Page 42

He’s so presumptuous. I want to take my bat out right away, but I release a stabilizing breath and keep the smile fixed. Swaying my hips a bit more, I approach him. “You realize it’s illegal to tow someone’s car without permission?”
“And do you realize, Miss Hayes,” he tilts his head to the side, “that your car broke several Motor Vehicle Safety Standards, starting with excessive automobile exhaust and ending with a missing first aid kit.”
“Who keeps a first aid kit in their car?”
“Your car was not towed illegally. Everything was above board. I don’t make the rules.”
“You just benefit from them.”
Bolton leans down, his eyes two swirling pools with pinpricks of silver. “I did you a favor. The car needed to go.”
My nostrils flare.
My eyes start bugging.
Who the hell does he think he is?
My voice is strained from the effort I’m making not to explode. “You could have had a conversation—”
“Who did the car belong to? Before you, I mean.”
The words choke in my throat.
“You own and run a successful franchise. You’re a high-valued customer at the bank. You have more than enough free cash to pay for an upgraded vehicle. Instead, you chose that trash on wheels.”
My eyebrows tighten.
“I deduced that it must have some sentimental value. So I checked your grandparents’ records. They never owned a title to the car. It wasn’t present in any of their photographs online either. They seem to prefer RVs.”
My jaw drops. “Did you stalk my grandparents?”
“I did a quick investigation.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Before you, the car was registered to a Hermes Watson.”
My face goes pale.Taz’s father.
“Does that name mean something to you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
One corner of his lips tilts up. “I see. An old boyfriend.”
“This line of questioning is very inappropriate.” I whip a hand through the air to indicate he should stop. “All I want is for you to quit sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Can you do that?”
He scrubs his chin. “I might be convinced if you tell me the story.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation for any of the decisions I make in my life.”
“Are you uncomfortable with the topic or with the feelings attached?” He surveys me with a nonchalance that sets my teeth on edge. “Then the car must belong to an old lover. Or not so old perhaps? Someone you’re still talking to?”
My breath starts getting heavier and heavier.
He keeps going.
Smug. Cocky. Bastard.
“I’ve seen many women like you, Miss Hayes. You hold on to a scorned love so tightly that bitterness and regret become your entire personality. You’re stuck in a place of what ifs and the person who’s taking up space in your mind? He’s moved on. He’s happy. He doesn’t give a thought about—”
“Shut up.”