Page 14 of Degrading Her

Fiona stomped, following me down the side of the building. “Thanks, Mr. Feldman, but I can get home by myself.”

“You’re drunk,” I said.

“I amnotdrunk.”

“A cab will be here in a few minutes.”

She reached for her vehicle. “I am not getting a cab.”

Fine.

I went around the side of the car and dropped into the driver’s seat. She seethed at me through the windows.

“You’ve had an entire bottle of champagne to yourself,” I said sternly. Her cheeks flamed red. “You’re too smart to drive drunk. I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me.”

My blood pressure spiked. I wasn’t here to take care of her.

So why the hell was I doing this, anyway?

That answer didn’t matter. I was going to get what I wanted.

“You can let me drive you,” I said in a low, calm voice, “or I can make you.”

“Then make me.”

I threw her over my shoulder, and she let out a loud hiss, smacking my back with her fists, demanding that I put her down. And I did—in the passenger seat. I took my place behind the wheel.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

I disagreed. It was part of showing her our dynamic for our future game.

Several minutes passed in silence. Not once did she look at me. The hem of her dress bunched around her thighs, exposing a hint of her pink panties, too drunk to notice that she was exposing herself. My fingers twitched, the urge growing to put my hand there.

There would be time for that. Eventually.

“Bambi was talking about an after-party,” I said. “You aren’t interested?”

“My new boss and coworker start tomorrow,” Fiona mumbled. “The last few new hires haven’t shown up on the first day. And by the time the Board of Trustees approves a new hire, the next one has already quit. And trust me; theyloveto reject candidates. It took me three applications to get my first job there. Plus, there’s a high turnover rate when the pay is?—”

She stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to admit that her ‘salary’ was low. The things she sacrificed to follow her passion.How admirable.

“So you assume they’ll quit,” I said.

“Probably.” She sunk down in the seat. “I’ll be hungover on a day where I’ll probably have to work a double shift. Open to close.Yippee.” She rolled her eyes, groaning. “I should have stayed home.” But she hadn’t. She switched subjects: “Do you like me or something?”

“Such an ego,” I mused. “I expected it from your sister, but not you.”

“Don’t talk about my sister like that.”

“Is that your limit?”

“Leave my sister out of this,” she snapped. She gestured to the next intersection. “Turn on the next?—”

She stopped as she realized I knew exactly where I was going.

“How did you know where to go?” she asked.

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