Page 6 of Handsome Devil
“I am not crazy; my reality is just different from yours.”
Thierry winced. “I’m sorry, Gia.”
She reached to pat his shoulder, a regal smile painting those luscious lips. “Please, Thierry. I’ll hear none of that. It’s not your fault.”
“Did you get something nice for your birthday?” he sniffled.
“A few hours without my boss,” she provided cheerfully. “Oh, and I got your flowers too. Cheers for that.”
“Of course,” he spluttered. “After you managed to help Annette with that insurance claim, it’s the least we could do for you.”
Ah yes. I almost forgot.
Gia Bennett’s ice thawed when it came to other people.
Unless those people were me.
“How old are you anyway?” Tate impaled the silence that grew and pulsated between us like a quiet, hulking beast.
Electricity raced through me at the sudden sound of his voice.
Low. Rough. Raspy.
I’d always harbored a slight, uninhibited infatuation with my boss, against my better judgment.
He reminded me of the Smiths’ song “Handsome Devil.” For every time I walked into a scholarly room with him, I wondered who would swallow whom whole.
He swallows you every time.Leaving no crumbs behind.
I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth without screaming. He tore me away from my birthday party because of afilingmishap. This could have waited until tomorrow. I always worked on weekends anyway.
“Twenty-six,” I managed to retort calmly, staring straight ahead at the back of Thierry’s seat as the Rover weaved through the dusky streets of London. I graduated young from college, as I skipped a grade in secondary school.
“You don’t smoke.” Tate skipped to another subject, eyes still trained on his book.
He’d been readingAlice’s Adventures in Wonderlandsince I started working for him. Either he was the slowest reader on earth, or he had an unhealthy fascination with the story.
Also, who on earth was he kidding? No one could read in the pitch black.
Anyway, it wasn’t a question, so I did not respond.
“Why did you take the cigarette he offered you?” Tate slammed the softcover shut, refusing to drop the subject.
“Sometimes I socially smoke,” I responded finally. “Not that it’s any of your bloody business.”
“And that boyfriend of yours, he lives here?” he poked bluntly.
A few years ago, I’d be astonished by my boss’s arrogant breach of privacy.
Now, I had become desensitized to his antics. If I didn’t answer him, someone else would.
Tatum Blackthorn always got what he wanted and made sure to leave a string of casualties behind.
“Yes, Ashley lives here in London,” I ground out.
“Shame we’re returning to New York on Monday.” He sounded quite chirpy.
My boss wasn’t usually a mercurial creature, but he did love seeing me suffer.
