Chapter 8

Ella

"Miss Davis, why are you interrupting me just to say you're heading to the portables? You're a big girl, you don't need permission."

"You told me to let you know when I was leaving the office, that I wasn't to just head out ‘willy nilly' without warning you!"

That was last Wednesday, and I'd gotten nothing more than a sigh and a dismissive flick of his wrist in response.

The next day had been even more annoying, when I'd walked into Rhokar's office just as he was on speaker with the receptionist downstairs.

"Your coffee order has arrived, Mr. Strongarm."

"Good. Miss Davis will grab it for me."

And then he'd looked up at me, jerked his chin towards the elevator, and didn't acknowledge me again until I'd fetched it for him.

He'd been like that all last week, and I was sure that I'd been right during my conversation with Grace, and that she needed her hopes for my imaginary future that she'd concocted to be dashed—swiftly and violently.

He barely crosses my path these days, but every time he does, even for the briefest of moments, it's like he absolutely has to go and make me angry. As if he can't bear to allow my brain a time-out from being annoyed at him.

"An orange

shirt? Really? This is an office, not a circus."

"My employees don't arrive five minutes late, Miss Davis. Watch yourself."

"Why are you here so early? You don't get paid extra for eagerness."

"Go and have lunch, I can't trust you on an empty stomach."

Flirting, my ass! Grace needs a hard reality check, and when I called her again this last weekend that just passed, I very much let her know about it.

Of course, she didn't seem particularly fazed, as she watched me sweat putting together all the new furniture that arrived during my second week, offering unhelpful building tips and even more unhelpful relationship tips.

But today is a new day, the start of a new week, and this

Monday I've managed to completely and utterly avoid Mr. Rhokar Strongarm, the world's worst boss. I plan to make it a habit and continue for the rest of my third week at work exactly like this.

Without seeing him for a single second.

It's been absolute chaos at the office, of course, and I'm ready to go home, shove my face full of Lunchables, and throw myself into a horizontal position on the nearest available surface.

After battling with the Department of Environmental Quality we finally got our permit, and finished all clearing, as well as a large portion of the excavation last week. We're due to finish the lower-level excavation this Friday. It's all going according to schedule, and a sense of victory and satisfaction fills me despite my exhaustion, as the sun dips below the horizon and I head out from the portables.

I did, unfortunately, leave my laptop back at the main office this morning though, so I hop into my car I head back there quickly to pick it up. I wanted to go through daycare options again tonight, and hopefully settle on a choice before the weekend so Grace can finally bring my kids.

I pull my car back into our lot and head inside, using my new set of keys to get into the now closed office. I'm distracted with thoughts as I ride the elevator up and enter the dim space still faintly lit with one of the secondary overhead lights. The clip of my heels over the hardwood is the only sound as I walk towards to my desk, so when I hear Rhokar's door handle suddenly rattling as if a huge fist was angrily throwing it open, it startles me and I flinch and whirl around.

"Jee-eez!" I suppress the urge to stomp my foot, as annoyance almost instinctively takes root inside me at the sight of Rhokar's green face. Damn it, I was so close to not seeing him today! "Why are you always stomping around and startling people?"

He lowers his heavy brows and slows his steps as he nears me. But oddly, he doesn't look nearly as grumpy as usual. I wonder briefly if he's in a rare, good mood, and then decide that I couldn't care less even if he was.

"No-one else jumps out of their skin every time I walk by," he says, slipping both hands into the pockets of his suit pants. "Maybe you should work on being less sensitive."

"Maybe you should work on being less of a Hulk," I snap.

But something softens around the edges of his mouth as he quirks one dark eyebrow, and mutters, "Hulk smash," with quiet amusement, as of to himself, looking down at the table between us.

My brain momentarily short-circuits.

Did he just…

I'm thrown immediately back to the night we met, when I'd suggested that we should leave the bar together before he Hulk-smashed the place apart.

Hulk smash. There can't be anything else he's referencing there, right? I blink, and feel my forehead scrunch in confusion. Surely, he wouldn't remember something so insignificant, from so long ago, with me , the woman he hates more than anyone else. I don't even know why I remember it. I must have misheard him.

"What did you say?" I ask, but he just sighs and begins walking towards the exit once more.

"Get home, Miss Davis. It's late."

I grab my laptop, shove it into my bag, and hurry to catch up with him before the elevator doors shut.

