Chapter 50

Instantly, an image of the senator popped into my brain. Much like the guy's stomach, it wasn't pretty. "No." I gave slow shake of my head. "He wasn't."

"Yes. He was."

Against my better judgment, I just had to ask, "Above, or…" I gave a little shudder. "…below his clothes?"

"Above," Zane said. "And lucky for him."

I reached up to rub the back of my neck. "Well, that's a relief."

Zane loomed closer to say, "He's lucky I didn't toss him down the stairs."

Now, this I believed. A traitorous smile tugged at my lips. "For a minute there, I thought you might."

Unlike me, Zane wasn't smiling. "If you want, I'll track him down, try again."

Now, I couldn’t help but laugh – although for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. After all, it wasn't funny.

Zane said, "You think I'm kidding?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

But I did know that for the first time since meeting him, it felt almost like we were just two regular people – not the client and the caterer, not the boss and the employee, and not even the bastard and the basket case.

I was mulling all of this over when something he said finally hit home. My smile faded to nothing. "Wait a minute, when you said that I couldn't work for you anymore, what did you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

I shook my head. "No. I don't."

Or more likely, I didn't want to know.

Zane said, "Trust me. I'm doing you a favor."

I made a sound of disbelief. "Some favor."

"Are you forgetting?" he said. "Just two nights ago, you wanted to quit."

"No," I said. "Two nights ago, I was thinking of quitting. But I didn't, because you wouldn’t have it."

"Yeah? Well things change."

I made a scoffing sound. "Obviously."

"Don't worry," he said, "you'll get a nice severance."

"So you're really firing me? Seriously?"

He looked away and muttered, "Fuck."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

We'd been talking for how long now? Five minutes? Maybe ten? In that short timeframe, my emotions had bounced all over the place. And was it really any wonder? I was getting so many mixed messages that I didn't know what to think.

I said, "Are you going to give me a reason?"

He looked back to me and said, "You know the reason."

"I do not," I said. "All I know is I'm getting a little tired of you telling me that I know things when I don't."

On that note, I also didn't know why we were arguing out here in the hallway. So far, we'd been incredibly lucky that no one had come out to look, but our luck couldn’t last forever, especially given the fiasco from earlier.

I looked past him, into his room. The bed was made, and everything was in pristine condition. The way it looked, he hadn't slept there at all. Either that or he had his own personal maid, which, of course, wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

When his only response was an icy stare, I said, "Seriously, you can't just fire me and not give a reason."

"Wrong," he said. "I can. And I did."

"But—"

"You remember what I told you."

"Yeah. Nothing."

Speaking slowly and deliberately, he said, "Read the fine print. Always."

And there he was, the prick I'd known all along. I muttered, "I should've known."

"Yeah," he said. "You should've."

I glared up at him. "And here's another question. Why do people at work have the impression that we're sleeping together?"

He frowned. "If they do, it's the first I've heard of it."

"Oh come on, at least be honest. Did you – or did you not – give Boris Feldman, that bedding guy from Cincinnati–"

"I know who he is."

"Good," I said. "So why'd you him tell that I'm your mistress?"

"Mistress?"

"You know. Your side-squeeze or whatever you'd call it."

Zane looked down and muttered, "Shit."

"So you did?"

He looked up. "No. I didn't."

There was something he wasn't telling me. That much was obvious. I made a forwarding motion with my hand. "But…?"

He gave a loose shrug. "But yeah, he might've gotten that impression."

"How?"

Zane gave another shrug, but said nothing.

I made a sound of impatience. "Well?"

"The guy's a pig."

This, I believed. I'd participated in exactly one meeting with the guy, and he'd been more focused on my breasts than the paperwork that he was supposed to be signing.

But that wasn't the point. I looked to Zane and said, "So?"

"And married."

"So?" I repeated.

"He was gonna ask you to show him around town."

This, I didn't know. And yet, I had to say it again. "So?"

In a quieter voice, Zane said, "So I didn't like it."

"Why?" My tone grew sarcastic. "Because you were worried I'd ask for overtime?"

"No. Because I didn't want his fucking hands on you."

Well, that was unexpected.

Trying to make sense of it all, I said, "So you did what, exactly?"

"Nothing."

I gave Zane a no-nonsense look. "It was more than nothing."

"All right. It's late Friday, and he tells me he's gonna see if you're busy."

"And?"

"And I told him you were. With me."

"So you lied?"

"No. I had you work late." At my confused expression, he added, "You remember."

Now that I thought of it, I did remember. He'd had me wait by the phone in case a certain newspaper called. I didn't recall the newspaper's name, but I did recall how annoyed I'd been.

And now? Well, now I was oddly touched.

Was I sap or what?

I said, "But why'd you give him that impression at all? I mean, I would've just told him no, anyway."

"Maybe. But I didn't want him hassling you."

At any other time, the statement would've made me laugh out loud. And why? Because nobody on this Earth had ever hassled me more than Zane. Oh sure, it wasn't sexual harassment, but he was the biggest hassler I'd ever met.

Short-tempered.

Foul-mouthed.

Stubborn.

And yet, I heard myself ask in amazement, "So you did it for me?"

"Hell no," Zane said. "I did it for me."

I drew back. "You? Why you?"

"Because I didn't want the distraction."

Obviously, I was missing something. But I had no idea what. I asked, "What do you mean?"

He loomed a fraction closer. "All right, you wanna know something?"

I sucked in a short breath and tried not to notice for the millionth time that his eyes were an amazing shade of green, and that his mouth looked annoyingly delicious, especially now, that he was so achingly close.

I heard myself murmur, "I don't know."

Zane's gaze met mine, and he was silent for a long moment. Finally, in a voice that was almost raw, he said, "I don't like how you make me feel."

Suddenly, I was finding it hard to breathe. "And how do I make you feel?"

He leaned another fraction closer. "Out of control."

The way he talked, he didn't like it. And yet, he wasn't moving away.

Funny, neither was I.

As I stood, silently staring up at him, my emotions swirled like a hidden tornado. I didn't even know what I was feeling – anger, betrayal, and an embarrassing amount of lust.

It made no sense. But there was something raw and compelling that was drawing me in. As much as I hated to admit it, it had always drawn me in, right from the start.

Shit. He wasn't the only one out of control.

Almost without thinking, I leaned closer to him and tilted my head just a fraction. His lips looked so kissable, so soft and full, and so very close.

But not close enough.