Page 60 of Loathing My Boss
Smiling, I do not reply.
She drops her “smile” and averts her eyes. Scowling at length, she moves to get under the covers and puts her back toward me. “You’re stupid. Goodnight.”
It’s nice to see that her more subtle insults have turned blatant. Direct abuse makes my heart pound.
I pick up the throw blanket and a pillow from the purity pile on my way to the door. “Goodnight, sweet pea.”
She bristles, lifting herself just enough to look at me when I turn the knob. “Where are you going?”
“You don’t feel safe sharing a bed anymore. I’ll sleep in my car.”
She slips from the sheets, bare feet hitting the floor. “I forgot I was supposed to be sleeping in the car. Go to bed. I’ve put you through enough misery.”
“Where are your keys?” I ask.
She looks down at her pajamas. Which do not appear to have room for pockets. Then she turns her attention toward her desk, and her purse. “Right. Keys.”
I block the exit when she returns to it with her purse. “You are not inspiring confidence.”
“Inspiring confidence in what?”
“The assurance you’ll remember to lock your car before someone sees you sleeping soundly inside and steals you.”
Her eyes roll. “I’ll just drive home then, sleep with my Potato, and be back in the morning.”
I turn my attention down to her bare feet. “Shoes?”
She huffs, marches, and shoves shoes on her feet. “You’re annoying when you’re trying to prove you love someone.”
“It doesn’t bode well for me if my love annoys you.” Once she seems ready, I open the door for her. Then I follow her out.
“Iknowyou’re not walking me to my car right now, Viktor,” she snaps.
I hum, doing everything in my power to keep from watching her hips sway. They are especially energetic when she’s upset. Given our previous working relationship, I’ve gotten precious little time to adore her when she’s angry. I love it. So much. “You’re right. I’m not walking you to your car. I’m walking to mine. So I can follow you home and make sure you get there safely.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, and her nose wrinkles, fury blazing. “You’d unnecessarily burn up the ozone layer extra with your exhaust’s carbon footprint for my sake? That’ssooromantic. Except for the part where Ialsohappen to live on this planet, so, really, you’re trying to assassinate me.”
“Don’t be silly, sweet pea. Assassinations happen in Kentucky.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It was in a book I read once.”
Once we reach the car lot, she stalls beside me and my vehicle, staring across the lanes toward hers. “Why are you calling mesweet pea?”
“Potato’s a pea puffer. You love your fish. You’ve expressed a desire to possess a puffer’s beak. That you’ve yet to bite me makes you sweet.”
Her muscles sag as she regards me. “I should use Canva Whiteboard to document the flowchart of your thought process just now.”
“Do. I’d love to frame it.”
Soft, unbidden, reluctant, a smile touches her lips.
Then she heads toward my passenger seat and says, “I have a guest bedroom. I furnished it because you pay well and having a furnished guest bedroom makes me feel like a proper adult. Also, I’m too tired to drive.”
Lifting my key fob, I unlock her door, and we start the quiet ride to her home.
Chapter 21