I forget, sometimes, how very large he is, until I'm squished into an elevator cubicle with his big, muscular form towering over me, seeming to take up all the available space. I remember quite liking his size when I'd first met him…

I stare up at him with narrowed eyes, unsure what to think about him referencing a throwaway comment I'd made over two years ago, and my brain won't let the thought drop.

"Are you still single?" I ask suddenly, unsure where the question even came from. But when he sucks in a sharp breath and flicks his eyes towards me, I lift my chin and let the question hang between us.

The moment the words leave my lips I'm wondering how inappropriate me asking my boss such a personal question is, and whether I'll end up having to report to HR. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Well?" I prod.

The elevator doors open, and he hurries out as if my presence burns him, although he wriggles his fingers at me as he goes. It takes me a second to realize he's showing me that there's no tan line on his ring finger.

Another reference to the night we met?

"Why," he asks roughly, before I can dwell on that, as he powers ahead towards the exit. "Are you in the market for a male?"

"Maybe, do you know anyone?" I glare at his broad back as I clip along behind him. "I'm having trouble finding someone worthy in my everyday life."

He swings open the door with force and glares, even as he remains there holding it for me. "There's no-one I dislike enough to punish with your company."

"Ha ha," I deadpan. "Where would you be without me? Up to your eyeballs in paperwork and complaints, no doubt."

I step outside, and he snorts and turns to lock up. "I like paperwork."

"You liking something? Now, there's a shocker."

He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck to the side, before he turns towards me with a glower. "You're not as clever as you think."

"And you're not as intimidating as you think."

"Is that why you're always squeaking when I'm near?"

My jaw drops, and a choked splutter escapes me. "I do not squeak. "

He sniggers— sniggers at me, the jerk. "Mm, is that right?"

"You know what?" I sniff and tip my chin up. "You're unpleasant to be around. I'm going to go home and enjoy my Lunchables now, I hope you have a terrible sleep." I turn on my heel and head across the now dark parking lot with as much dignity as I can muster, feeling decidedly childish but too annoyed to care. "Goodnight."

Three seconds later, his heavy Hulk steps overtake me, and I'm forced to stop as he blocks my route and glares angrily down at me.

"Lunchables? You mean those ridiculously small children's snacks? Is that what you're eating tonight?"

I lift my chin again. If he's going to start judging what I eat, I don't know what I'll do, but I doubt it'll be good for my job prospects. "Since you run your office so poorly and I have to stay back past regular working hours, I don't have the time or energy to cook and unpack my home, thank you."

"You're not eating that for dinner," he snaps.

"You think you can control me down to what I eat, now?"

" You're not eating that. "

I purse my lips and step around him. "Good. Night."

The next thing I know, I feel his large, warm palms squeezing my waist, and before I register what's happening, he's swung me up over one of his shoulders.

"Rhokar," I most definitely do not squeak,

in outrage, struggling as I catch at my bag, so it doesn't fall to the ground and smash my laptop to bits. "What in god's name do you think you're doing?"

"Taking the uncivilized approach," he growls, not even slightly fazed at my attempts to free myself from his grip. I can feel the strength in his wide shoulders beneath me, feel the power in every stride he takes, and when I try to push myself off him, pressing my hands against the strong, lean muscles of his back, I almost flinch away again at how good he feels beneath my fingers. How good he smells, musky and masculine with just a hint of cologne and—god damn it! He does not smell masculine and good! He is a horrible, horrible orc!

"Put me down, you absolute barbarian!" I raise my voice even louder, but he just grips me tighter as I wriggle to free myself, one arm wrapped firmly around both my thighs and pinning me in place with his steel grip. It's late, and all the businesses nearby are long empty. There's no-one to see or hear the madness currently coming to pass, and he continues completely unbothered, as if he's thrown a light purse over his shoulder and not a fully grown, struggling adult woman. "This is workplace harassment!"

I hear his car door pop open before he dumps me unceremoniously into a sleek, black pick-up truck, slamming the door and locking it before I can even right myself. I grab at the handle anyway, glaring at him as he rounds the car, ready to rip it open again the second he unlocks to get in.

But when he enters on the driver's side and I pull, my door remains firmly shut.

"Why is your truck child-locked!" I'm screeching at him. I'm definitely screeching, but I have never, never been so angry in my life. The absolute, high-handed nerve of this guy! "What is wrong with you?"

He doesn't respond, his face settling into a heavy frown as he backs out of his spot and begins to drive into the night.

I cross my arms and sit stiff in my seat, glaring ahead as if I could melt a hole in the windshield with sheer force of will. I can't believe what is happening right now.

"Put on your seatbelt."

