One Good Reason (A Boston Love Story Book 3) by Julie Johnson Page B

hard time reconciling the fact that the joking, adorable — shit, I mean obnoxious , annoying — playboy is actually in charge of so many people. The idea of him as a boss is totally at odds with the Parker I’ve encountered thus far. He’s so charming and lighthearted — fuck, I mean infuriating and tiresome — it’s tough to keep in mind that he’s one of the most influential businessmen in the city.
    “I mean it.” I point at him menacingly as he advances on me. “No more.”
    “No more what?” His grin widens as I backpedal through the deserted atrium toward the doors to the street. “No more riding in elevators? That’s going to be inconvenient. My office is on the top floor.”
    “No more trying to kiss me in elevators,” I correct, still backing away from him like he’s in possession of a deadly weapon.
    Who am I kidding?
    His lips are a deadly weapon.
    To my great shock, he freezes, adopts a contemplative look, and gives a slow nod of agreement. “Fine. I won’t do it anymore.”
    I’m so surprised he caved without a fight, I draw to a halt, leaving about ten feet of space between us. I pretend not to notice the faint flicker of disappointment in the pit of my stomach.
    “Really?” My voice is skeptical.
    “Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not unreasonable.”
    I stare at him warily for a long time and find no signs of insincerity in his expression.
    “Okay,” I say finally, accepting the remote possibility that he’s being serious. “Can we go get this over with, then?”
    “Of course,” he says, his tone totally professional as he walks to my side and falls into step beside me. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
    He’s strangely silent all the way to the doors.
    Wow. Maybe he was actually being serious for once…
    “Plus, it’s not some great sacrifice,” he adds, chuckling as he holds the glass door open for me to walk through. “I can live without elevators. You didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to try and kiss you anywhere else .”
    There it is.
    “Ugh!” An incredulous scream bursts from my mouth. “You are the most infuriating human I’ve ever met.”
    “Ever?”
    “Ever.”
    “Thank you,” he says, his voice somber as he trails me out onto the street. “I take that as a high compliment.”
    I groan.
    He laughs and takes my hand again.
    It’s going to be a long day.
----
    “ W here are we going ?” I ask for the thirtieth time. We’re walking along the waterfront, still hand in hand — much to my annoyance. The winter wind whips at my face and I find myself wishing I’d brought a heavier jacket. My ankles have blisters from the shitty heels and my shoulder is aching from the weight of my laptop bag. I push the strap higher and sigh heavily as my feet wobble on the uneven cobblestone path.
    Parker squeezes my hand. “I did offer to carry it for you,” he reminds me.
    It’s true; he did offer. Twice.
    I objected because I felt like being obstinate at the time. But that was ten blocks ago, when we were still in the Financial District and I was feeling high and mighty. Now, all I’m feeling is cold and I have the beginnings of a cramp in my side from lugging the heavy bag all this way.
    I sigh again.
    If I ask him to carry it, he will in a heartbeat.
    I won’t though — I’d rather suffer in silence than give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
    Ass face.
    “Want a piggy back ride?” he offers, dropping my hand and doubling over like a parent offering their six-year-old a lift. His eyebrows waggle in an obnoxiously cute way.
    I roll my eyes and brush past him.
    His long-legged strides catch up to mine in seconds. “Not even a smile. Jeeze. This is my best material.”
    “ This is your best material?” I ask skeptically.
    “I take it back — my best material involves a lot less talking and a lot fewer clothes.” He winks.
    I make fake gagging noises.
    He bumps his shoulder into mine in retaliation. “If