“I know, but who would’ve thought they’d treat you so shabbily?” I sigh as I stretch into the back of the van, pulling the lone box closer because obviously, not me.
“Well, what’s done is done,” I say, my tone thawing a little as I glance over my shoulder. “Are you seriously looking at my ass right now?”
His eyes lift, his expression not at all apologetic. “We should go out for a drink.”
“So you can stare at my ass some more?” And I go back to frosty again.
“I mean, I could, but I was thinking a little more practically. A little more hands-on.” He has the audacity, no, the stupidity to make grabby hands in the air.
“I’m really not in the mood for jokes,” I mutter, sliding the box to the left before slamming the right-hand side door closed.
“Okay, but seriously, I have a lot of contacts. I was thinking I might be able to help you find another job.”
“Really?” Hope pierces my chest, but I tamp it down. This might turn out to be his weird version of a casting couch.
“Absolutely. But I’m also a really good shoulder to cry on.”
“Thanks, but I’m done crying.” My hope plummets again. But come on, what should I have expected given our exchange so far? I don’t need a shoulder to cry on. I mostly just need something to punch. I could also do with a sweater as I fold my arms over my chest because I’m pretty sure my nipples are throwing out misleading signals.
“Come on, Holly. I can tell you’re upset. It looks like they fucked me over, too.”
“So, what you’re saying is, we should get even by f—doing each other.”
Why are men so predictable? Well, some men. Others are annoyingly persistent and won’t leave a girl’s dreams alone.
Or at least, one man is.
“You really don’t think much of me, do you? Because that’s not what I was saying at all.” My conscience prickles for half a second until he adds, “Not that I’d turn you down or anything.” He gives a wolfish smile, and the next thing I know, I’m being backed up against the van door, and my hand’s in Griffin’s, and I’m staring up at him.
“Seriously. Let me take you out.” His breath is a little puff of heat in the cold air between us. He begins to slide his hands up and down my goosebump-y arms, his gaze shining with the challenge.
“I’m not good company right now.”
“I bet I could make you feel better.”
Despite his smooth delivery, I bark out a laugh. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“I prefer tenacious.”
“I would prefer it if you understood the word no.”
He scrunches his nose, and I suddenly see what women see in him. I mean, there’s no doubt he’s good-looking. And self-assured. Plus, he can string a pretty sentence together. But I’m guessing it’s this air of boyishness that gets women to his bed. And I’ve no doubt those numbers are great.
“I don’t have difficulty with the word no. Not that I hear it very often, which might be part of the problem.”
I can’t help but smile. Boyish charm for the win? Maybe the small win in the form of a smile because that’s all he’s getting from me.
“I know. I’m overindulged by the women in my life. A lost cause.” The picture of false remorse, he shrugs.
“And there are lots of women in your life, are there?”
“Let me think. Well, there’s my mother. And my sister.” And all the women he screws on a casual basis, too. “Then my chambers are pretty heavily biased towards your sex.”
“Chambers?”
“It’s what a barrister’s office is called over here.”
“So, I shouldn’t worry if you ask me to come up and see your chambers sometime?”
“It’s on the ground floor,” he replies. “And you’re welcome anytime.”
“I won’t be visiting. Something tells me your chambers are pretty busy already.”
“I’d clear them out for you.”
I huff out an incredulous-sounding laugh. “I’m really not interested in becoming another woman dangling from your hook.”
“I’ve never heard it called that before,” he quips.
“You are . . .” I shake my head, lost for a way to describe him. Or maybe it’s more that whatever I say, he’d just twist it into a compliment anyway.
“Tenacious,” he happily supplies.
“The worst,” I amend.
“Harsh, Holly. Very harsh. Come on, I’m really good company. Sometimes, I’m even fun.” He does that cute nose scrunch again, and just as I begin to think I might give in, he adds, “I’m also a really great fuck.”
“Oh, you almost got me there,” I say with a rueful laugh and an admonishing finger waggle. “Almost.” And now you never will.
“Damn.” His expression twists. “Overshot with the fucking?”
“You think?”
“I mean, it is true. But I don’t usually blow my own horn.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
His expression is suddenly a little shark-like. “That would be a wasted skill, Holly.”