Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(16)

I was going to strangle her.

I was going to strangle Mallory Scooter.

And not in the sexy, playful way like I did my first girlfriend after high school, who used to love to be choked and fucked from behind. That was just a light pressure, a hand around the throat, gentle squeeze to get the adrenaline pumping and send a spike of pleasure through her bloodstream.

No, this was a different kind of urge — one that rang true somewhere right around throttle her.

We were nearing the end of the tour, and with every new stop along the way, the urge had grown larger. Mallory was a sideshow, popping her gum loudly and texting away on her cell phone — all the while wearing our company’s logo on her chest with her fucking belly ring showing. She didn’t pay attention, didn’t take any notes, and whenever I asked her to assist with something, she rolled her eyes for everyone to see before obliging.

At least she was shivering whenever we were outside. Staying out there a little longer just to watch her suffer was about the only revenge I could get.

It was almost impossible to keep the group’s attention on me with all her gum noises and incessant texting — not to mention her barely there uniform. I’d introduced her as our newest tour guide at the beginning of the tour, and everyone watched her like they were wondering if the money they’d paid was for nothing.

We were the face of the company, and Mallory made us look like a disaster on ice.

She was still chewing away on her gum, gaze fixed on her screen, when the tour group followed me to the building where we had the whiskey tasting at the end of each tour. I held the door open, smiling at each of them as they passed, but before Mallory could follow them, I hooked her by the elbow, swinging her outside and letting the door shut, effectively putting a barrier between us and our guests.

“Are you trying to look like an idiot, or is that just your natural state today?”

Mallory cocked a brow, blowing a small bubble with her gum before it popped on her lips.

I blew out a breath through my nose like a dragon.

“Careful there, might pop a blood vessel,” she remarked.

“You’re making a fool of yourself.”

“I’m just acting like the princess that I am,” she smarted off.

I released her arm with a scoff. “If there’s a point you’re trying to make, you can just go ahead and make it so we can all move on.”

“My point is that a woman should be able to dress how she wants without someone trying to make her conform.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Mallory, that’s not why I asked you to change. I agree, women and men should dress how they want to — on their own time. But when you work for a company, and that company has a uniform, you just have to suck it up like the rest of us and wear it when you’re on the clock. That’s all I was asking of you.”

“Well, that’s not how you said it. And besides, this entire training plan of yours is bogus. You’re treating me like someone who just discovered Scooter Whiskey a week ago instead of someone who grew up living and breathing every aspect of this distillery. I don’t need to shadow you to know how to give a fucking tour of my father’s company,” she reminded me, as if there was any way for me to forget. “You’re a tour guide, Logan — not a brain surgeon. So stop treating this job like it’s difficult, or special, or whatever else you think it is, and for the love of God, stop acting like I don’t already know everything you can tell me about Scooter Whiskey.”

My blood boiled so hot under my skin, I was sure I’d turned the color of a beet.

“I can do this tour in my sleep,” she continued. “And honestly, I’m annoyed that I’m wasting my day following you around when I could be doing better things with my time.”

I clenched my jaw, lips flat as I stared down at those icy blue cat eyes of hers. She was so tiny, and yet so fierce as she stared back up at me, chest puffed, not backing down.

I’d have found her cute if she wasn’t being such a brat.

“You know what, you’re right.”

She narrowed her eyes, ready to fire back when my response hit her, and everything on her face fell slack. “What?”

“You’re right,” I repeated. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, Mallory Scooter doesn’t need my help. Tell you what, you can lead the next tour.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Of course,” I said, glancing down at my clipboard and flipping through to check the times. “Let’s just wrap up this tasting, and the next group should be here within an hour. We’ll take a short break for lunch, and then you can lead the tour, and I’ll shadow you. How’s that sound?”

Mallory opened her mouth, shut it again, and finally gave a firm nod. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I didn’t say another word, just left her standing there shivering in the cold while I made my way into the tasting building. I finished that tour with the smuggest smile on my face — one I was sure Mallory couldn’t decipher, and for that, I was glad.

She thought my training plan was bullshit, that this job was easy and she didn’t need any help? Fine. Time to show her the ropes the way my grandfather showed me how to swim — by tossing her into the pool without a floaty.