Page 25 of Forbidden Bond

“Cara, I’m sorry but I have to go,” she says, and Cara fixes us both with an appraising look.

“Am I missing something?” she asks.

Katherine gives her a soft smile. “I’ll explain later. Thanks for the job offer.”

Then, without a backward glance at me, she’s exiting the building. My jaw grinds at her hasty retreat but I don’t say a word, moving toward the Jeep I had been working on.

“What just happened?” Cara asks, following me.

“Ask your friend,” I reply, leaning down to inspect the car’s new paint job.

“I’m asking you since you’re the one still here.”

“Cara, you’ve got a shitload of work to do. We’ve all got work to do. And I really don’t have time to stand around and talk,” I tell her impatiently.

Her eyes narrow, but thankfully, she gets the message and retreats. A few minutes later, however, Katherine breezes back into the garage, walking up to me.

“What are you doing back here?” I question, staring at her curiously.

“Well, I got outside and then I remembered I came with Cara so I tried to request a ride but couldn’t because I don’t have a credit card. Or any money for that matter which means, I’m broke and need a job,” she mutters.

That startles a laugh out of me. “Excuse me?”

Katherine sighs, moving forward and grabbing my arm. I let her lead me out of the garage until we’re standing outside all alone.

“Working with you is a bad idea. But so was pissing my dad off, which led to him cutting me off. I seem to be full of bad ideas these days.”

I don’t say a word, waiting patiently for her to start making sense.

“I really do know a lot about cars. I’ve always liked them.”

“That’s nice, princess.”

“And Cara told me you needed someone to help with the things you can’t do because you’re so busy. Answering phone calls, dealing with clients, sorting through taxes and financials. I can do all that, and I can do it perfectly. I spent a summer in high school working at my dad’s office and keeping things afloat. If I can work for James Malone, I can certainly work for you.”

“Except,” I drawl, latching onto her gaze, “you’re forgetting one key factor. I’m not James Malone. I’m Topher D’Angelo. And you hate me.”

She opens her mouth to speak. “I don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. You don’t hate me, you hate my last name. You despise what it’s come to stand for and how it’s a reminder of what you almost lost. Which is why I’m curious about how you think this little arrangement would ever work.”

“Because I’m desperate,” she admits, blowing out a breath. Her eyes are warm and tired. “Because I’ve spent the better part of two weeks trying to find suitable a job and I’ve failed miserably.

My eyebrow lifts as I cross my arms again. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying this.

“So I’m all you’ve got?”

“You’re my last option, yes. Either this or a job at Hooters.”

“Or you could be a good girl and run back to your daddy.”

Her lips set into a hard line. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Stubbornness can be one’s greatest undoing,” I say sagely.

“So can pride,” she returns.

“Unfortunately, right now only one of us seems to possess both those attributes in spades.”

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