Page 68 of Mario
I, meanwhile, am leaning heavily against my car, still clutching my keys like a raccoon with a knife.
“I was going to rest before I drove,” I mutter.
His expression changes.
“What?”
“I was going to sit in my car for twenty minutes.”
“And sleep?”
“Maybe.”
“In the parking garage.”
I lift my chin. “No one was around when I made the decision, and it seemed the smart thing to do,” I say a bit indignantly.
“The smart thing to do would be not to drive at all.”
“I won’t risk walking at this time with my work equipment.” I gesture to the briefcase in my car. “And I’m not shelling out that much money to rideshare a few blocks.”
“Then you stop at reception and tell them you need a car,” he says tightly.
“And leave my car sitting here all weekend? Plus, that means I’ll need another ride back at some point.”
“Then you arrange that as well,” he says.
I stare at him. “I can’t just request a car and rides from reception like office supplies.”
“You are working late in my building, on my company’s business, because of a timeline I set.” His jaw tightens.
That sounds dangerously reasonable again.
I hate it.
“I didn’t know that was an option.”
“Now you do.”
“Great. Very helpful. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
“Victoria.”
My name in his voice wipes out the rest of my sarcasm.
I look at him.
His expression is serious now. No amusement. No faint smile. No slow, devastating assessment.
“You do not sleep in your car,” he says. “Not here. Not anywhere.”
Though he’s being firm, and well, a bit controlling, the words strike something in me.
They obviously came from anger, but there’s more to it than that.
Something I do not have the energy to examine at the moment.
I simply nod.
