Not Sorry

“You can wear mine,” I say, shrugging mine off and handing it to her.

She frowns as she takes my coat from me. “What’s wrong with my coat?”

“If you have to ask, you’ll never understand what’s wrong with your coat.”

“You owe me a new coat.”

“Fine. I’ll have my assistant send a new coat to your place in the morning.”

“Aren’t I your assistant? So, doesn’t that mean I will be buying myself a coat?” she asks.

I sigh. “You aren’t my only assistant, Olive.”

She frowns. “But I like my puffy coat. I don’t need a new coat.”

I frown. “If you want the manager job, you’re going to have to start dressing like a manager, and that means, no puffy coats.”

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I start walking toward the elevator, resisting the urge to grab her hand because I know it would be inappropriate. But I do manage to place my hand on the small of her back as I lead her into the elevator. I do get close enough to smell the pretty apples and cherry scent oozing off her frizzy hair. I need to remember to get her a salon appointment. I know that alone would do wonders for her confidence even though I do like her untamed hair a bit.

“Should I get an Uber?” Olive asks as we ride down in the elevator.

“No.”

“No?” Olive asks, cocking her head to the side to look at me.

“I leased a car since I’m going to be here for months.”

“Oh.”

The doors open, and I can’t handle it anymore. I grab her hand and pull her hard out of the elevator. “Come on,” I say impatiently, giving her a reason for why I am holding her hand that has nothing to do with how badly I need to touch her.

I lead her down the hallway and out to the parking garage where my Audi S4 is parked. I reach into my pocket and pull out my keys to unlock the car. I walk her to the passenger side and open the door without thinking.

Olive looks up at me, wide-eyed, as I help her into my car. I try to look annoyed, like the reason for me helping her is because I don’t think she is capable of quickly getting into the car by herself. Her wide-eyed expression quickly turns into an annoyed frown.

I smirk as I run around to the driver’s side. She really doesn’t think that I’m into her at all. And I’m going to keep it that way. If she thinks I want her, then I’m giving up some of the control to her. And I hate doing that. I’d rather her come to me. I want her begging, willing to do anything, because she needs me so badly. And, until she gets to that point, I’ll keep my hands off of her.

I drive quickly out of the parking spot. The tires squeak against the pavement as I turn too fast around the corner of the parking garage. Olive sucks in a breath and grabs hold of the door handle. Her eyes stay open wide as I whip out onto the street. But she doesn’t ask me to slow down. She doesn’t say anything. It’s like, in the last couple of hours since her interview, she has reverted back to the unconfident, quiet woman she was before.

I smirk. We will see how long she can last without getting that confident, sassy mouth back. I press my foot down harder on the gas. We speed up, flying past cars at a speed that I know is far past her comfort level.

She still doesn’t say anything though. Instead, her grasp on the door handle gets tighter. She squeezes her eyes shut as I speed up faster to zip around another car, barely squeezing in front of the car as I switch lanes.

I frown, determined to break her. I slow down, pausing at a stoplight, allowing her to catch her breath for just a second. Her eyes slowly open, and her grip on the door handle loosens.

“Have you been to Alinea before?” I ask.

Olive looks at me with wide eyes, but I can’t keep my eyes focused on hers. Instead, I move them to her chest that is rising and falling hard as she breathes heavily, giving me a great view of her breasts as they poke in and out of the blouse she is wearing.

“No. Is that where we are going? That place is really expensive,” Olive says.

I grin. “Good thing I make a lot of money then,” I say as the light turns green.

I whip around the corner, and she tries to grab hold of the door handle again, but I caught her off guard, so she can’t. I can feel the panic oozing off her body as I drive.

Still, I keep driving faster. Not because I love it—although I do like driving fast, like any other warm-blooded male does—but because I need her to tell me