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“Are you sure about wanting to keep your job here?”
“Yes!” she yelps, then clears her throat awkwardly. “Yes, please.”
“Come with me, then.”
“W-what?” she asks, blinking at me in confusion.
“Try to keep up, miss,” I say, already on my way to the door.
The short ride to my family estate home feels like the longest of my life. Dana sits rigidly in the passenger's seat with a stony expression on her pretty face while staring out the window. She neither asks questions nor tries to engage in a conversation.
For the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do with myself. Of course, talking to women isn't a problem; I'm even considered a smooth talker. But with her, at this moment, I can't seem to think of anything appropriate to say.
I bring the car to a stop in front of the huge fancy gates and turn in time to see her brows furrowed in a curious frown, yet she stubbornly holds her tongue as I drive in through the gates and down the long driveway that leads to the main house.
“We're here,” I say as I bring the car to a final stop.
“Where are we?” she asks, boldly holding my gaze.
“Finally asking questions, huh?” I ask, smirking when her nose flares in the barest hint of restrained vexation.
Again, there goes that sexy defiance.
“My family home,” I finally responded.
She stares blankly at me for a second then shakes her head in confusion. “What? W-why are we here?”
“You'll find out soon enough, kitty,” I reply, unbuckling my seat belt and gesturing for her to do the same.
“Why're you calling me that?”
I shrug. “Because you're like a wild cat,” I replied, stopping to look at her. “Pretty and daunting on the outside. Soft and pure on the inside.”
She snickers softly and proceeds to unbuckle her seatbelt. “You clearly don't know me.”
“Whatever you say, kitty.”
“Don't call me that.”
“Okay, kitty,” I reply, chuckling at how she struggles not to roll her eyes as she gets out of the car.
Once inside the house, Dana stops to look around the huge living room with its hanging chandeliers, and her eyes open wide in wonder.
“Oh my…” she mumbles to herself. “This place is impressive.”
She glances down at herself and back up to look at me with an alarmed expression. “I don't know why we're here, but I don't think I'm appropriately dressed.”
“I think you're beautiful just the way you are,” I say, raking my eyes over her form in a slow, deliberate sweep.
She looks away, turning her attention back to the rich velvet curtains and marble floors, but not before I caught the pink patches on her face.
“You live here?” she asks after a few seconds of silence.
“Not anymore.”
She looks at me like she’s about to say something else when a huge, familiar figure appears by the stairs.
My father's usually stoic expression registers surprise, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. Mathew Ford, ever the businessman, is dressed in a dark custom-made suit that is perfectly molded onto his huge frame.
