Page 53 of What About Love

“Don’t give me any shit, Angie. I’m not in the mood.” He stormed out, slamming the door in his wake.

Infuriated, she grabbed up the first thing she could reach and chucked it at where he’d been. The small throw pillow hit the closed door with a disappointing swish and did nothing to relieve her anger.

“Don’t lose your heart to me,” she mimicked in a poor imitation of his deep voice. “Fat chance.”

She stomped to the bathroom and, like him, slammed the door, but it didn’t make her feel any better than the pillow. The man ran hot and cold like a faucet; it was driving her nuts.

In minutes, dressed in jeans and a nice top—she was meeting other Rossi team members and wanted to look halfway decent—she slid her feet into her sandals, hooked her holstered gun on her belt, and grabbed her purse. T was waiting by the door in the same nonchalant pose, arms crossed, broad shoulder against the doorjamb, but now he had a pissed-off look on his face.

She stopped and mirrored his cross-armed pose. Putting as much feeling into her glare, she hoped he could read her righteous indignation.

When he pushed away from the wall and opened the door, he waited for her to precede him. She didn’t move.

“We’re late. Is there a problem?”

As if he didn’t know! Too ticked off to answer, her dark brows slanted into a fierce frown.

“You’re not moving, Angie.”

She started forward. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“By what?”

“I was trying to imagine you with only one personality, but it was a stretch.”

She brushed by him, leaving him staring after her. She ignored the tension rolling off of him in waves and hastened toward the stairs at the end of the hall. By the time she hit the second-floor landing, he was on her heels.

His hand hooked her elbow and spun her around. “What the hell did that mean?”

“You’re a smart guy. Figure it out.”

“If you’re a smart girl, you’ll explain.”

She took a half step forward, stopping a mere fraction from his chest, and rose on her toes. Still inches from his face in her flats, she closed the distant enough that he was no longer towering over her.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You want me then you don’t. You give me away one minute and want me back the next. First, you tell me not to lose my heart to you then act jealous that another man might be interested. Make up your mind, Minelli. What’s it gonna be?”

He didn’t answer. Staring at her silently.

An icy wave swept over her. “If you don’t have an answer, stay away from me until you do.” She tried to continue on down the stairs, but he whirled her around and grasped her upper arms.

“Let me go.”

“Angie—”

“Don’t,” she whispered, twisting free.

More precisely, he let her go. That hurt, too.

She bounded down the stairs but paused halfway. When she spoke, she kept her back to him so he wouldn’t see how much his waffling was killing her.

“Let’s keep this professional, shall we? As we agreed from the start.”

“That’s gonna be difficult tomorrow night. Did you forget the carousel?”

Shit!

“I’ll call George.”

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