He narrowed his eyes. “None of your damn business.”
“Well, it will be if you expect me to stay overnight on occasion. No es bueno. After all, I might be bumping into puck bunnies every morning. Not that I give a rat’s ass, but if it happens often, I’ll need hazard pay.” Wait. Was she actually considering his offer? Nuh-uh. No way.
“Well, good—that you don’t give a rat’s ass—because it’ll still be none of your business,” he tossed back. His eyebrow dipped. “How does your brother put up with you?”
She batted her eyelashes. “Aw, did I hit a nerve? Sorry. You just seem to bring it out in me.”
To her surprise, his glare morphed into another one of his big-ass smiles. “Yeah, well, you bring out the worst in me too. But to show you what a great guy I am, I’m still willing to hire you. For a ridiculous amount of money.” He signaled the waitress.
Sarah twirled her nearly empty drink. She hadn’t noticed she was getting low, but apparently he had. Which made total sense. Any good Casanova was tuned into what it took to get into a girl’s panties, and it was usually damn quicker with liquor. Not that she’d ever assume he was aiming for her panties. It was just that he had this built-in pickup autopilot thing going on. Whatever it was, she didn’t want him thinking he could keep sitting with her just because he ordered her a drink.
“I don’t think me working for you is a good idea, Sparky.”
His smile didn’t waver. “And why’s that, Sunshine?”
She burst out with a laugh. “Sunshine? Are you kidding me? Where’d you come up with that one?”
“Must’ve been your sunny personality that inspired me.” He downed the rest of his cocktail.
The waitress materialized beside them, her hip jutting into Quinn’s face. He seemed not to notice. Probably used to it. “A bourbon and Coke for the lady, and a rum and Coke for me, please.” He slid a twenty into her apron pocket so discreetly that Sarah wouldn’t have noticed if the waitress hadn’t given him a hip bump along with a sultry “Thanks.” Like stuffing a stripper’s G-string. Probably used to that too.
He raised his empty glass to Sarah. “So what do you say, toots? You could have your own wing. Hell, your dog could have his own wing.”
Her prickle-meter shot upward, and she felt as though every flea that had ever lived aboard Archer had suddenly taken up residence on her. Why, she wasn’t exactly sure. Quinn just affected her that way, apparently. She shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not the caregiver type.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m not caring or giving, nor do I have a bottomless well of patience.” Not true, though I’m turning over a newer, meaner leaf. Starting now.
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” he shot back. “The caring crap doesn’t matter. As for a bottomless well of patience, you’ll definitely need that to deal with my mother. I know I do.”
So he agreed she wasn’t the caregiver type? For some unfathomable reason, this really irritated her, and she let mouth run wild. “I wasn’t referring to your mother.”
A defeated sigh whooshed out of him. “Then I take it that’s a no.”
“That’s a no.”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “Shit, I’d sure like to know what I did to piss you off.”
“You’re a man, and you’re breathing,” she bit out.
His head jerked backward, but he quickly recovered. “So’s your brother.”
She raised her own empty glass in a toast. “He’s the exception.”
Quinn rose, all traces of his smile gone. In a frosty timbre, he said, “I’ll be sure the waitress brings you that drink. Nice talking to you, Sunshine.”
As she watched him walk away—trying not to focus on his broad back spanning his fitted button-down shirt—a twinge of remorse needled her. She’d been a bitch. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t earned the full force of her fuck-all-men salvo. But in her own defense, guys like him wielded their confidence without thought. With practiced ease. Like pulling breath into their lungs. And they invariably broke women’s hearts. Women like her mother … like her.
While she chatted with Lily and Natalie, she glimpsed him lavishing his brilliant smile on two blonds at the bar. One of them was practically sprawled over him, and they were scarfing up whatever BS he was feeding them, giggling every time he opened his mouth. As if they weren’t thinking of his big fat bank account. As if it was only because what he had to say was so damn witty.
Normally, she didn’t let annoyances distract her, but for some baffling reason her gaze was continually pulled toward the cozy trio. Call me sociologically curious. The sprawling one looked like the woman who’d been with him a few nights ago. Girlfriend? Doubtful. He probably had a “type,” and they all looked like these two. Barbie dolls with laughably out-of-proportion busts. How did they not tip over? Her engineer’s mind would puzzle that one out later.
Sarah glanced down at her own chest. Not busty, but not flat either. Today she wore a T-shirt that said, “Warning! I Do Dumb Things.” Yeah. Like wasting way too much brain power on lady-killers and the ladies they kill.
Before Wolf had ripped her heart out with his pointy fangs, she’d never worried much about her looks. That’s not to say she didn’t take pride in her appearance because she did. She was toned and lean because she was disciplined about her fitness. Though her office environment was casual, she dressed impeccably—not to turn heads, though she’d done plenty of that, but because
