Page 67 of Boss of Me

I swallow thickly, quivering so hard my knees knock together. “Let me go, Mr. Ransom.”

“So it’s Mr. Ransom now?” he taunts.

I shove his chest with both hands and he steps back, his eyes skimming over my body, marking me as his.

“You don’t want Dawson,” he says in a low voice. “You didn’t want him the night we met, and you sure as hell don’t want him now. The sooner you stop wasting your time and his, the better off you’ll be.”

Having absolutely no comeback, I stomp past him, and this time he lets me go.

Chapter Fifteen

gunner

Istalk back into the sittingroom, fists knotted at my sides.

My mother’s face is the picture of innocence. “Was it something I said?”

“Cut the bullshit,” I snarl. “You were way out of line.”

“I’mout of line?You’rethe one sleeping with your maid!”

“That’s none of your fucking business!”

She recoils in shock, staring up at me as if she’s never seen me before. “What on earth has gotten into you?”

Clenching my jaw, I drop heavily into an armchair and rake both hands through my hair.

My mother studies me, her eyes narrowed and assessing.

“What?” I bite out.

“When you were growing up, it always bothered you that I called our servants the help. But that’s what they were, darling. Hired workers are the help, and I’m sorry if that offends your virtuous sensibilities.”

I frown at her. “What’s your point?”

“I couldn’t help overhearing your argument with your maid. You told her, rather vociferously, that she’s not the help.” An elegant eyebrow arches at me. “If she’s not the help, whatisshe to you?”

I glare at her without responding.

“Dear heavens,” she says with a look of scandalized dismay. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming infatuated with that little girl?”

Something snags in my chest. Something jagged and raw that I’d rather not explore. “Stay out of this.”

Mom lets out a caustic laugh and shakes her head at me. “Oh, dear. Falling for an employee? How very Ransom of you.”

Even before the divorce, she turned Dad’s last name into a slur. Every bad thing Maverick and I did was blamed on our “wretched” Ransom blood.

“If your father?—”

“Don’t start,” I growl warningly. “Don’t fucking start.”

She huffs indignantly. “You’re behaving like an absolute barbarian this morning. Maybe I should go stay with your brother.”

“No one’s stopping you. There’s the door.”

A look of hurt blooms in her eyes. Even though I know I’m being manipulated, guilt makes me relent after a few moments.

“You don’t have to leave,” I grumble darkly.