Teresa Southwick - Flirting With the Boss

“I’m paying for what another guy did to you. Just a shot in the dark,” he said shrugging.

And that was another shot too darn close to the mark, she thought. “You’re not paying for anything. Speaking of which,” she said, “what do I owe you for dinner?”

He put a credit card on the check and signaled the waiter. “Nothing. Better late than never. Consider it your post-punishment meal.”

“Thank you.” She stood up. “I have to go now.”

She walked through the restaurant not much caring whether or not he followed. It was irritating to realize he could be right. Her animosity just might be out of proportion to his crime. Her inner child could be throwing an unwarranted melodramatic tantrum. So the best solution was to give her inner child a timeout.

She drew in a deep cleansing breath when the evening air hit her. The sun had set and a breeze cooled her cheeks. Behind her she heard the door to the restaurant whisper open. The hair at her nape prickled, and she knew Max stood there.

He stopped beside her, holding his suit jacket by one finger after slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll take you back to your car.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

When she reached out to open the car door, his hand brushed hers as he grabbed the handle and let her inside. Why did he have to be a gentleman? Worse, why did she have to feel warmth and that tingle from his slight touch?

She wanted him to be bad to the bone. She needed him to have a sleazy rap sheet she could add to. So far, all she had on him was standing her up, leaving without saying goodbye and ignoring his grandfather. That was unforgivable. She couldn’t understand why he’d rebuffed the older man’s attempts to patch up their relationship. And seeing the soul-deep hurt on the face of the kindly man who’d been like a father to her made her angry.

They drove in silence to the company parking lot and Ashley directed him to her small compact in the far corner. He stopped the BMW beside it.

“Ashley?”

She opened the door. “What?”

“Are you going to look for him?”

She didn’t need to ask who he meant. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

“I think the sheriff is probably right that he’ll turn up when he’s ready.”

“But?” she asked, feeling he had more to say.

“I’m action-oriented. If there’s a problem, I fix it.”

“So what are you saying?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m saying that it’s getting late. The professionals need to do their thing. But if there’s no news by morning, I’m going to look again on my own.”

She turned her head and met his gaze in the harsh overhead light. She thought she saw a flicker of something in the depths of his blue eyes. “You’re concerned about him, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re trying to pretend you don’t care.”

“That takes too much energy,” he denied. “After I see him, I’m gone. The sooner he’s found, the better.”

“Okay.” She slid out of the car, then rested her hand on the door to slam it. Hesitating, she caught her top lip between her teeth.

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yes it is. Why?”

“If you’re not doing anything, would you help me look for him?”

“Why?” she asked again.

“Because you know him. And I have a feeling you’re going to do it anyway. We could pool our resources. Two heads are better than one.” He smiled suddenly, and she felt the power of it all the way to her toes. “I’m staying at the estate.”

“Thanks for the breaking news.”

“If I don’t call to let you know he’s turned up, meet me there.”

Against her better judgment she said, “Okay.”

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