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“Fine!” She yanked her arm out of his grip. “They cut off my heat and electricity yesterday, and I can’t afford food until payday. Okay?”
He stared dumbfounded at her. “Payday isn’t until the end of next week.”
“I’m aware of that,” she said bitterly. “Can you please go? I’m exhausted, and I want to go to bed.”
“I pay you a good wage,” he said. “You need to learn how to manage your money better.”
“Manage my money better? Excuse me, Mr. Millionaire, but not all of us have money falling out of our butts like you do! I have responsibilities you wouldn’t even begin to understand, so don’t you dare lecture me about how I spend my money. Besides, I’d have electricity, heat, and goddamn food if someone hadn’t made snide comments about my wardrobe. I bought your damn Dawson clothing instead of paying my bills and buying groceries so that I wouldn’t get fired. Now you have the nerve to tell me I’m not spending my money wisely? How dare you. Get out of my apartment, Luke Dawson. Right now!”
He stared at her, so taken aback by her sudden outburst of anger that he was momentarily speechless.
“Leave!” She shoved at him, but it didn’t move him an inch. She made a low grunt of anger and hammered on his chest with her small fists. “Leave right now. Do you hear me? Leave!”
“Jane,” he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll leave.”
“I’m not upset! I’m angry, hungry, and tired and want to go to bed!” She burst into tears, leaned her head against his chest, and sobbed. He put his arms around her as she buried her face in his jacket and flung her arms around his waist. She clung to him and cried brokenly. He stroked her back and murmured words of comfort until her sobbing had slowed to the occasional sniffle.
“Jane, you can’t stay here,” he said. “It’s too cold, and you have no food.”
“I have no place else to go.”
“Pack an overnight bag, and let’s go,” he said.
“Go where?” She sniffed.
He touched her soft hair before stepping away. “Pack a bag, please. You’re not staying here tonight.”
She sighed but nodded and left the kitchen.
* * *
“Whose house is this?” She asked as he pulled into his driveway.
He shut the car off and grabbed her bag from the backseat. “Mine.”
Her eyes widened. “I can’t stay at your place, Mr. Dawson!”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t,” she said. “It isn’t proper, and if people at the office found out…”
He gave her an impatient look as he opened his door, and a cold wind blew into the car. “No one will find out. Besides, it’s just for tonight. In the morning, we’ll figure out something more permanent.”
She continued to hesitate, and he frowned at her. “Don’t make me carry you into the house.”
That got her moving, and she followed him to the front door. His home was large, and she studied the art hanging on the walls in the foyer. He took her jacket and hung it in the closet as she slipped out of her boots. Still carrying her bag, he walked toward the kitchen and flipped on the lights.
“Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “This kitchen is amazing.”
“Thanks.” He loved to cook, and when he’d started renovating the house, he’d spared no expense in the kitchen. He rummaged through the freezer section of his fridge as Jane ran her hand over the island top.
“Is this marble?” She asked.
“Yes. Sit down,” he said as he popped something into the microwave. “I’ll make you dinner.”
“Oh, just a sandwich is fine,” Jane said.
“I don’t have any peanut butter,” he said.
