Deliciously Damaged (Reckless Bastards MC 3)

They both broke into a fit of giggles. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the lights at the top, counting down the floors.

“All I know is he came tearing through reception and demanded to see Ms. Blair immediately. I should have let him know that if he needs some help…unwinding…I would be more than willing.”

They cackled together again, seemingly oblivious to the nauseated woman pressed into the back corner. The fact that any woman would spend their time fawning over that man seemed ridiculous to me. Sure, he was hot, but he was also arrogant, controlling, overbearing, unreasonable, spoiled, and just plain rude. And those are just the traits I had picked up on within the first few minutes of meeting him. I could only imagine what treasures awaited now that I was to be his personal designer for the rest of my stint at Spotlight. How had that even happened? I asked myself. I wasn’t even a designer. I threw out a little critique based on some high school photographer course, and suddenly I’m the best they have? What kind of company was this?

The doors opened as the elevator reached the lobby. All in a huff again, I pushed past the two gossip queens and raced ahead towards the front doors. I needed fresh air, sunshine, and a whole lot of space.

“Son of a bitch!” I exclaimed, stepping into the sunlight outside the shadow of the towering office building I had just escaped from.

Not twenty feet away, there he was. Mr. Brighton. He was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, speaking into his phone. I looked around and didn’t see Bryce anywhere. I decided to walk past, fast, and hope he was too absorbed in his conversation to notice me and I could sneak away and text Bryce to meet me at my car instead of out front.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it. That isn’t my job, it’s yours! I don’t have time to deal with the bullshit. Today has already been a complete cluster fuck. Send me a car, have this thing towed to your shop, fix it, and then have it sent back to my house.”

Yikes. Maybe those elevator girls had been right about the stick…

He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket. I pivoted and started to walk the other way but it was too late.

“Miss Rand?”

Shitballs.

“Yes, Mr. Brighton.”

“What are you doing down here?”

I bristled at his question. “I’m going to lunch if you must know. I didn’t figure you needed a text alert every time I left the office. But since you’re here, is that all right with you?” I asked, making sure to emphasize my sarcasm with a sickly sweet smile.

He returned the forced smile but his eyes were fierce and he bared his teeth in a way that sent a little chill up my spine.

“There is no need to report the insignificant portions of your day to me. I only care about the job and ensuring that it is done, and done right, in a timely manner. As long as that is done, you can go about your business as you see fit.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

We stood, squared off against each other and let our eyes wander down each other’s frames. It started out like two opponents in a boxing match, my five three against his six foot plus, his sharp angles and muscle in contrast to my soft, plentiful curves. His eyes shifted and darkened as he perused, offering no apology as they seemingly inspected every inch.

“Allie!”

We both snapped to attention at the interruption of Bryce’s cheerful voice.

“Oh! Uh, hello, Mr. Brighton. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I’ll be on my way soon. My car broke down so I am waiting for another to be delivered. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. We were just heading to lunch. Would you care to join us while you wait?” Bryce suggested.

My eyes popped open and flew to Bryce, silently demanding he stop immediately.

Mr. Brighton laughed, this time a hearty laugh. “I don’t think Miss Rand here would really appreciate that. But thank you for the invitation all the same.”

Bryce laughed nervously and gave me a slight elbow.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” I said, giving him a sharp elbow in return. “Or, if you would like, I could take a look at the car and see if I could help you out.”

Mr. Brighton arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow in my direction. “Really?”

I mentally face-palmed. Why, oh why did I open my mouth?

“Yeah. I have brothers. I know my way around an engine.”