Page 13 of Match Me if You Can

“This all of your shit?” he asks.

I blink. “What?”

His eyes come to mine and then go around the room again, apparently landing on my overnight bag because he snags that too, hooking it over his shoulder. “Anything else?”

I blink again, and he seems to consider that answer enough because he walks toward me.

He pauses where I’m standing in the open doorway, crouches a little to meet my gaze. “Anything else, princess?”

There’s a hint of sneer in it.

But that’s enough to snap me out of my stupor.

Princess.

Rage bubbles up inside me, a sharp retort on the tip of my tongue.

Except…

Yeah, no.

I’m not going to let this asshole get to me. Not going to let him know that I’m rattled.

“That’s everything,” I say, turning my back on him and sweeping down the hall, not stopping until I’ve reached the front door.

I lift a sardonic brow as he strolls slowly toward me.

“Unless you want to carry my purse too?”

SIX

Ace

Tart.

Sass buried beneath ice.

I want to sink my hand in her hair, mess up that bun she must have spent ages corralling her locks into, the silky blond strands carefully slicked back, not a single piece out of place. I want to tug down those sinfully short shorts, unbutton that fucking prim and proper blouse.

She’s not the least bit resistible.

But we have a flight to catch.

Chartered planes are expensive as shit, and so are the pilots that fly them.

I don’t want to pay them extra by delaying our arrival.

Fucking lies.

I’ve already proved I’ll set my bank account on fire to have this woman⁠—

Professionally.

As part of this business deal only.

A means to an end.

That’s why I grip her bags tighter, walk down the hall of her pristine apartment—that I just fucking knew was going to be pristine—and out the front door. The driver is waiting by the car, and he takes the bags from me.