“You weren’t supposed to accept!”
Sophie sucked in a breath at his outburst. She couldn’t help it—his reaction stung. She’d known all along that he’d been merely trapped by her sister’s interference and that he didn’t actually want to hire her. But a small, pathetic part of her thought that maybe he’d offered because he wanted to keep her around.
Fool, she thought harshly. Men like Gray did not relish connections with women who wore miniskirts and ratty jeans and whose résumés boasted how many shots they could carry on a tray. Somehow she didn’t think he’d appreciate the nuances of a Buttery Nipple.
Oh God, do not put “Grayson Wyatt” and “nipple” in the same thought, she instructed her sex-starved brain.
“Ms. Dalton, what I was trying to get at with my questions…I need to know whether your decision to hastily quit your waitressing job had anything to do with my less-than-gentlemanly assessment of you in that elevator.”
Sophie threw up her hands in exasperation. Clearly the man was not going to give up. “Okay fine. Yes. YES. The whole mistaken-for-a-hooker thing wasn’t exactly a balm on my ego. And so, yes, I decided it might be time to change some things in my life. Happy now?”
His lips pressed into a firm line before he nodded once. “Okay.”
“‘Okay’? That’s it?”
Sophie saw temper flash across his gaze and he very purposefully set one palm on his desk as he leaned forward. “What exactly am I supposed to say? My corporate life has just become a nightmare, and I have to accept that I have nobody but myself to blame. All because I hurt a party girl’s feelings and inspired her to play dress-up.”
Anger snaked down Sophie’s spine and she stood up, slapping her own palms on his desk so she could get in his face. “That’s why you regret insulting me? Because it led to this?”
As she said “this,” she waved her hand between their two bodies, and Gray’s eyes followed the motion of her hand before he halfway stood and put his face within inches of hers.
“Quit,” he commanded.
Sophie could feel his breath on her face. “Fire me.”
“And have a lawsuit on my hands? I don’t think so. You’d sue me halfway to China.”
“Well, I’m not going to add ‘quitter’ to my lengthy list of flaws, so if you want me gone, you’ll have to haul me out by the hair,” she shot back.
Sophie saw his fingers flex briefly and suspected there was nothing he’d like more than to follow through with her suggestion. But the hot, angry Gray was slowly fading.
Sophie watched with an odd pang of disappointment as the Ice Man returned, and he slowly lowered to his chair. For a moment he’d seemed so…alive.
“How about a compromise?”
She squinted warily. “What sort of compromise?”
“It’s more of a trial period, actually. One week to see if we can put the past behind us.”
Sophie considered. One week. She could do that. Probably.
People separated the personal and professional all the time, and half of her friends hated their bosses. Maybe her situation wasn’t so different after all.
And the sad truth was, she needed this job. It was either this or ask her parents for a loan. Her stomach turned at the thought.
“Okay,” she snapped, before she could change her mind. “It’s a deal.”
She expected him to respond with smugness. After all, she had just agreed to his terms. With no arguing. Everything she knew about him so far said he should be gloating.
Instead he looked…panicked.
But about what?
Once again, the flicker of humanity she thought she saw disappeared from his face in an instant.
“Fine,” he said with a dismissive wave. “We’ll reassess the situation next Friday.”
She nodded in agreement. “And in the meantime? Anything you want me to do besides answer the phone and follow your bidding?”
His silver eyes seemed to burn hot before he shifted his gaze to the wall behind her. “How do you feel about decorating?”
Sophie shrugged. “Amenable.” I hope you like pink.
“Amenable,” he repeated. “That must be a first for you.”
He waved his hand in the general direction of the dead animal gallery. “Get rid of all this. Donate it, sell it, keep it, ship it back to Martin Brayburn. I don’t care what you do with it so long as you get it out. Once that’s complete, we’ll discuss what I want to replace it with. If anything.”
“Should I be writing this down?” she asked sweetly.
“If you think you need to.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Anything else? Boss?”
“Mr. Wyatt,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” She was already heading to the door.
“Sophie,” he called, just as she was about to walk out.
She felt a weird jolt at hearing him say her first name. She ignored said jolt. “Yeah?”
“Do you think we’ll be able to survive a week of…this?”