Page 32 of Playing with the Boss

Bingo. His fists bury in my jacket, my back and head slamming into the glass wall again.

I really, really, want to hit this bastard, but goddamn, he’s burying himself so fucking well on his own.

“Just you try it,” he growls.

“Oh, I will.”

His fists tighten. I catch the murmur of a crowd behind me through the glass.

“I’m telling you to leave it!”

“Why, though? By the sounds of things I’m going to have some real fun searching your history.”

He pulls one hand back, the other sliding to pin me by my throat.

Shit. Too far.