Page 21 of The Opposite Effect

“Yeah, I have. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?”

Holy fuck! Did I just ask her on a date using her employment at Inked as leeway?

I’m so getting sued for workplace harassment.

Clara freezes. “I can’t… I don’t think that would be a good idea, Brax.”

“Why not?”

Her refusal to dine with me has more impact on my gigantic ego than the time she tried to strike me months ago. Especially since I’ve caught sight of Diesel watching our exchange from the corner of the room. His face is laced with humor, and his whole demeanor screams of arrogance.

“I don’t think we should mix business with pleasure,” Clara replies, dragging my focus away from Diesel’s smug face.

“It is a meal, Princess. There’s nothing pleasurable about it.” I rake my eyes over the curves I’ve been ignoring for weeks. “Unless certainitemsare on the menu?”

Yep, I’m definitely getting sued.

Clara’s lips thin into a harsh line. “There’s no chance of thateverhappening.”

When she glares at me through squinted eyes, hot angerwarms my blood. “Then it’s lucky we’re just grabbing a bite to eat, isn’t it?”

My sudden decision to invite Clara to dinner has nothing to do with her employee contract and everything to do with Diesel’s admission that he’s interested in having her warm his sheets, but I can’t help it. The instant Diesel shone his torch on Clara, it was like the possessive switch in my body was turned on. And now that it has been flicked on, I have no chance of turning it off.

Diesel has kept his distance from Clara the past week to give me the opportunity to decide on his suggestion. But he’s eyeballing her now like she’s a prime piece of steak he can’t wait to sink his teeth into. To say my feeling of ownership kicked into overdrive would be an understatement. It’s turned calamitous.

In my head, I know I don’t have any claim to Clara, but it is like I’ve stepped back to my high school days, and I’m letting my competitive side overrule my rational-thinking head. I’m so far gone, I’m willing to make a fool out of myself in front of my crew simply to ensure I have the upper hand in the little black book competition Diesel and I have been running since our teen days.

Clara’s eyes track me as I walk around the counter. Even though her stern gaze appears to be protesting, not a word spills from her lips when I curl my arm around her tiny waist, hoist her against my body, and guide her toward the front entrance of the shop.

I don’t look back at my crew or Diesel to seek confirmation that I’ve secured their attention. I can feel their curious gazes burning a hole in the back of my head.

The hum of chatter filters into my ears when we merge onto the sidewalk. I swing my eyes to the left before drifting them to the right, seeking a suitable location I can take Clara to eat.

Upon realizing nothing on this side of Ravenshoe will be up toher impeccable standards, I make my way to Betty’s Burgers two blocks over from Inked.

You can’t go wrong with burgers and fries.

“You’re nothing but a brute.” Clara’s words are barely audible over the scuffling of her stilettos on the concrete sidewalk. “You know I can walk, don’t you? That’s what legs were invented for. One foot in front of the other. I guessbeastslike you might not understand the concept since you spend half of your day dragging your knuckles on the ground.”

I stop walking and drop my eyes to hers. “If I release you, will you keep walking?”

When I spot the spark of rebellion brightening her light-blue eyes, I continue walking, dragging her along with me. Clara huffs when we enter Betty’s Burgers, and her incoherent blubbering continues when I walk her to the booth at the back of the restaurant and place her on the cracked vinyl seat. I smirk when she shuffles across the plastic cladding to sit in the furthest corner of the booth. Her mouth is protesting that she wants to leave, but her actions are speaking louder than her words.

I greet Marnie—the regular waitress at Betty’s—with a wink as I snag two menus from her grasp as she saunters past. “I’ll be back to take your order soon, sugar,” she mutters, her voice as sweet as the term of endearment she regularly calls me.

“Kale, poached salmon, carrot smoothies, or whatever other shit you usually eat isn’t available here, but the burgers are good, and the cheese fries are even better,” I advise while handing Clara a menu.

Her pupils widen more with every item she reads off the menu. “I can’t eat anything here. My trainer, Pierre, would have a coronary.” She lifts her eyes from scanning the menu to me. “Who eats a burger with four deep-fried beef patties? That’s just asking for a heart attack.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re nothing but skin and bones. You could handle adding at least four of those burgers to your weekly diet.”

That is a total lie. Clara is a slim build, but she has curves in all the right places. Her tits and ass have been the hot topic of many adult-only discussions in my tattoo chair the past three weeks. And I’m fairly certain she has been the source of many self-induced orgasmic experiences for the younger patrons of Inked. Even with her having perfected the princess-resting-bitch-face pose, her body is…Jesus.

I slide into the booth before every patron in the restaurant seesexactlywhat I think of Clara’s desirable assets.

When a burning pain scorches my skull, I shift my eyes to Clara. Her face is lined with anger. “Did you just insult me?”

I shake my head. “No. Not at all.”

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