Page 27 of The Bachelor Auction

“And your approach is that one magic step?” I can almost hear the laughter in his voice.

There, he’s making fun of me.

I jut out my chin, holding his gaze. I don’t know why I even bother with him.

“I actually think so, but you wouldn’t know even if it came up and bit you on the ass.” I bite my tongue hard, but it’s too late. The words are already out and can’t be taken back. He’s going to fire me for sure. I just know it. There’s no way he’s not taking offense.

I regard him, searching his expression for signs that he’s angry. But all I see is amusement.

I lick my lips, unsure what to make of him. He isn’t happy with my work. Fair enough, given that he’s the employer. But I won’t let him reprimand me when it’s his inability to delegate the work or listen to anything I have to say that’s hindering my progress.

“Give me a few days, without any interruptions, without butting in all the time, and we’ll see what I can do for you. If you’re still not happy with the results, you can fire me.”

His eyes narrow on me. “You’re willing to insult me and consequently lose your job because you believe in your ideas that much?”

I suck in my breath before I reply. “Yes, I am because I know they’ll work. The data says so. And I’m sorry that I insulted you. Now if you want to fire me, then please go ahead and do it.”

“Who said anything about firing?” His lips jerk at the corners before they break into a smile. “I’m not going to get rid of you just because you’re not afraid to speak up. Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

“You mean—” My voice breaks off as my pulse speeds up a little.

“Don’t get your hopes up. We’re not calling it a night.” He smirks as though I’m not the one who’s always working this late, staying overtime and working my ass off to please him.

“I wasn’t suggesting—” I watch him grabbing his jacket. “Where are we going?”

“The lights in here are killing me,” he says with a shrug.

“Your office?” I suggest.

“We’re going to my place. Get dinner first, and then we’ll see.”

See about what?

“Oh.” I stare at him, at a loss for words. His place doesn’t sound professional at all. Or maybe he’s really just hungry and wants to get a bite while discussing how to proceed with the website based on the focus group results.

Tyler gets up and grabs his cell phone, then motions at me impatiently. I almost trip over my own two feet as I hurry to get my stuff.

“Leave it. You won’t need it,” Tyler says.

“But you said—” My voice breaks off and I clamp my mouth shut at his look.

He leads me to the underground parking garage where his black, very expensive sedan is waiting for us. I throw a sideways glance at the uniformed driver and can’t help but wonder whether Tyler called him to pick us up or whether my boss is always working this late. Maybe I’m not the last person to leave the building every night.

Then again, you can’t become one of the most influential people in the world if you don’t work your ass off around the clock.

“Same as usual, sir?” the driver asks.

Tyler nods his head and helps me into the backseat, then joins me.

The car’s spacious but not as large as I would prefer it to be. I can feel his proximity all around me. I can smell the faint scent of his aftershave. I can almost feel the warmth of his body, wrapping around me. I’m lightheaded and I know it’s not the lack of food that robs me of my wish to keep our relationship limited to a professional level.

We remain silent during the short drive. Keeping my gaze averted from him, I try to focus on the moving blur of illuminated skyscrapers, but my senses remain heightened and focused on the man sitting beside me.

I can feel his gaze on me a moment before I turn to look at him.

Seconds pass by as I stare into his eyes, mesmerized.

In the darkness around us, his irises are a vivid shade of sky blue.

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