Page 51 of Dirty Little Secrets
“How would you know? And besides, who are you to tell me what to do?” I challenge.
“I’m the owner of this club.”
I laugh like he’s lost his damn mind, wobbling slightly in these ridiculously high heels. “What are you going to do, cut off every woman here tonight?”
“No.”
“Then why me?”
“Because you’re my employee. You’re in my club and it’s my responsibility.”
I snort like a rebellious teenager. “I’m a big girl. Last time I checked, I don’t have a daddy.”
I shoulder past him, heading back to the dance floor. I hate that he’s right—I didn’t need another drink. My feet stopped hurting ten minutes ago, which means I’m beyond buzzed. Another Bad Bunny song starts. The crowd swells. Kristina’s dancing with a new guy, and I don’t even need to look back to know Xaiden is watching my every move.
Something inside me stops caring that he’s my boss. Under normal circumstances, it would be wildly inappropriate the way I move my body to the rhythm of the beat—knowing full well he’s watching.
When I turn, I hit something solid. He must not give a damn about his date, wherever she is. Not with the way his eyes roam,slow, deliberate, down my body, pausing at my chest, my waist, my thighs.
I sway my hips to the music, careful not to touch him, leaving only a fraction of space between us. One bump from the crowd and I’d fall into his chest. His eyes never leave mine. The longer he watches, the darker they get. The bolder I become. But the spinning lights make my legs lose coordination. Strong arms catch me before I stumble, guiding me toward the exit. I’m about to protest when I lose sight of Kristina.
“Bash will make sure she gets home safely,” he says.
I want to tell him Kristina’s placeismy home, but he doesn’t give me a chance. One minute I’m on the dance floor, the next I’m in the passenger seat of his luxury supercar, the hum of the engine replacing the club’s music. I blink, trying to piece together what just happened. My life feels like it skipped a couple of scenes.
“Where—”
“When was the last time you ate?” he interrupts, like a concerned parent.
I try to remember, but all I can recall are vending machine snacks.
“I had lunch at work.”
“Snacks from the vending machine don’t count as lunch, Ms. Summers.”
I wince as the streetlights stab at my headache. “Will you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
“The controlling. The… ‘Ms. Summers,’” I mock in his voice.
“I’m not controlling.”
“Oh, buddy, yes you are. How do you know what I had for lunch? Or how much I drank? Or—” I stop short. I can’t exactly call him out for being controlling during sex without explaining myself. But I think he gets it.
“I need to know where my employees are. Especially my secretary.”
I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, trying not to lose it. The last thing I need is for him to startreallywatching me for obvious reasons. Especially since I’m the one hacking into his security system.
“I get it. Wait… where’s your date?”
“I sent her home.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have to discuss my personal life with you.”
“But you can cock-block mine?” I snap.
