Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

I got nailed in the head by a giant handbag. Stunned, I shook my head to clear it.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry!”

The woman’s handbag was the size of Texas and without question had to contain bricks because it was like taking a boxing bag to the temple.

“No problem,” I said, rising to my feet slowly and straightening my suit jacket. I wasn’t about to admit it hurt like a motherfucker. Leah had been taken out by a cab. I could handle a Midwestern woman’s purse.

Given the thoughts I’d been having, it was a timely interruption.

Leah pursed her lips. “Grant, are you sure you’re okay?”

Drowning in lust, but otherwise okay. “Worry about you, not me. Let’s get you home.”

“My manager didn’t say I could go.”

“You’re leaving.” She wasn’t working on a sprained ankle because she’d been chasing me down. Hell no.

I found the manager at the host stand and repeated that Leah needed to leave. “If not, I’m going to strongly advise to her that she file worker’s compensation.”

“She ran into the street, that’s not my problem!” He looked put out.

“I forgot something on the counter, so it is your problem. She was acting in her capacity as waitress, tending to a customer. Besides, look at her ankle. It’s already double the normal size. Would you be able to wait tables like that?”

“Well…” The look he gave indicated he was considering that question and concluding his answer would be no. Exactly.

I pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “She’ll need the next three days off unless the doctor orders more. Call me or my attorney if you have any questions.”

He stared at me for a second than just said, “Fine, whatever. Get her out of here.”

When I helped her off the stool and to the door, she waved at her manager. “It was an accident, Lou, I swear! I’ll get someone to cover my next few shifts. You’re the best!” She blew him a kiss.

He grumbled. “Yeah, yeah. Get better soon, kid.”

When we got to the sidewalk, I pulled out my phone. She was leaning heavily on me as she limped so I wrapped my arm around her.

“You’re kind of heavy-handed, Grant. You know that, right?” She didn’t look annoyed. More amused.

“I prefer to call it taking charge in a crisis.”

Leah gave a small burst of laughter. “And I do appreciate it. I would be the idiot who would insist I was fine and walk around on a busted ankle all day. I’m my own worst enemy.”

The look she was giving me went straight to my cock. Her words floated through my head again—“the hottest thing ever.” I thought about all the times she had teased me with sexual innuendos over the last few months and how many times I had struggled to resist the urge to wine, dine, and fuck her.

There was something about her sly little smile, her makeup-free complexion, and her innocent-looking uniform. It was a sexy-as-sin juxtaposition that made me incapable of rational thought around her. She was doing it now. Smiling at me, the tip of her tongue sliding over her plump bottom lip. Despite a swollen and presumably painful ankle, she was flirting with me.

“I’m happy to save you from yourself,” I said, voice low, tight. “I’m calling my driver.”

“You have a driver?”

I nodded. I didn’t use him every day but always on mornings when I had a meeting. He waited around the corner from the restaurant to get me there on time.

“Grant is fancy,” she said with a small smirk.

“I’m practical,” I told her, mildly annoyed she seemed to be making fun of me. “You know traffic sucks.” After a quick text to Andre, I tucked my phone back into my jacket pocket. “Where should I take you—the hospital?”

She shook her head. “My place. It’s just a sprain. But I can take the train if you have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t be stubborn. You can’t walk down the stairs to the station.”