Page 25 of Boss of Me

“Well?” Quinn presses eagerly. “What do you say?”

I roll my lips together. “I’ll think about it.”

When hell freezes over.

by the end of the week, a frozen hell is looking more and more plausible.

My rent is due next week, and my final paycheck won’t cover the full amount. I’ve applied for several jobs in my field, but their closing dates are weeks away and time is a luxury I can’t afford. It took me nearly a month to find a job when I moved here. There’s no guarantee I’ll be so lucky a second time.

I spend Friday morning scouring internet job sites. After several hours, I’m feeling a little stir crazy. I need some fresh air and a change of scenery. So I throw on some jogging shorts, lace up my sneakers and go for a run to clear my head.

I moved close to the university so I’d have an easy commute to school. My apartment complex isn’t as nice as some of the newer ones built in recent years. But the rent is affordable, which is all that mattered to me when I relocated with six thousand dollars in my checking account. The bulk of that money had been given to me as graduation gifts. The rest I’d managed to save from my housekeeping job. All that’s left is two hundred bucks and some change.

I push the depressing thought aside as I hit the jogging trail, the soles of my sneakers slapping against the sun-baked pavement. I’ve barely worked up a good sweat when my phone rings through my earbuds, interrupting the Billie Eilish song I was listening to.

I slow down and pull the phone out of my pocket. I don’t recognize the number on the screen. Maybe it’s an employer calling to set up an interview.

I remove my earbuds and eagerly hit the answer button. “Hello?”

“You sound out of breath,” a deep voice murmurs.

My heart thumps against my ribs. I should have known I hadn’t heard the last of him.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“There’s never a good time for you to call, creep.”

His low chuckle rumbles through me, heating my insides.

I scowl, swiping at a flyaway strand of hair as I stalk over to a shaded wooden bench and plop down. “What do you want?”

“Did you get the roses?”

“Yes,” I grumble.

“That’s good,” he murmurs. “The color reminded me of escaping flames. Scorching, brilliant, combustible. I thought they suited you perfectly.”

I try my hardest not to smile at his words.

“Did you like them?” he asks softly.

“Sure,” I say with a bitchy smirk. “I liked them so much I couldn’t wait to toss them in the trash.”

“Touché.” There’s an unmistakable grin in his voice. He knows as well as I do that I kept the damn flowers.

“What do you want?” I repeat grumpily.

“Why didn’t you tell me you lost your job?”

I narrow my eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I called your references. Your former employers spoke highly of you. Barbara, in particular, couldn’t sing your praises enough. She deeply regretted having to let you go.”

I frown. “Why did you call my references? I told you I’m not taking the job.”

Another infuriatingly sexy chuckle caresses my ear. “I thought I’d give you a few days to reconsider.”

“I haven’t reconsidered,” I snap. “I’m not interested in working for you.”