his gaze on Mason’s grip on my arm and then addresses him. “I’ll ask the lady.” He shifts his concerned eyes my way before repeating, “Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

He seems unconvinced, especially when my leg collects the vacant seat behind me as Mason positions himself sideways between the two of us.

The guy steps back, forced to by Mason’s broad shoulders. “Let her go, pal. Anyone can see she’s scared.”

“I’m not rea—”

“I’m sorry,” Mason quips to the guy, “but do you see me injecting myself into your business?” He lifts an eyebrow; hand still tight on my arm. I can feel the anger as it radiates through him. “No. You don’t. Now fuck off out of mine.”

“Would you rather take this outside?” Two of the guy’s buddies quit their conversation and step up a few feet away.

This whole situation has taken a nosedive south.

“I apologize if this was confusing,” I offer sweetly as I twist my arm in Mason’s hold to insert myself in the middle of the mess, “but this whole thing is my fault. Really.”

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