Page 82 of Pretty Little Threats

“It’s fine,” she says through gritted teeth, her bleach blonde hair practically twitching in annoyance.

I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”

“Briana,” Dare says, as if he is the reason her entire day has been ruined.

“Dare is giving you the office back. I’ll have my things out in ten minutes.” I glance at Dare. “Now, apologize.”

Briana’s red mouth drops open in shock. Apparently, no one here is brave enough to try and tell Dare what to do.

Dare simply smiles at me, like he’s indulging a child. “I’m sorry, Briana.”

“Don’t look at me. Look at her and say it like you mean it.”

He bites back a laugh, but when he glances at Briana, sincerity takes over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to offend the Miller heiress.”

Briana gasps. “You’re Rosalynn Miller?”

I wait for Dare to correct her on the last name, but he doesn’t. Hasn’t he been insisting that I’m a Richardson now? What’s changed? A frown works its way across my face. “I prefer Rose,” I tell her, trying not to care that Dare isn’t claiming me as his wife. “I’ll gather my things.”

Dare surprises me by helping, but instead of taking my things to the cubicle, he carries them into his office, setting the box on the large meeting table before going back for my computer and monitor. I scowl after him.

If I were married to someone who swore they’d take me down, I’d never leave them in my office. Then again, the few seconds he’s gone is hardly enough time for me to get into trouble.

Crossing my arms, I watch as he sets everything down and drops to the floor to plug things in. “You look so pretty on your knees,” I taunt.

He gives me a wicked grin. “Be a good girl, and maybe I’ll eat you out after everyone goes home.”

My core clenches. “Not going to happen.”

The scarred eyebrow arches in protest. Once the computer is set up, Dare says, “Now can we eat?”

“I never agreed to lunch.”

“No, but you’re hungry and I’m buying.”

“I can pay for my own food.”

Dare’s eyebrows jump. “Are you trying to kill chivalry?”

“I thought it was already dead.”

“In that case, come to lunch with me, or I’ll call the cops.”

My mouth drops open.

He laughs. “Relax, princess. Your secret is safe with me. Stop being difficult and let me feed you.”

I eye him. “Why are you being nice?”

“Would you prefer it if I were mean?”

“No,” I admit. “What are you up to?”

“Is it so hard to believe I would want to take care of my wife?”

“Why are you hiding our marriage from your employees?”

“Why do you want them to know?” he challenges.

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