Boss. Katy Evans
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“You’ve got a lot to learn. You shouldn’t speak to your colleagues like that.”
“Like what?”
I flare up. “Like they’re all your playthings. Don’t call me stunning and think I don’t know what you’re doing. It might work on that girl you were just...just...flirting with, but not me.”
“She’s having more fun tonight than you are,” Kit says, as though he’s formed a well-constructed argument instead of another inadvertent insult.
“You’re infuriating.”
Kit smiles at me. “Not to everyone. I just know how to wind you up. I can read you like a book.”
I take a deep breath, smoothing down my suit. “Look, Mr. Walker...”
“Kit,” he corrects.
“Kit.” I say his name, feeling a warm flush crawl up my neck as I speak it out loud. It feels intimate as I speak it, with nobody to hear it except me and him.
A devilish smile curves Kit’s lips. I can tell he’s thinking once more of what an open book I am.
“Look, Kit,” I repeat, feeling my cheeks flush and my body tingle at his nearness. “We don’t have to be friends, I just have to be civil. I don’t like that I’m reporting on you to your father but he’s asked me to, and because he’s been so good to me and is still the owner, I agreed. It’s nothing personal against you. He said I shouldn’t look at you as an enemy and that we should—work together, to make this transition go smoothly. Is that clear?”
The amused sparkle in Kit’s eyes steadily diminishes as I speak. He opens the door for me to go back inside. “Crystal clear, Ms. Croft. I look forward to learning the ropes,” he says.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure than teaching you,” I say primly, ignoring the sarcasm lacing his words.
As I pivot to pass him, I accidentally bump into his rock-hard shoulder. It makes me blush, as if I’m one of those swooning girls on his Instagram, but I refuse to look back even though I can feel Kit watching me as I go.
I chide my body to get a grip, please. If this is how I feel now, I dread what working with Kit Walker will be like tomorrow. He makes my thoughts scatter, and I don’t like that.
He makes work seem like play and I take work seriously—I don’t like that.
He makes me feel insecure compared to his cool, charismatic personality and I don’t like that.
Most especially, he makes me wonder what it’s like to be the kind of girl that sits on the hood of a car, flirting with a guy she likes while he flirts back.
Shaking aside the feeling of loneliness that suddenly fills me, I remind myself I’ll brave this. I’m Alexandra Croft, that’s what I do.
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