Page 8 of Strictly Yours

His eyes narrow. “I don’t?—”

“She’s too ambitious or polite or brainwashed by this place to say it,” I cut in, stepping around the desk, “so I’ll say it for her.Whatever pace you’re setting around here? It’s too much. You’re gonna drive my sister into an early grave. Just a heads-up.Ifyou care.”

I walk right up to him, staring the six-foot monster down with zero fear. I swear, he actually leans back an inch.

That’s what’s got him so thrown. I’m not scared of him.

And that might be the most confusing thing that’s happened to Logan Strickland all year.

I offer a small, innocent smile. “It’s okay. Not everyone knows how to take care of people. You strike me more as a spreadsheets-and-profits-over-feelings type.”

“I’m not?—”

“You are,” I say, sweetly cutting him off again. “But hey, someone has got to pay for this stunning view and that ugly-ass gold-plated sign in the front. I get it. So what if your employees’ health is the trade-off, right? It’s all worth it for those sweet dolla dolla bills ya’ll.”

I swing the key around my index finger and then catch it in my fist.

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Cranky Pants. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an old diseased housecat to medicate.”

I give him an exaggerated smile, give him a wink because I know it will drive him crazy, grab my suitcase, and then head to the door.

Behind me, there’s nothing but stunned silence.

Poor Mr. Logan Strickland has no idea what just hit him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Logan

What the hell wasthat?

Seriously. My heart is pounding as I stare at the door with my jaw hanging open.

That woman…

Amber Fletcher.

She just left without looking back. She tossed a wink over her shoulder, like this is her office and I’m the one who was intruding.

I’ve never met anyone like her. She burst into my life with a suitcase, a smirk, and zero boundaries.

And it shook me to my core.

I start to get this twitchy, panicky feeling now that she’s gone. I need to see her again. I need those stunning hazel eyes back on me, judging me, goading me, demanding me to be better.

I want more of her sharp tongue. I want it to lash me—verballyandphysically.

I want her.

I’m rattled. Too rattled to think straight.

She got under my skin in less than five minutes.

No. She got into my bloodstream. Into my soul. I feel the obsession taking over like a drug—instant, addictive, and already coursing through my veins.

It’s been a long time since someone has talked to me like that.

Has challenged me like that.

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