The Last Boss' Daughter

I unwrap it and take a whiff. My mouth waters and I take a big old bite out of it.

Lance is shaking his head, smiling. “You’re cold, man.”

I grin and take another bite.

Annabelle

My nerves are eating me alive. I’ve changed clothes five times and I feel ridiculous. I’ve never seen Liam in anything but his gear, and I don’t even know if he’ll still be wearing it. I feel stupid, but I’ve never actually been on a date before.

Well, not that this is a date.

Or is it? I don’t even know. I just know I want to do better than jeans and a bulky sweater, which—aside from my disheveled nightie in the moonlight—is all he’s ever seen me in.

By the time I arrive at the deli, you can’t tell I changed clothes seven times or rummaged like hell through drawers looking for something that passed for a matching bra and panty set. I’m cool and collected as I wait for him by the door.

He gets there right at seven.

He’s still in a stripped down version of his gear—a fitted black t-shirt and his usual dark camo pants. He looks really good. I’m convinced he would look good in a sparkly pink tutu, but a tight black shirt that hugs his bulging biceps and hints at the chiseled physique beneath? Yes, please.

I found a red long-sleeved top with peek-a-boo shoulder cutouts in my closet. I don’t recall ever buying it, but my mom probably gave it to me for Christmas one year. I paired it with this fabulous bra she got that has zigzagging straps across the chest, and a pair of snug jeans. I even curled my hair. I feel a lot sexier than I have, maybe ever, which seems like a good place to start a maybe-date.

When Liam sees me, he rakes an appreciative gaze over my ensemble and moves in closer. He smells good and I already want to kiss him. It’s not my style, but I’d skip the sandwiches and go home with him now if he asked.

He places a hand at the small of my back to guide me toward the line, but I suspect it’s just an excuse to touch me. Boy, am I fine with that.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Good,” I answer brightly. “How was… work?”

I watch his mouth tug up ever so slightly in amusement, but he doesn’t fully smile. “Not too bad. This crazy girl showed up though, kind of threw a wrench in things.”

“Oh yeah? Was she hot?” I take a step forward, waiting for Marco to approach the counter and take our order.

He finally looks at me, but settles on cutting me a look of disapproval, then pointedly looking at Liam, then walking away.

Oops.

“She was,” he says, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me in front of him. He pulls me against his hard body and wraps his arms around me in a sort of crisscross embrace, then calls over, “We’re ready to order.”

He must’ve noticed Marco giving me the stink eye. I’m as red as my shirt at this point, and so is Marco, which is more impressive given his darker complexion.

He takes our order but he doesn’t like it. I can’t see the look Liam is giving him, but I pick up on his controlled tone and the unhappy but obedient motions Marco makes as he goes about taking our order, so I assume Liam is alpha-dogging him.

Poor Marco. He doesn’t know Paul isn’t my real husband. I’ll have to make him a strudel or something.

Once his point’s made, Liam releases me and my chest feels inexplicably empty. I want him to do that again. No one’s ever embraced me that way before and I like it.

Liam pays and carries the tray with both of our sandwiches over to a table. He doesn’t ask where I want to sit, and I like his casual dominance.

Once we’re seated, I’m not entirely sure what to do. He distributes our sandwiches and I murmur a thank you, then there’s a moment where I’m more preoccupied than I should be with a sandwich. I eye the glob of mayonnaise slinking down the side of my bun. I wonder why I picked something so potentially messy for the first time we ever share a meal together.

I wonder why I say that like there will be many more times.

I wonder where this could possibly go.

I wonder if he’s thinking any of that.