Page 554 of Manhattan Bossholes

“I don’t pretend,” he replied in a flat voice, face like he’d bitten down on a lemon.

Obviously. I couldn’t imagine him doing anything remotely creative or fun. The guy looked miserable, and I had to wonder if it was his everyday expression, or if something terrible had just happened to him, like his latest supermodel canceling their date last minute. Or his gigantic stock portfolio dipping one sixteenth of a percent.

“Doesn’t matter,” I slashed my hand through the air. “This is my taxi.”

We were now facing each other by the cab. He was back to gripping the handle, but I positioned myself so he couldn’t open the door without it crashing into me. Given the way he was glaring at me, I wouldn’t put it past him. I straightened my posture and glared back at him. Bring it, asshole.

Neither one of us said a word as we stared each other down. The hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle, and I had to force myself not to lick my lips as his eyes bored into me. Hazel eyes, I noted. Not green, not brown, but somewhere in between. Like the algae that clung to the bottom of boats. Or an oil slick in a puddle. He was clean-shaven, without even a hint of stubble, and I hated to admit that the man had gorgeous skin. Probably got facials every week, I snorted to myself. He was so handsome he almost didn’t look real.

Which made hating him even easier.

“I have somewhere to be.” He sounded exasperated, and as he let his eyes travel up my body, I could tell that he was silently judging me. “Somewhere important.”

As opposed to my minor, unimportant task of going on an interview for my dream job?

I narrowed my eyes. “Where do you have to be that’s important enough to make you act like a complete asshole?”

His head jerked back in shock. Clearly, no one ever dared to talk to him like that.

“And why would I tell you that? Based on the way you’re spiraling about a cab I’m guessing you’ve got your own issues to worry about. There’s no need to concern yourself with mine.”

My blood went from a simmer to a full-tilt boil at his tone. The condescension! I was so furious I couldn’t even find words to express it. He took my silence as an opportunity to keep needling me.

“Since you seem to be in such a hurry, why don’t you tell me where you’re going?” he asked.

“A job interview,” I spat out, confident that it beat whatever dumb errand he was running.

He wrinkled up his nose as if he smelled hot garbage. Clearly, someone like him, in his perfectly tailored suit and spit-shined shoes, wasn’t familiar with the concept of interviewing for a job. I could see his daddy’s buddy from the country club hooking him up with a corner office gig right out of college. Or maybe he was a trust-fund baby looking to invest his inherited billions in some ridiculous start-up app that pointed out where the naughty, sexy MILFs were in your neighborhood.

“A job interview.” I repeated. “That’s what people do when they’re hoping to actually earn a job,” I said slowly, overenunciating like I was talking to someone who didn’t speak the language. “You know, instead of getting whatever title you want handed to you on a silver platter.”

His expression darkened. “Oh trust me, you have no idea what real work looks like. But I hope whatever…retail establishment,” he wrinkled his nose as he said the words, “you’re applying to thinks twice about hiring you. You’re rude as hell.”

“I’m rude?” I shrieked so loudly that it echoed around us. “You practically trampled me to get to this cab. Ever heard of chivalry?”

“It’s easier to be chivalrous when the person on the receiving end isn’t throwing elbows like a linebacker.” He ran his hand down his blazer, adopting an injured expression. “I think you bruised a rib trying to keep me from the cab.”

“Ha!” I jabbed my finger at him, victorious. “So you did know I wanted the cab! That confirms it, you’re a certified jackass!”

He leaned closer to me, smiling in a way that wasn’t at all kind. “I never said I didn’t know it—I just didn’t think you deserved it.”

I made an outraged noise that was a mix between a shout and a growl, breathing like I’d just run a sprint.

“You might want to close that pretty mouth of yours.” He pointed to the bags piled up on the sidewalk by the corner for garbage collection day. “The flies are brutal already.”

If I didn’t think he’d have me carted off to jail, I would’ve connected my curled fist against his perfect jaw. I wasn’t violent by nature, but I also stood up for myself when I had to.

“Okay, that’s it! Get out of my way!” I shouted as I stepped closer to him.

“Hold on,” he said, throwing his arm out in front of me but not actually touching me. “Let the driver decide.”

The guy bent over to rap on the window. “Sir?”

The driver rolled it down with a world-weary look. He seemed right on the verge of giving up on both of us and heading over to Central Park to find a nice, unargumentative tourist to drive around. “Yeah?”

“This woman,” he said it as if he wanted to call me something else, “and I are having a dispute about who gets the cab.” He pointed at me, and I wanted to bite off the tip of his finger for getting too close. “So, which of us do you want as your fare? And before you decide, let me just say that I can pay triple your regular rate, in cash.”

The driver slid his eyes to me. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re cute, but this guy wins. Just lemme see the money first.”