Page 36 of Anti-Hero

I lift one eyebrow. “Not the rave review you gave Perry.”

Collins raises one back. “Whatis your issue with Perry?”

“He and Flynn don’t get along.”

“Because of something Perry did?” She asks the question like she already knows the answer, and it chafes. It means Perry told her the full story.

“No.”

She nods and looks back down at the legal pad. “We’re, uh, getting drinks on Friday night.”

The hits you don’t expect always land the hardest.

I’ve been jealous every single time I’ve seen Collins Tate with another man. But this packs an extra punch. Because I’ve had her—I had her—and now she’s going out with someone else. And unless I fire her or quit, there’s not a thing I can do about it.

So, I shove the jealousy deep down and cover it with my usual flippancy. “Better caffeinate beforehand so you don’t fall asleep during the date.”

Collins flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “The fact that you sign my paychecks now doesnotmean you get a say in my choice of company.”

It’s fucked up, but it feels damn good to hear her haughty tone aimed my way again.

I missed goading her. But more than that, I missed her firing back. Arguing with Collins is like swallowing a straight shot of whiskey after drinking a watered-down version. An immediate, shocking difference.

“Signing your paycheck iswaybelow my pay grade,” I drawl.

Her eyes flash as she tosses the pad on my desk, ruffling every neat stack. “And advising you on pitches is above mine. I’m only yourassistantafter all. Good night.”

Her farewell sounds like more of afuck you. And honestly, I deserve one.

I blow out a long breath as Collins stands and stalks out of my office. Wince when the door slams shut. According to the clock on my computer, it’s just after seven.

She stayed two hours late, helped me with my pitch, and I behaved like an asshole because I’m frustrated, immature, and jealous.

I shrug on my suit jacket, jam the legal pad in my briefcase, and rush toward the door.

Collins is still at her desk when I approach it, attempting to shove a water bottle into what’s already an overstuffed tote. Predictably, she’s careful not to look up as I walk closer. The cold shoulder is a classic for a reason.

“I’m sorry, Collins.”

“About what?” she wonders in a detached, disinterested tone.

“About acting like a jerk just now.”

“You were acting?”

A reluctant grin tugs at my mouth. I’m pissed—genuinely angry—that she’s going on a date with Perry. Emotions aren’t logical, so knowing I have no right to be mad doesn’t help at all. But she still makes me smile.

“Thank you for staying late to finish the notes. And for your advice about the pitch.”

Collins glances at me. She stares for a few seconds, and I can’t get any read on what she’s thinking.

Eventually, she nods. “Apology accepted. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She gives up on the water bottle, tucking it under one arm as she hikes her heavy bag off her desk and onto her shoulder.

“Let me drive you home,” I offer impulsively.

“You mean, let your driver drive me home?”

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