Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

His gaze shifts from that inner pensiveness as I trail off, flicking back to me. Underneath that careful shield is a lingering heat that makes my whole body squirm.

“Why did I what?” he asks sharply.

“Um, the financing.” I swallow. “I saw that provision and I figured you added it. To send any bills outside the scope of the coverage to you. Personally.”

Roland’s eyebrow rises slowly.

“Would you rather pay for it, Callie?” he challenges.

“I would, but I can’t. Not those kind of bills. You pay me fairly well, but not well enough to wave goodbye to the insurance fairy.”

“Insurance fairy?” He quirks a brow.

“Never mind!” I sputter.

“Fine. And you just answered your own question.” A loaded smirk skates across lips that are still stained pink, even after he wiped them. I don’t know if I feel remorse or a twisted glee that it’s my fault. “We’ll discuss a merit raise when you’ve been here for a solid quarter. Until then, it’s the least I can do.”

Why? I want to scream.

Would he do this for any employee or only one he wants to...

Yeah, I can’t answer that.

I don’t even know what I want the answer to be.

Because if the answer is yes, then he really is a good man behind the Despicable Me front. A kind man.

And seeing him that way brings complications I totally don’t need—especially when the fact that he would do it for anyone means it’s nothing momentous that he’s doing it for little old me.

But if the answer is no, that means I’m special somehow.

Special to a man who’s only doing this with his own lustful self-interest in mind.

Ugh. I’m officially so tangled up it hurts.

Taking a deep breath, I look away from him sharply, focusing on my mirror and fixing my hair in place.

“We should go,” he says. “We’ll be late for our meeting. Also, it would be wise for you to leave first. Considering we’re both in disarray—and the fact that apparently a certain cosmetics company was very serious about their ‘color stay’ promise—it might raise questions if we’re seen leaving together.”

Heart, meet floor.

I close my eyes, struggling to pull myself together.

It’s insanely hard to pretend it didn’t happen when he talks about it so openly.

Even as he’s dismissing it. Dismissing me.

Yet my gaze strays helplessly back to the mouth that just tore me apart, to my mark on his lips.

I have no right to be possessive, I know.

But I have no right to the inferno in the pit of my stomach, either.

I just want this unholy lunk out of my system.

One way or another.

His lips part, capturing my attention in full, but he says nothing with words.

He only turns, casting a profile in sin from the strong angle of his jaw to the graceful yet powerful way the tendons of his throat slope into the crisp collar of his shirt.

He plucks out a business card from a glossy little holder on the desk corner, turns it over, and scrawls something on the back in masculine strokes with a pen that looks like it costs a million bucks. Then he flips it right side up again, offering the card to me with a spark in his eyes.

His gaze is so cool, so withdrawn, watching me with frosty expectation.

But there’s a heated edge in his voice, raw and smoky and full of hunger when he says, “I’ll see you in the meeting, Miss Landry.”

Oh, boy.

With my throat tight and my tongue dry, I swallow and take the card.

I don’t dare look at what he wrote before I escape.

I can’t even imagine what it’ll be.

“Of course,” I murmur, sliding off the desk and ducking my head.

His eyes follow me across the room, so skin-stripping and intense I shiver.

Don’t look. Not until I step out into the main office—and I flip the little scrap of paper over and read it with instant regret.

Meet me tonight.

We’ll pick up where we left off and scratch this itch.

Then we’ll never speak of it again.

There’s an address below, and a time.

Cue the biggest panic of my life.

My heart stops and I literally have to lean on the wall for support.

Holy shit.

Suddenly, I feel like everyone in the office is staring in contempt while I clutch at my chest—particularly Wanda, sitting behind her desk like a cattle dog and eyeing me as bitchily as ever.

I can’t blame her, considering I slipped in unannounced while she was away from her station. That’s the only reason she’s staring.

The only reason...right?

She can’t possibly tell what’s on the card or in my head...

Can she?

Yikes.

I feel like I’m about to faint from the blood rushing to my head. Now I’m way too aware of how slick my panties are against my skin.

There’s not even time to change before the meeting, so I’ll have to sit through the entire thing with this annoying reminder of what Roland Osprey did to me with just one earth-moving kiss.