Page 74 of Positively Pricked

Chapter 25

"You're late," he said.

He was right. I was. But it wasn't entirely my fault. Paisley, who I'd barely seen over the past few weeks, had parked behind me in the driveway sometime in the middle of the night, and then, she'd caused a giant stink this morning when I woke her up to ask her to move her car.

And of course, she'd taken her own sweet time.

As a result, here I was, fifteen minutes late for my very first day on the job.Damn it.I had to say it. "I’m sorry." The words stuck in my throat like a giant chicken bone, even as I promised, "It won't happen again."

His eyebrows lifted. "You sure about that?"

"Yes. Definitely." It wasn't even a lie. From now on, I decided, I'd park on the street, if that's what it took.

I hated feeling rushed, and here I was, nearly breathless after practically sprinting from the elevator to the executive suite. I'd arrived only thirty seconds ago, and still had no idea where my own desk was, assuming that I had a desk at all. Unfortunately, I'd had no time to ask before I'd been hustled straight into Zane's office, where he'd been waiting behind that huge desk of his.

Unlike me,hedidn't look rushed or harried. No. He looked like a million – wait, make that abillion– bucks. His suit was cut perfectly to his broad shoulders, and his tie was dark gray with subtle flecks of red – probably to match his devil horns.

Oh, I couldn't see them. But Iknewthey were there.

He stood. "There's a breakfast meeting in five."

I was still catching my breath. "Five minutes?"

He gave me a look. "What do you think?"

I gave him a look right back. Of course, ithadto be minutes. After all, in fivehours, it would be mid-afternoon. My question had been mostly rhetorical. But seriously, did he have to be such a jerk, even about such a little thing?

Then again, this was Zane Bennington.

I gave him my sweetest smile. "Oh. So it's in fivedays."

He didn't smile back.

Stubbornly, I kept my smile plastered in place. "Or maybe, it's weeks."

He still wasn't smiling, but I was getting pretty used to it. I added, "You strike me as a planner."

This wasn't quite true. In reality, this buttoned-down billionaire seemed like a different guy than the one I'd met during our earlier encounters.

I wasn't even sure why I was tweaking him. It was beyond stupid, and yet, whether it was due to nerves, or because he had it coming, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

He said, "It's five minutes. And you're coming with me."

Suddenly, I wasn't smiling anymore. Already, I'd gotten attached to the idea that he'd be rushing off to a breakfast meeting, andI'dhave the chance to pull myself together.

No such luck.

On top of that, breakfast wasn't sounding so great. I'd had coffee in the car, and eventhatwasn't sitting right. The idea of any food whatsoever made me feel just a little bit queasy – partly because of nerves and partly because last night, I'd found another bottle of merlot, this one hidden in the back of the linen closet.

One sip led to another, and here I was, dreading the idea of breakfast. Still, I wasn't completely stupid. EvenIrealized that breakfast meetings usually had very little to do with the actual food.

I tried for another smile. "Great. Where's the meeting?"

"Here."

I glanced around. "In your office?"

"No. In the restaurant downstairs."