I can’t help the way my eyes wander to those fingers. For a man who spends so much time in the office, his hands look rough. Worn.
They’re the kind of hands that could do appalling things to me in my darkest dreams. The ones I’m totally not having where my boss grabs me, shoves me against the nearest wall, and shoves his hands between my—
“Miss Poe? Are you home or did the ravens make off with your brain today? I asked a simple question,” he snarls.
“No. It’s not usually a place I go. I’m more the type to head over to Alki Beach or maybe take the ferry over to Bainbridge for the day. But where did you see Eliza and I—”
“That’s Tweedle Dum? Eliza?”
I glare at him.
“Where did you see us before we all wound up at the same park?” I ask pointedly.
“Saturday morning? I only saw you at the park,” he says.
“Then I couldn’t have followed you there. Thanks for proving my point. No stalker, no drama, so maybe let’s just get on with our day like grown-ups?”
Like hell, his snapping brown eyes say. You’re not getting off that easy.
“I must have overlooked you at Sweeter Grind,” he says slowly.
“Doubtful. Since we’ve established I have nice bright hair and a tattoo on a well-toned body you’re obsessed with, you wouldn’t have missed me.”
“Touché.” He levels a long look on me.
Why does that make my blood run hot?
“You’ve seen me go to the park from Sweeter Grind before,” he says, his eyes sliding up and down my torso, hot and assessing.
“And I just instinctively knew you’d be there?” I make an exasperated sound. “I don’t think so, man. I might like my horror and fantasy but I’m no psychic.”
He shrugs. “Maybe you found it on some nosy little rat’s social media. You like reading about me.”
I snort. “What? Your trips to the tent city are so frequent they’re online?”
He’s quiet for a moment, deep in thought.
“No. That can’t be the case. I’ve never seen anyone following me or snapping pics, no matter how often I go.”
“Then how could I have read it?” I slap my thigh.
I’m so annoyed. And extra annoyed that getting this riled up is a two-way street. It’s like we’re just feeding off each other’s suspicions now.
“How did you find out I was there?” he demands.
I start laughing.
“You took all the Regis rolls again. Duh. We got to the shop after you blew through. I’ll admit, I was curious, and Eliza put me up to it. I wanted to know where you went with the rolls and the Sweeter Grind girl said you head for the park sometimes—”
“What is it with you and those damn cinnamon rolls?” he barks.
“You’re asking me? You’re the one who needs at least half a dozen every day...”
“She told you how many I bought? That should be confidential.” He sounds mortified.
I laugh helplessly again.
“Nope, everybody knows you’re a junkie. Sorry, buddy.”
“All joking aside, I don’t think you should go back there. Not for work, and not for your personal stomping grounds.”
Oh my God.
He’s serious, isn’t he?
My boss is trying to dictate what parts of the city I’m allowed to visit.
“Yeah, no, that’s definitely not your business.” I roll my eyes right out of my head.
“Probably not, but this isn’t about your juvenile spying. It isn’t always the safest place if you’re not sure where you’re going or who the bad people are there. You and Tweedle Dum—”
“Would you quit calling her that?” I lean forward, flicking a fallen lock of hair over one ear.
“You and your friend seem like easy targets,” he corrects.
“That’s not your problem,” I snap.
But I’m actually stunned that he gives two craps about my well-being. Even if he tells me with zero tact.
“Wrong, Nevermore. It’s very much my business if I lose my best copywriter and her sidekick to some sneaky fuck looking for an easy payday—or worse.”
The way he bites off that last word leaves a yawning silence. Ominous.
“...I doubt I’m your best copywriter, Mr. Burns,” I say. “You have people with vastly more experience than me under their belts.”
“Your ideas are fresh and funny. That is, when your wit goes in a focused direction with our product and isn’t trained on me.” He thumps his chest with a hilarious glower, his brow pulled low.
Amazing. He’s so far up his own butt that he actually believes his BS.
But he does genuinely care about me getting robbed—or worse—and that’s unexpectedly sweet.
I take a slow sip of coffee, trying to shake this weird dizzy feeling.
“Are we done here? As much fun as it’s been, I have a mountain of work. Can I go?”
His look leaves me anchored in place—and that’s when it hits me.
As long as I work here, I’ll be answering to a man who can’t take a joke or get a clue.