It would be easier to pretend I didn’t have feelings for him, if he’d cooperate and stay away from me. I grab my purse from the file cabinet, shove past him, and open the door.
“You don’t play fair,” I tease, hoping to thin the tension. If we’re forced to spend time together, it would be nice if we were civil.
He laughs softly and follows me
out.
I stop at Sophia’s desk. “I’ll be at Mr. McCoy’s office for the rest of the afternoon. Can you clear my calendar?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Ms. Callahan.”
The smile she gives Battle annoys me, but the smile he gives her in return makes my blood boil.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Sophia,” he says, his voice low and seductive.
Blush sweeps across her cheeks. If she giggles, I swear I’ll slap her.
“It was nice meeting you, too,” she answers. “If you need anything at all, feel free to call me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Battle says, sweet as honey, and I roll my eyes.
I follow him to the lobby, scowling over my shoulder at Sophia. She waves, still wearing that ridiculous grin—oblivious to my irritation.
“I’ll drive,” Battle offers as we exit the building.
I’m still upset at him for flirting with Sophia. If I’m going to stew, I’d prefer to do it alone. “I’ll take my own car, thank you.”
He stops and spins to face me. “Would you stop?”
“What?”
“With the uptight, goodie-goodie act. We aren’t strangers. Quit fuckin’ treatin’ me like one!”
Words evade me, not that he gives me long to respond. He storms off through the parking lot, mumbling under his breath. I foolishly chase after him. My heel catches in the cracked pavement, launching me forward. My hands and knees burn as they scrape against the ground. I stay down, but turn onto my butt to evaluate my injuries. Blood trickles down my right knee. I brush dirt from my legs and pick tiny rocks and sand from the abrasions on my hands.
“Shit!” I hear him before I see him jogging back to me. He squats down at my side. “Are you all right?”
His voice reflects concern, but I’m humiliated, embarrassed, and angry about what he said to me. “I’m fine!”
He puts a hand under my arm. “Here, let me help you.”
“I can get up myself,” I snap, yanking my arm free.
“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” he says, and walks away. After a few steps, he spins back around and marches toward me. I’m hoisted into his arms, and cradled to his chest. I hug my purse close to my body and consider screaming at him to put me down, but as he walks, I melt into him and take comfort in his embrace.
“You stubborn, stubborn woman…”
I smile, resting my head against his chest. I am stubborn when it comes to him, because I don’t trust myself to be in his presence. He approaches a shiny, black Ford F-450 truck. I hang on tight when he holds me with one arm and lowers the tailgate. He sets me down on the back of the truck and goes to the passenger side door. A long trail of blood runs down my leg and my hands sting, but it’s my pride that’s hurt.
Battle returns with a first-aid kit, and without his cowboy hat.
“You have hat-head,” I say, teasing him.
He smiles, ripping open a packet containing an antiseptic wipe, and removing the small towelette. His gentle touch as he cleans my hands and knees makes me smile. He smiles back and says, “You have a small gash on your knee, but I don’t think it needs stitches.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
“Me, too,” he smirks. “Friends?”