Page 23 of Bishop's Queen

CHAPTER EIGHT

The plants took up half of the space in Ella’s car. Literally. That was how small her car was, and as Bishop stared at the contents of her ride in Titan’s parking lot, he wondered if anyone of his size had ever been in one of these tiny-ass cars. Forget that they were death traps; he wasn’t sure he could fit.

“All right, Muscles. In we go.”

Bishop’s arms crossed his chest. There were some lines that couldn’t be crossed. This was one of them. “No.”

Ella’s nose wrinkled as she dangled her key ring on her finger. “Get in. We had a deal.”

“I don’t think Icanget in.” Bishop stared at the Smart Car. His arm span could reach both sides, and without a doubt, he could toss the thing. She hadn’t been checking him out in the hallway; she’d been measuring him. “This thing’s a death trap. You have a better chance of someone smashing you to death on the Beltway than some angry anti-Ella hater finding you and smothering you with wheatgrass.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Well, no shit, Bishop. No death threats mentioned wheatgrass. Get in the car.”

“I’ll follow behind.”

“Get in.”

He dropped his head back, trying to regain his composure, then focused on her. “We can put your car in the bed of my truck.”

She smirked. “Very funny.”

“You can sit in the driver’s seat. Pretend you’re driving, and I’ll just drive us there. Yourherbswill be fine. Your car will get to where we need to go. Problem solved. Everyone will be happy.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

“There’s no fucking way I can fold myself into that car.”

Her pink lips pressed together, matching the irritation in her light-blue eyes. “I don’t think I like you very much, Bishop.”

“Lady, you don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to thank me. But each breath you get to take, that’s on me. My job is to apparently keep you alive since you’ve pissed offtree huggersto the point that they want to kill you.” He leaned into her space, throwing his arms out. “In what world does that happen?”

She ducked under his arm. “I’m done. You’re fired. This is ridiculous.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Bishop hooked her with an arm around her waist. For as short as she was, she hid some muscles under her hippie-hempy, flowy clothes. “You’re ten shades of off your rocker if you think I’m losing my dream gig over this. In you go.” He opened the driver’s door, deposited her inside, and semi-ignored how her lacy white skirt caught with the wind as he let her go. Her hands fought to smooth it into place as he slammed the door shut. Cursing every step on his way to the passenger seat, he shook his head. “Someone somewhere is making a YouTube video about this right now.”

And what the mother hell?Ella pulled her phone out and was talking into it before he reached his seat. He threw his door open. “What were you doing?”

“Vlogging. I told you; I’m documenting the process.”

“Right.” He reached for a button on the side of the car seat, and they listened to the tiny whir as the seat moved as far back as the car allowed.

Ella beamed. “I could put that on my blog too.”

With one eyebrow up, he silenced her amusement with a glare and forced his frame to fit into the little car. “Honest to God…”

A sly smile lit her face, and her giggle came back. Even his death glare didn’t silence her this time. “Honest to God, you fit.”

“I don’t,” he shot back.

“You’re in my car.”

“Barely.”

“The door shut.”

“Ella.” He dropped his voice, which wasn’t hard with his knees up to his chest.

“Yes?” she asked sweetly.

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