Page 37 of The Boss Situation

“I am,” he argues, then looks back at the girl behind the counter. “I am.”

“Absolutely not,” I argue, ready to tap to pay.

“Lady, let him buy you the whole damn store. You’re holding up everyone,” a guy rudely says behind me.

Banks smirks. “Everyone agrees. Now, please order your double shot of espresso that you drink every single day.”

I glare at him, then huff. “I’ll have a double shot,” I say.

As he pays, I move to the end of the counter to wait for my coffee. He’s the last man on earth I wanted to see this morning. Seconds later, Banks stands beside me.

“Why are you so close?” I ask, meeting his eyes.

“Because it makes you squirm.”

“You’re right. That’s what happens when a pest moves into your personal space.”

His eyes slide from mine down to my mouth. I hate how sexy he looks as he eye-fucks me from top to bottom.

“Take a picture; it will last longer,” I say.

“You’re absolutely right.Great idea,” he says, pulling out his phone.

He leans in and snaps a photo of me and him together. He’s smiling wide, and I’m looking at him, confused.

I reach for his phone. “Delete that right away.”

“No way, Ice Queen. Putting this on my Instagram now that everyone is matching us.”

“You think I did that?” I growl out. “I didn’t.”

A guy scoots past us and bumps us closer together. His hands are on me, steadying me. I look up into his eyes.

“You should really stop fucking looking at me like that,” he mutters.

“Like what?” I hiss. “You’re imagining things.”

His brows crease. “You’re in denial.”

“Of what?” I whisper.

“I don’t trust you,” he snaps. “I never will.”

“Black coffee and double espresso for Mr. and Mrs. Banks.”

He huffs and grabs his cup, and I reach for mine.

I lean over the counter and meet the barista’s eyes. “We arenotmarried. That’s not funny.”

Banks walks away, thankfully, and I wait a minute before I step outside. To my surprise, he’s patiently waiting for me. So are the paparazzi.

“You called your friends to join us,” he says, pointing toward them. “Funny they weren’t here when I arrived. They’re followingyou. I wonder why.”

“This narrative about being with you is the last thing I’d ever want. It’s what my nightmares are made from.” My heels click across the sidewalk as I remove the lid from the cup.

A few seconds later, he’s walking beside me. I stop walking, and so does he. We stand in front of one another, and our eyes meet.

“What do you want?” I whisper-hiss, studying him.

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