Page 56 of I'm Your Guy
I sigh.
“Before tonight, did you ever get that vibe off him?” Rigo asks.
That’s the twenty-thousand-dollar question. “I thought I did, once or twice. But I also thought it might be wishful thinking.”
Be careful what you wish for. I’d thrown myself at that man, and I might have cost myself the best job I’ve had all year.
“Look,” Rigo says, punching the stop button on his treadmill. “I like him, too. But if he panicked, that’s not a good sign.”
“I know,” I groan. “I hope he doesn’t fire me.”
Rigo cringes. “Don’t let it fester. Let him calm down overnight, then tomorrow you could clear the air.”
“That’s good advice,” I say, stepping off the treadmill. “I can own my part in this.” After all, an hour ago I was grinding against him. It’s not the first time in my life I chose sex over caution. But it ought to be the last. “I can save our working relationship. I can be calm and professional.”
“I know you can,” Rigo says soothingly. “It might be okay.”
“It will,” I insist. “I’ll be the most professional designer in the metro area.”
“Starting tomorrow, though. I’m going to get you drunk first.”
“Oh good,” I say quickly. “I accept.”
Things are looking better already.
* * *
My improved mood lasts about twelve hours, but in the morning, two things happen to test my new cool, professional demeanor.
The first is that I wake up so sore that I can barely hobble around Rigo’s tiny apartment.
The second is that Tommaso DiCosta deposits twelve thousand dollars into my bank account. That’s the entire payout for the rest of my work for him, per our contract. And I nearly lose my mind.
There’s nobody around to listen to my rant except Walter, Rigo’s cat. “Oh no he doesn’t!” I hiss at Walter. “The man is trying to fire me over a kiss that he initiated?”
The cat looks at me disdainfully.
“Fine, that part is still blurry. But isn’t he even going to give me a chance to explain myself? Or apologize? That’s ridiculous. It’s cruel, is what it is.”
The cat doesn’t seem to care, so I do the only reasonable thing. I get dressed in my tightest jeans and my best gingham dress shirt—the blue one—and then I drive over to Tommaso’s house and bang on the door.
I wait. It’s a lot like my first visit here. I’m wondering whether he’ll answer the door, and I’m also wondering if he’ll be a dick if or when he does answer it.
This time, I don’t peer through the window. I don’t want to see the abs of glory. I’m going to stay in my lane. I’ll be a professional even if it kills me.
Just when I think he’s going to blow me off, the door opens, and there he is, filling the doorway with his sexy, broad shoulders and his glowering face. Although today his expression is more of a sheepish glower.
I match it with my own grumpy face. “Are you going to invite me in?”
After a brief hesitation, he opens the door wider and steps back.
I stride into the room and start right in. “Are you firing me?” I demand. “Did you pay me out so you didn’t have to see me again?”
“No,” he says with a deep frown. “I paid you out so that you wouldn’t have to come back and work for the guy who—” He snaps his jaws shut.
“—kissed the hell out of me?” I fling my arms wide. “Can’t you even say it?”
“That’s only one way to put it,” he growls. “I restrained you. It was practically a hostage situation.”
