Page 38 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

His cheeks splash with color, and I can’t stop myself from laughing.

“Really, Altman?” I lean back in my chair, shaking my head at him. “All this because you’rehangry?”

“I am not—” He pauses, saying the word like it’s dirty, “…hangry.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

“No, but?—”

I slide the folder back over to him. “Come back to me when you’re not ripping my head off due to hunger. Why wouldn’t you eat lunch?”

“Because there’s no good food in this city, for one.”

I freeze, turning to look at him slowly, my eyes wide with shock and horror. When he laughs, I shake my head, realizing he doesn’t understand the gravity of what he’s just said to me.

“Excuseme,” I ask, eyebrows already to my hairline. “I’m not going to ask you to repeat it, because I’m not sure you’ll survive if I hear you say that again?—”

He laughs as he says, “Sophie,please. It’s not like anyone is talking about the food scene here. Coming here, after being in New York? It’s like going to a gas station to do your grocery shopping.”

“Come on.” I stand from my chair, grab my keys, hitch my bag up on my back and turn toward the door, waving for him to follow me.

“What do you mean,come on? We have things to get done?—”

“I can’t have you telling lies like that, Elliot. We need to educate you on the very vibrantDallas food scenebefore you get yourself in trouble.”

I pause at the door, and he freezes, watching me. Then, I add, “Come on. Let’s get lunch. As friendly colleagues.”

Deep down, something inside me turns over. The knowledge that I’m doing all this to spend more time with him. It’s a bad idea, especially with the seed of feeling in my chest, the risk that more time with him might make it sprout.

He thought what we did together was a mistake, and yet, he’s following me down the hallway. He’s slipped his phone into his pocket, not looking at is as we turn the corner and head for the door.

“What?” he laughs. “Someone gonna trample me with a steer?”

I glare at him, but when we break out into the bright sunshine, he trails after me through the parking lot, giving my car a once-over before shifting his gaze to me.

“Are you sure this thing is road-safe?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I say, jumping up into the driver’s seat.

For a second, I think he might not come. That he might make an excuse, turn around, and go back into the building.

But Elliot climbs into the passenger seat, and my stomach settles down.

His door doesn’t close on the first try, or on the second.

“You have to close it like you’re pissed at it,” I tell him, and when he gives me a look, I lean over his body, grab the handle, and give it a solid tug so it latches.

That, of course, leaves me stretched out over his body, and when I look up at him through my hair, he’s staring down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. The second pulls taut, and I watch him swallow.

Pushing back quickly, I brush my hands down my shirt, feel stupid for doing that, then reach over and start the car.

“We’ll start with chili,” I decide, and when I glance over at Elliot, his eyebrows are raised.

“Startwith chili?”

“You heard me, Altman.”

As I pull out of the practice facility’s lot, I can’t keep the smile from my face.