Page 23 of The Stranger

“She accosted me at the front door and wanted to know why there was a limousine parked out front. When I didn’t answer her, she grabbed my blouse … it ripped. No big deal.”

“It’s a big deal, Delilah. And Damien would’ve waited while you changed.”

“Into what? Hence why I put the jacket on.” I’m forced to look away again when I feel my face flush. “I will buy some more suitable clothes when I get paid.”

“That is the only outfit you own?”

“As in office attire?”

“Yes.” When I nod, he asks, “What did you wear at your last place of employment?”

“Scrubs.”

“I see,” he says, sitting back in his chair. He studies me for a moment and my humiliation grows. “I’ll advance you some money if you don’t have any.”

When he sits forward again and removes a chequebook from his top drawer, I hold out my hand, palm facing forward. “Please don’t.”

He pins me with another glare, and I hate how that look makes me feel all flustered inside. “Delilah.”

And don’t even get me started on the way he growls out my name. Gah. Am I suffering from a medical episode?

Disregarding all the weird feelings I’m experiencing, I lift my chin. “I’m not a charity case.”

“I’d hardly call offering you an advance on your wages charity, Miss St. James.”

“And as I said, I will buy some more suitable outfits when I get paid.”

“Do you realise that’s two weeks away? My company pays fortnightly.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Do you plan on wearing the same outfit until then?”

I slide the jacket back over my shoulder and refasten the buttons. “I’ll see if my father can lend me something until payday.”

Ignoring me, he picks up a pen and starts scribbling something on the cheque. When he’s done, he rips it from the booklet and holds it out to me. “Here.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

An incredibly sexy rumble permeates from the back of his throat, and I feel compelled to fan my face. Is it getting hot in here? I can’t even shed any layers to cool my overheated skin.

Damn you, Abigail.

“You said we had some paperwork to go over,” I say, retaking my seat as I continue to ignore his outstretched hand.

“You enjoy pressing my buttons, don’t you?”

“I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm.”

“I have work to do, as do you, I’m sure. This pointless back-and-forth is just a waste of both our times.”

He blows out another exasperated breath before dropping the cheque onto his desk and picking up the file in front of him. “I wanted to go over your employment contract with you.”

“Shouldn’t I be dealing directly with HR?”

“Typically, yes,” he says. “But since you have been so … fickle when it comes to your employment, I thought it best if we hash it out together, so hopefully we’ll both know where we stand by the end.”