Page 42 of Mafia Captor

“Yeah?” he says.

“I meant, will you be mydate,date?”

He just stares at me. Like I’m speaking a foreign language.

Great.

Finally, he says, “Why?”

Bile rises in my throat. He doesn’t want me, does he? My embarrassment at his rejection morphs to anger.

It’s not a pretty trait of mine, and it’s only happened a few times in my life, but because I’m crushed, humiliated, a furious heat radiates through my limbs.

“You know,” I snap, “for a self-proclaimed butthole, you don’t have to be a butthole to me.”

“Huh?” He stands, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I throw my hands on my hips. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You told me not to touch you. Now you’re mad because I respected your wishes?” He shakes his head. “You make no sense.”

Oh my goodness, may the good Lord protect him.

You never, ever tell a woman she’s not making sense.

Especially when she’s not.

“Who do you think you are, to talk to me like this? Just because you’re my boss doesn’t give you the right to put me down. Or are you trying to get me to quit, just like all the other employees who’ve left you? Good luck with your book. I don’t think you can find out how to be a decent human from reading.”

“That’s cold. That’s real cold.” His eyes narrow. “Girl, I wanted to see your freaky side, but this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Heck. No. He did not just say that. “So now you want to pick and choose which side of me you want to see? Sorry, but I’m not a coin you can flip and choose heads or tails. I’m the whole package.”

He just stares at me. Totally, utterly confused. Which just makes me madder.

“Say something! You dragged me here. Made me your prisoner. Then just totally friend-zoned me? Like I’m some ugly little mouse running around your kitchen?” Sorry, mice, I know you’re cute. “And you re-homed my cat. Because you’re not man enough to have an animal around whose affection you have to earn? Unlike dogs who’ll wag their tail at anything they see. Is that how you feel about me?”

Now he’s the one who’s furious. Heat flashes in his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low and rumbling like the distant warnings of thunder before a storm.

He takes a step toward me. “Stop right there. You’re crossing a line. You can call me all the names you want. Do not insult my dogs.”

“You insulted my cat.” I take a step back.

Wait… did he ever insult Mr. Armani?

He is moving toward me, closing in. His anger is radiating off him. “Check your facts, girl. I found housing for your cat. With a vet tech. You get handwritten updates. Every single morning. From said vet tech. And do you know how that cat got from your apartment to Talia’s?”

“No. How?” I inch backward.

“I found a pet communicator in the city. Took me three hours to convince her to come last minute to help us out. Stood there, wanting to poke my eyes out with a hot poker, watching, for forty-five freaking minutes while she petted your cat, whispering to him. I had to watch that shit. Then I had to drive her kooky ass all the way to Talia’s while she sat in the seat beside me, having some kind of one-sided convo with your damn cat, him making mean eyes at me the entire drive.”

“You hired a… pet psychic? For my cat?” Okay, this man is a keeper.

“That’s what she called herself, but I refuse to. It’s ludicrous.”

I’ve always wanted to hire a pet psychic, but my sensibleness wouldn’t allow for it. Even though we’re in the middle of a battle, I have to ask. “What did she say about G?”

“Did you even hear what I said? I did all that for you and you’re gonna stand here and tell me I insulted your cat.”

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