Page 38 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
Even if she’s unaware of it.
Not that any of today was her fault. It was Joe’s fucking fault.
But she’s still the one girl who can get under my skin and make me feel like a six foot four idiot.
“Hey, Tucker, rough day?” she asks, sounding excited by the prospect of that.
I frown at her.
Is she…wearing the same outfit as yesterday?
Or do all black skirts and girl shirts look the same?
She’s also wearing slippers, which seem very out of place in the very traditional office with heavy wood furniture.
“Is that coffee?” she asks, reaching her hand out.
Not firing on all cylinders, I hand her my coffee cup.
The corner of her mouth goes up. “No. The paperwork, Tucker. I need the paperwork.”
Right. “Then why did you ask if I have coffee?”
“Because that sounds like a great idea. No one around here thinks it’s wise to drink caffeine after ten a.m. so no one ever sends anyone out for coffee, and I’m on a tight budget. No DoorDash fifteen-dollar coffee deliveries for me.”
All I can think of doing in response is grunt. I don’t care that Finley is on a budget. Her parents are well-off, and her brother is loaded. She has a dump truck full of privilege with her family background and her fancy-ass law degree.
Even her boyfriend is a lawyer.
While I’m getting sued.
Her eyebrows lift. “Feeling chatty today, I see. About time you kept your mouth shut.”
That has me shoving the paperwork at her. “What is your problem? Look, I get you’re mad about something I said that youweren’t supposed to hear ten fucking years ago, but aren’t we adults now?”
Finley stares at me.
The moment goes on so long that the receptionist clears her throat and stands up. “I’m heading out for the night. Goodnight, Finley. Mr. Hastings.”
“Goodnight, Shonda.” Finley turns and gives her a smile.
“Miss,” I say, nodding my head. “Have a pleasant evening.”
“So you do still have some Southern charm trapped inside of you,” Finley says. She makes a “tsk, tsk” sound. “Guess I just bring out the worst in you.”
My temples are throbbing. I toss my cold coffee in the wastebin by the receptionist’s desk. “Are you done poking at me?” I ask. “Or can I leave now?”
Finley tosses the envelope onto her desk and disappears under the desk briefly. It causes her skirt to pull tight across her ass and my brain is flooded with all the inappropriate things I could do with her in that position.
Both my tongue and my cock suddenly feel twice their normal size.
When she emerges, she’s holding her shoes. She puts a hand on her cubicle wall and kicks off her slippers. “You’re taking me to get a coffee.”
I would rather be boiled in hot oil than be subjected to another round of Finley-takes-cheap-shots-at-me. I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I still have at least an hour of paper pushing, and I need the caffeine.” She slips into one heel, then the other.
“Order DoorDash. My treat.” I start toward the door.
