Page 22 of Selfish Suit

“That’s not an option.” I lean in and pull the keys out of the ignition, keeping my eyes on hers. Then I slide my hand under her thighs—slowly, deliberately—and lift her out of the seat.

Her skin is warm, impossibly soft. She sucks in a breath as my fingers graze just high enough to make her pulse stutter.

I take my time setting her down on the concrete.

“You’re going to step away from this car,” I say, my voice firm, “and then you’re going to follow me to my car, where I’ll take you home. But since you clearly need to feel like you have a choice—you can walk, or I can carry you.”

I pause. Let my voice drop lower.

“If you pick the latter, Miss Locke… I won’t be putting you down anytime soon.”

Her cheeks flush red. “I’ll walk.”

“Thank you.”

THE INTERN

IVY

The interior of Mr. Sutton’s car looks as if it’s never been touched. The wood grain wraps around his digital dashboard, thinning out to the side panels and dissolving into custom dark blue carpet that covers his floors.

It’s so clean that I’m scared to leave a fingerprint.

Keeping my gaze forward, I try to focus on the road ahead and not the way the seat hugs my back. The faint scent of cedar and spice coming off his skin. The slow, effortless way he weaves through traffic like Manhattan bends for him.

“You’re not going to ask me where I live?” I say eventually.

“Why would I?” He glances over at me with a smirk. “I have your employee file. Remember?”

Right.My cheeks warm as I turn back to the window.

“Are you still delivering for Uber on the side?” he asks as we approach a red light.

“No, but it’s not by choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some customer personally called the CEO and said that I had a non-compete in my employment contract.”

“That customer was simply looking out for everyone else who expects good food delivery service.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help biting back a smile.

We fall into silence, but it’s not as awkward.

For now.

He makes a brief stop at a cafe and buys me a to-go dinner, and I devour every morsel in appreciation.

When we cross into my part of Brooklyn, my stomach begins to knot. The view of my neighborhood from his custom-tinted windows looks completely different than it does from my car.

“You know what?” I spot one of my neighbors who I owe twenty bucks to. “Instead of dropping me off at home, just pull over at the bodega at the corner. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“What?” He glances over at me. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I need to get some food for dinner.”

“We just ate dinner…”

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