One Bossy Offer (58)

“It’s not my business. It doesn’t matter,” she flings back.

“It must if you made a point to mention it.”

“Miles, what do you want?” The fight goes out of her voice as she pulls on her cheeks.

“I want whatever she wanted.” It’s a struggle to keep my tone from instantly curdling.

Jenn looks down slowly at the envelope in her hand. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“What is it?”

I’m goddamned tempted to snatch it right out of her hand and see for myself. If only it wouldn’t win me a well-deserved slap across the cheek and possibly bite marks from two huge guard dogs.

But if that witch threatened her—

“Miss Landers—Jenn, this does concern me. I need to know,” I step forward.

“Back off,” she hisses, veering back.

I shake my head.

Damn, how do I get her to listen without exposing every sordid detail? Everything that made me the hollowed-out creature I am today, the thing she finds so despicable.

“Trust me, you have no clue who she is or what you’re dealing with—”

“And you do?” She blinks harshly, her cheeks burning raw. “Trust. That’s pretty rich, coming from you.”

“I deserved that,” I say gruffly, stepping up and laying a hand on her shoulder. “Look, you owe me a heaping spoonful of hell for the way I kissed and ran and sent you here.”

She jerks her head away, refusing to look at me. A deepening flush on her face betrays her confusion.

“Miles, for the last time...”

“This isn’t about us, kitten. If you’ll forget my shit—if only for the briefest second—I need you to listen. That woman, she’s a scorpion. She never made a deal she liked without an ulterior motive. Stay the fuck away from her, and tell me what she said.”

“No!” She rips herself out of my grasp.

“Jenn—”

“No, how about you listen? I don’t clear my conversations with you, especially when it’s not even work related. You don’t get to do that, Miles. You have no right.”

“And I wasn’t asking as your boss.” My voice gentles. Heat sears my throat.

Goddamn, I’m shitting the bed with this, and I know it.

If I could just make her understand, but this is a public street.

Hardly the time or place.

She steps closer, jutting her chin out defiantly as she looks up at me.

“Then what are you asking as? The coward who plays me like a drum? The man who kisses me like cupid put ten arrows in his ass? The man who can’t answer simple questions and ignores my texts for days?”

Fuck.

If this wasn’t already hellishly complicated, I’d show her there’s nothing cowardly in these lips. I’d claim her right now and turn that gasping fury in every breath into grateful moans.

“What did she say to you?” I press her again.

She doesn’t answer.

We both look down at the envelope clutched in her hand.

“What does it say?” I’m trying to keep my voice neutral and failing, hoping against hope that maybe she’ll crack. Maybe she’ll answer me, despite every reason not to.

Of course, she refuses.

I have to know.

Darting forward, I snatch the envelope from her hand and pull out the paper inside.

“Stop! You have no right—”

I don’t, but my eyes are glued to that paper.

It’s worse than I feared.

“Give it back right now,” she says again, sweeping forward in a desperate attempt to steal it that doesn’t work. I’m holding it up too high.

“Miles, Jesus. This is flipping ridiculous!”

It is, and I wish like hell my guilt overrode my need to protect her from—this sick fucking offer that’s meant to humiliate me.

“Fucking outrageous. That’s almost four times the market value,” I snarl, still skimming. “Christ, she really will do anything to get to me.”

Jenn’s breath catches loudly. This time, I don’t fight her as she rushes forward, stealing the letter away.

“To get to you? Right. Because the sun, the moon, and the stars revolve around Miles Cromwell. You’re the most conceited man I’ve ever met.”

My eyes snap to her, searching her eyes through the hurt.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” she says sharply. “Someone offers to buy a gorgeous property that you offered above market value on, and suddenly it’s all about you and your demented idea of paradise?”

“Simone Niehaus has a history of strong-arm tactics and hidden clauses in her contracts like bear traps. She’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants and you won’t get what you expect. She never acts in good faith. She couldn’t care less about the inn, Jenn. This is about me, whether you choose to believe me or not. I’m telling you again, kitten, stay the fuck away from her.”

“Why are you in Seattle, anyway? Stalking me to my parents’ house?” She inhales shakily. “Do you even know how inappropriate you’re being right now?”

I cock my head, trying to assess how pissed she really is on the rip-your-face-off scale. “In case you haven’t figured it out, we’ve never been appropriate.”