Page 29 of Fiery Romance

“She’sa security guard?” I watch the woman who’s flicking at the wigs displayed in my office.

Amy accidentally tugs too hard on one of the wigs and the entire mannequin head goes tumbling into her arms like a decapacitated zombie. She swivels around and gives me a guilty smile.

Oy.

“Of course not. She was an intern in the admin department,” Bolton says.

A headache descends. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Mr. Bolton…”

“Miss Hayes, you do not have time to argue. Regan will be out of school soon. I suggest you get moving.”

The dial tone sounds in my ear.

I grit my teeth and stomp my foot. When that still doesn’t curb my anger, I shake my head and indulge in a three-second toddler tantrum.

The injustice boils inside me.

Stupid Bolton.

Stupid billionaire.

Stupid searing blue eyes and deep voice and freaking ripped body.

“Miss Hayes?”

“I didn’t agree to this, you clunk bucket. You forced my hand!” I shriek.

“Miss Hayes?” Amy’s concerned voice breaks my descent into madness.

I straighten, brush down my hair and offer her a smile. “I’m okay.”

“Are you? Like… really?”

“Mm-hm.” My smile turns strained. “Shall we?”

She looks nervous when she shuffles into the main hall. It probably doesn’t help that all my technicians are eyeballing her like she’s the unsweetened marshmallow in their chocolate milk.

Since the salon specializes in hair braiding, we serve a specific kind of clientele—namely women of color who have both the hair texture and passion for intricate twists. As a result, Amy—with her pale skin, naturally straight hair and awkward walk, stands out.

I pull her behind me before she gets eaten up by all the stares. “Do you have directions to Regan’s school?”

“Directions? Uh…” She blinks rapidly. “The driver has them.”

“What driver?”

“Miss Hayes.” An older man opens the door of a brand-spanking new SUV with tinted windows. I get a whiff of the new-car-smell from here.

“Who’s this?”

“Your chauffeur,” Amy informs me.

My temper boils. So now Bolton wants to control whether I drive myself or not?

Gran’s advice to pull him down the cliff with me resurrects in my mind. He may have pinned me to the wall like a butterfly on a dartboard, but I’m not going to make it easy on him. I’ll fight every step of the way so he knows better than to think a cornered mouse won’t bite.

“I’m not taking that ride.”

Both Amy and the driver go still.

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