Page 63 of The Re-Proposal

I stare down at the little gremlin. “I’ll remember my manners when you remember who signs your checks.”

Joel purses his lips like he’s just bitten into an expired lemon.

Vargas chuckles nervously. “Why don’t we get some ice cream? Joel, I asked your doctor. He said you could have a little.”

“No wonder Clarissa doesn’t like you. You’re a jerk-hole in a suit,” Joel mumbles.

We’re outside now and, I admit, I want to push his wheelchair down the ramp a little faster than necessary.

“Is that a no on the ice cream then?” Vargas asks, his voice high-pitched.

Doberman and his team shadow us to the car.

Joel notices the security guys and his eyes widen. “Are they with you?”

“Yeah.” I glance coldly at him. “They hide the bodies.”

The kid gulps and says nothing after that.

Vargas helps Joel into the car. The kid is self-sufficient though. He uses the wheelchair to stand on his own and walks carefully, holding his machine above his head.

Listening to him wheezing once he’s seated makes a piece of my heart thaw. Joel was right. I am a jerk-hole. Guilty as charged. But I’m not satan in a suit. I don’t relish the sight of a kid in pain—even if that kid is annoying as hell and has heart-eyes for my woman.

Vargas tries to keep the conversation up. He’s telling the kid all about his new home and his new room.

The fact that Joel already has medical equipment moved in is news to me. But it makes sense. That’s probably what Vargas was doing before he came to my office.

“Sound good?” Vargas asks when the kid doesn’t respond.

Joel nods tightly.

I take out my tablet. “Vargas, I don’t think we have enough pictures. How about we take a few at that ice cream shop you mentioned?”

Joel’s eyes shine with excitement and he quickly ducks his head. The kid is more innocent than his sarcastic bite would have you believe. I wonder what convinced him to say yes to this mess?

We stop at the ice cream shop and I get out first. Vargas is helping Joel and Doberman is parking the car.

I turn in a slow circle, buttoning my suit.

Out of nowhere, I hear someone shriek my name.

“Bolton! I hope you burn in hell!”

A moment later, a cup of ice cream lands against the side of my face. I stiffen in shock as the cold stings my cheek before sliding down to my shirt collar.

“Get down! Get down!” Doberman appears out of nowhere and throws himself over me while the rest of his team surround the assailant.

I peer through the man’s bulk, seeing an angry woman in a pink shirt flinging herself against a wall of bodyguards.

“Get off,” I growl, shoving at Doberman.

The bull of a man climbs off me and I pounce to my feet, glaring across the parking lot.

“I advise you to get in the car,” Doberman says in a low voice.

Ignoring him, I take out my handkerchief, fix my expression into a blank stare and wipe the ice cream off my face.

“You don’t deserve to walk free after what you did!” the woman shrieks.

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