Page 30 of Never Your Girl

“Tonight.” Satisfaction glints in his silvery eyes.

What I hate even more than that is the way my pulse quickens with the knowledge that I’ll be at Bridger Sanderson’s mercy.

Not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that happening.

It’s like a nightmare come true.

I shift my weight as defiance curls my lips. “And when you finally realize I’m not the one you’re after? What then?”

He doesn’t flinch, just shrugs. “We part ways. Until then, you’re stuck with me.”

10

Bridger

I follow Holland through the parking lot, each step charged with restless energy that coils tighter by the second. She shoots a glance over her shoulder as she reaches her car.

Her icy glare is sharp enough to cut glass. “Is it really necessary for you to follow me home, Sanderson?” She spits my name like poison.

With a shrug, I lean against the side of her car. “That’s what 24/7 means. You’re a smart girl. I thought you’d understand that.”

Her expression darkens, and I can tell she’s close to snapping. I have no idea why I enjoy provoking her so much. It’s twisted. A therapist would probably have a field day with the thoughts that run rampant through my head where this girl is concerned.

It’s a surprise, and maybe even a disappointment, when she doesn’t rise to the bait. With a roll of her eyes, she slides behind the wheel. It takes a minute or two for her engine to turn over.

My brows rise as the vehicle coughs and sputters. “Are you sure this thing will make it back to your place?”

Her response is to give me the finger.

I can’t help the chuckle that slips free.

As soon as she backs out of the space, I beeline to my own car and tail her through the winding streets. The drive is just long enough for guilt to rear its ugly head and have me second-guessing myself.

It’s not too late to put the kibosh on this half-baked idea. Holland would be more than thrilled to forget about this arrangement I’m forcing her into. I won’t say a word about her working at the club, and I’ll go back to pretending I don’t think about her more than I should.

But…

I don’t want to.

And I really fucking hate how much I don’t want to let go of the opportunity that’s fallen into my lap.

Holland Tate has managed to burrow deep beneath my skin, and I’m going to get her out one way or another.

Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of her townhouse. With another chilly glare aimed in my direction, Holland slams the car door with more force than necessary before marching up the steps. She doesn’t bother waiting for me. I follow her inside the small entryway before shutting the door behind me as she stalks through the dark interior.

“Make yourself at home,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she gestures around the living area. “Oh, wait. I don’t actually want you here.”

Instead of settling in the living room, I follow her to her bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and scoping out her private space. “Nice to see you’re warming up to this arrangement.”

She mutters something unintelligible under her breath before yanking open a drawer and tossing articles of clothing into a bag. Her movements are stilted and her jaw remains tight. Not once does she glance my way.

“How many days should I pack for?” she asks in a clipped tone.

I shrug, pretending like I haven’t already imagined her at my place and in my bed or haven’t considered the havoc that’s going to come with having her all up in my business. “Guess that depends on how long it takes for us to catch the culprit.” I wink. “That is, if it’s not you.”

A growl vibrates in her chest as her lips twist into a scowl. “Right. Because I’m the architect of all your problems. Totally forgot about that. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Guess that’s what we’re going to find out,” I say, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I watch her throw a few more items into her bag.

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