Page 13 of Have To Be Mine

Istudied her across the table, trying to figure out what angle to work. The direct approach clearly wasn’t going to cut it. She was obviously immune to my charms. I didn’t want to dislike her—but I did.

“Look,” I said, leaning forward. “I appreciate that my brothers hired you. I’m sure you’re very good at whatever it is you do. But I don’t need help. I’ve been running logistics for Blackwell Couture for years. I know what I’m doing.”

“Your track record suggests otherwise.”

“My track record is just fine.”

“Except for the last two weeks.”

I waved that off. “A minor blip. I was busy.”

“With what? Charming your way through every bed in the greater New York area?”

“Now that’s a lofty goal.”

She didn’t even crack a smile. “Right. Very dedicated of you.”

“I’m serious. I don’t need a babysitter. Especially one who wears cargo pants.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Excuse me?”

“Cargo pants.” I gestured at her legs. “What, are you going on a safari? This is Greece. It’s summer. You’re working for a fashion company. And you’re wearing pants with thirty pockets. Who in the hell needs thirty pockets?”

“These pants are practical.”

“They’re a crime against fashion.”

“Good thing I’m not here to model your clothes then.”

“You could at least try to blend in. Look around.” I swept my hand toward the lobby. “Everyone here looks like they belong in a magazine. And you look like you’re about to tromp off into the outback for a month.”

“I’m not here to look pretty for you, Mr. Blackwell.”

“It’s Dash. And I’m just saying, you’ve got curves that most women would kill for, and you’re hiding them in military surplus.”

Her eyes narrowed. “My curves are none of your business. Stop looking at my curves.”

Did she honestly believe that tight tank top hid anything?

“You’re representing my family’s company. We’re all expected to look a certain way.”

“I’m not representing anything. I’m managing logistics. Behind the scenes. Where no one sees me.”

“Still.” I couldn’t help myself. The pants were genuinely offensive. “How many pockets do you even need? What are you carrying in there? Weapons? Recording devices?”

She smiled then, slow and dangerous. “Actually, yes. These pockets are perfect for tasers and bear spray. Very effective at keeping egomaniac dickwads like you at a safe distance.”

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. The woman had fire. I liked that. Hated the pants, but the spicy personality was definitely working for me.

“Okay, points for that one.”

“I’m not trying to score points with you. I don’t give a shit if you like me, Mr. Blackwell. We both have jobs to do.”

“You’re trying to babysit me. Which I don’t need.”

“Your family disagrees.”

“My family is being dramatic. I missed a few calls. Big deal.”