One Bossy Offer (79)

Fuck.

That castration I promised her would be less harsh.

“I already told you I’m coming home with you,” I say, watching as her eyes flash with uncertainty again.

“My car’s here.” She turns toward the parking garage.

“It’s late and you’re exhausted. I’ll pay any overnight fees and I’ll have Benson swing by for you in the morning. You shouldn’t be driving in this state.”

She turns her nose up. “What state is that? Chronic exhaustion from arguing with an overgrown dick who never learned to take 'no' for an answer?”

My brows pull together like thunderheads.

“I’d call it stubbornness. From shutting this dick out when he’s trying to help you,” I venture, watching as her face falls.

“If you wanted to help, you should’ve stocked up on tissues.”

“Excuse me?”

She sighs. “You could’ve saved us both a metric ton of energy and stress by just jerking off—and you would’ve had an easier time tossing it in the trash than with me.”

She has a way with words.

I don’t let it paralyze me, though, reaching for the car door and holding it open.

“Get in. Don’t make me beg, kitten,” I breathe, my voice torched.

I think it’s my tone that makes her hesitate.

She doesn’t climb in right away, but she’s not walking away. Her gaze drifts to the cool, dark interior, considering it.

“Sending Benson to pick you up isn’t scandalous, if that’s your concern. I’ve done it for other employees when they needed it, like you do now.”

“You’re serious?” She studies my eyes.

I nod.

The fight seeps out of her as her eyelids flutter shut.

With a draining sigh, she slides into the vehicle. “This is just because I’m too tired to drive. I still don’t want to argue with you tonight or hear more excuses.”

“I’ll take it,” I say warmly.

“Whatevs.”

The drive to her parents’ house isn’t far, less than twenty minutes. In front of the curb, I step out first and hold the door for her again.

She darts past me without a word or a second glance.

I can sense Benson smiling from behind the wheel, even with the privacy screen up. I follow her to the front door.

She spins around. “What the hell are you doing? I’m home.”

“Having dinner with you. How many times do I need to say it?”

“You weren’t invited,” she points out.

“And I’m not leaving until we talk this out, Jenn. If that means eating with your folks and a couple dogs who could eat me if I piss you off enough—”

“Pssh! Coffee would rather lick you to death, and you know it.”

I smile. “Maybe. Can’t say the same for Cream. Women are wildcats when they step in to defend their friends from a man who’s pissing them off.”

Shaking her head, she stabs a finger at the dark vehicle behind me. “Go home, Miles. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“Never.”

“Right. Looks like I’m staying the night then.”

“Go home. Go home. Go home!”

She’s shouting now.

There’s this weird roughness in her voice, and I almost give up before I cause a nervous breakdown. Only, that’s not rage or distress in her eyes, I realize a second later.

She’s laughing.

Even if she wants to tear me limb from limb on her parents’ doorstep, she still finds my antics entertaining.

For a heated second, our eyes lock, and we’re stranded in uncertainty.

Then the Dobermans bark loudly from inside the house.

A slender blonde who looks a lot like Jenn in the face opens the door. “Jennifer, what are you doing out here in the dark? Come inside. The dogs saw you and they’re already in a frenzy!” Her eyes fall on me. “Oh, you brought a date home? Why didn’t you tell me you were with Ryan Reynolds?”

“Mom!” she hisses.

I offer her mother my hand. “Hello, Mrs. Landers. Miles Cromwell. Jenn was helping me with a very important media project and it ran rather late.”

She shakes my hand, beaming at me like I really am a heartthrob actor.

“Mr. Cromwell, of course! Wow. I guess all those years she spent glued to her phone paid off. She was always so persistent with her homework and it’s the same with her work ethic.”

“Your daughter has impeccable discipline,” I agree.

And I enjoy watching a red-faced Jenn, who won’t dare look at me.

“You didn’t save her a trip home, did you? You should stay for dinner, Mr. Cromwell.”

“Call me Miles, Mrs. Landers, and I’d be delighted. Jenn already invited me, but I didn’t want to impose.”

“Did not!” she whispers from one corner of her mouth.

“With your approval, I think I will. A good home-cooked meal is hard to come by in my business. Devil’s hours and all that.”

“Bring your appetite and come on in!” Her mother motions us inside with a bright grin.

Jenn’s look daggers me.

“Your mother asked. It would be rude to say no,” I say with a shrug.