"Long Island," she said.
Winn studied her. The way she kept her hands folded tight in her lap, the faint flush high on her cheeks, the nervous flick of her eyes toward the window as if escape could be found in the blur of passing streetlights. And then there was the lip biting.
She did it without realizing—caught her lower lip between her teeth when she was tense. He shouldn't notice. He shouldn't care. But fuck if it wasn't distracting. That soft, full curve pressed between her teeth was an image that branded itself onto his brain.
The shrill vibration of her phone shattered the silence inside the car. Winn's jaw flexed as he watched her shift uncomfortably, rummaging in her bag to grab it. She glanced at the screen, lips pressing into a thin line, then hit end call.
The phone buzzed again. She killed the call again. Then again. Over and over. Winn's patience snapped. "Would you just pick up the call so we can get back to some quiet?"
Ivy's shoulders tightened. When it vibrated once more, she finally exhaled hard and answered.
"Hello… I cannot come tonight," she said quickly. "I just closed from work… I'll see you this weekend? Steve, I am not neglecting you. I just started working today… We will talk later."
Winn leaned back, eyes narrowing, heat simmering low in his gut. He knew he shouldn't ask. He knew it was none of his business. But the words slid past his restraint anyway. "Boyfriend?"
Ivy cleared her throat, her back stiffening, and answered without turning her head. "Yes."
A muscle in Winn's jaw ticked. Lucky bastard, he thought. Whoever Steve was, Winn wanted to smash his face into the pavement just for existing. Just for hearing her voice in that soft, strained tone that she never used with Winn.
The possessiveness that stirred in him was ridiculous.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, save for the hum of the tires on asphalt.
Finally, Reese slowed in front of a house. She leaned forward, pointing. "Here. Please stop here."
Reese pulled to the curb smoothly.
"Thank you," Ivy said softly, directing the words to him. Then she turned her eyes briefly to Winn. "It was an… experience working with you today, sir."
Before he could respond, she opened the door and slipped out.
Her meaning didn't immediately register with Winn. His mind ticked too fast, always two steps ahead, but right then, he blinked at her retreating back. Then it hit him—he had fired her.
Quickly, without thinking, he shoved open the car door and got out. What the fuck am I doing? The question burned in his chest. "I need the transcript for the meeting on my desk tomorrow."
Ivy stopped mid-step, shoulders stiffening, then slowly turned to face him. "You're not firing me?" she asked carefully, second time that day.
"Do you want me to?" Winn raised a brow, stalking closer. He wasn't sure why his feet carried him toward her.
"Does it matter what I want? I cannot work like this. I cannot do a good job when I am constantly worried a flip will switch in your brain and then you decide I am fired."
"I think you'll do an even better job if you don't get comfortable," he replied smoothly. Control—that was the language he understood. If she thought she'd wrestle it from him, she was mistaken.
Ivy's eyes flashed. "It's not just that," she said. "Your derogatory comments, your veiled insults. You insulted me because I had an idea. An idea you ended up using. And you couldn't even apologise."
Apologies were foreign currency to him. Saying sorry meant weakness. His father had drilled that into him, and he'd never unlearned it.
"I didn't insult you," Winn pointed out. His posture was rigid, hands in his pockets.
"You called me a little girl." Her spine was straight, chin tilted up, refusing to let him see how deep it cut.
"From my perspective, you are a little girl," Winn said smoothly. "You're twenty-one. Want to guess how much older I am?"
"I am not a little girl," Ivy snapped, heat flaring in her cheeks. Every muscle in her body screamed with indignation. "I am a smart and intelligent woman. I refuse to be put down and humiliated by a…"
She bit her tongue, her mouth moving faster than her survival instincts, abruptly cutting herself off.
Winn caught it instantly. He stepped closer. "A what?...Finish it." His towering presence forced her to tip her chin higher.
"Good night, Mr. Kane." Ivy managed to croak. But before she could take a full step, his hand shot out, fingers curling around her arm. He tugged her back with effortless strength, pulling her flush against his chest.
The hard wall of his body pressed against her softer curves, and she felt the heat roll off him in waves. Her breath hitched, betraying her.
"Finish it." Winn's eyes bored into hers. It was a demand. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
He caught her biting her lip again, that nervous little habit, and the sudden, visceral urge to drag it free with his teeth slammed into him so hard it nearly undid him.
"You're a pompous, arrogant, self-centered asshole." She ground the words out through clenched teeth. Her pulse thundered against her throat.
He leaned in just a fraction, close enough that his breath ghosted across her lips, daring her to flinch.
Yup. He's going to have me double-fired, Ivy thought, panic tangling inside her.
Winn bent his head, leaning closer and closer until his lips hovered a hair's breadth from her ear. His breath brushed the shell of it.
"If you knew how badly I want to make you pay for that," he murmured, "you wouldn't say it in the first place." The threat pulsed with promise, a dangerous cocktail of dominance and lust.
His mind flashed with vivid, unfiltered images: Ivy draped over his knees, skirt hitched up, panties discarded, her ass turning crimson beneath his hand until she was whimpering both in pain and in need.
He lingered, savoring the storm he was stirring in her. The subtle tension coiling in her shoulders, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed hard, the fluttering rise and fall of her chest.
He let his eyes flick downward—just once—catching the way her cleavage seemed to swell with every shallow breath. Fuck, he wanted to bury his face there, to taste every inch of her until she screamed his name.
"I want the transcript in the morning." He released her arm, fingers sliding away more reluctantly than he intended, and pivoted sharply before he lost all sense of control.
If he lingered another second, he'd kiss her, devour her, claim her in a way that would ruin everything. He strode back to the car, each step heavy, each muscle taut, fighting the animal part of himself that wanted nothing more than to turn back.