I ignore him, and with a growl he leans over me as he drives, rips the belt down, and buckles me in without looking.

I turn my glare to his profile, trying my luck at melting a hole into his face. His expression remains unaffected; brows low, lips pulled down against his tusks, glowering in his regular grumpy way as he stares ahead. If it wasn't for the messy strands of black hair now falling from his topknot to hint that he'd gone through any sort of struggle in the last minute, he'd look as normal as ever.

The silence stretches between us, and his dark eyes flick my way. "What."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To eat."

I slap my hand ineffectually against the door at my side. "You can't just abduct someone for a date!"

"So file a missing person's report."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" He shrugs, and I glare harder. "Are you really so desperate that you've stooped to kidnapping?"

"I'd have to be, if I was trying to date you."

"Says the man who grabbed me off the street and forced me into his car. I don't know what orc women are into, but this is not how you woo a human."

"Orc women love a good abduction," he says, lips lifting in a smug expression. "And a good chase."

"Well I'm not an orc! And if you treat everyone like this, it's no wonder you're alone!"

I notice his fingers tighten against the steering wheel and his smile immediately fades.

But I push away any vague feelings of guilt as we sit in silence for the rest of the ride. So what if I hit a nerve? The bastard just kidnapped me. I refuse to accept that I care about hurting his feelings, despite the unease that curls in my stomach.

***

Andhrimnir's Table stands before us, a quaint restaurant with a thatched roof, whitewashed walls, and a warmly lit, inviting interior that I'd have loved to check out any other day. But tonight, I'm warring with myself over whether to hold on to my anger and refuse to enter—or give in to the wonderful smell of roasting meat that's wafting over me.

Beside me, Rhokar clears his throat. "It's not a date."

I purse my lips and tighten my arms across my chest silently.

His hands settle over my arms then, but before I can shrug him off, he turns me to face him and lets go. I ignore the way my skin tingles at his touch.

"The food is good. It'll…sustain you."

I squint my eyes as confusion seeps in with my annoyance. What is he talking about?

Sustain me?

Is he worried about me?

The restaurant doors swing open, and a couple walk out in that moment, the smell of something roasting intensifying and making my stomach rumble. His frown deepens.

"It's on me. Eat." Then he shifts his weight and lets out a sigh. "Please."

My arms drop to my side. "Fine, since we're already halfway through an abduction, I might as well get something out of it." And that's the only

reason I agree. It has nothing to do with how soft his voice sounded when he said please.

Without missing a beat, his fingers settle against my lower back, and he steers me inside. "Thank you."

He says it so quietly, I almost don't hear it over the ambient noise of the restaurant, and I turn to stare at him as he speaks with a six-foot-tall blonde woman with tufted cat ears, who leads us to our table.

Thank you? For allowing him to buy me dinner?

The décor inside is wooden and rustic and makes me think of Vikings, but I hardly notice, finding my eyes instead glued to the big orc beside me.

He's still frowning his signature Rhokar frown, but the warm glow of lights soften his features, and I find myself staring at the straight line of his jaw, and the faint hint of stubble I think I can see.

He hasn't moved his fingers from my lower back. I wonder if he even realizes that.

We're led to a table by a large window, and when the blonde lady leaves, I realize I'm still staring at Rhokar, my thoughts doing an odd flip-flop.

I mean he manhandled me and literally kidnapped me. The absolute height of bullying , not to mention illegal and just plain rude .

Definitely workplace harassment.

But he did it so he could take me to a lovely, small restaurant with a cute Nordic interior, and feed me after I admitted that I wasn't eating well? This place doesn't look cheap, either.

I don't know how to feel right now.

"It's not a date," he repeats gruffly in response to my gaze, perhaps a little self-consciously.

"Right, so you often throw women over your shoulders and drag them into the night, do you?"

"Only the annoying ones."

Before I can open my mouth to so much as hint at a response, a heavily bearded waiter with a cat's tail approaches, and Rhokar immediately starts ordering for the both of us. I don't have any idea what type of fae these wait staff are, maybe a species from Scandinavia?' But where I might normally be curious, I find myself focusing only on Rhokar, as everything and everyone else fades into the background.

"Whatever your specialty draft is this month, and a Pinot noir for the lady," he orders without hesitation. "One large meat platter to share, a bowl of roast potatoes, and a salad?" His eyes flick towards me. "Do you want a salad?" He looks away without waiting for an answer. "We'll have a salad, whichever one you think is best. Bring each plate as it's ready, no need to be fancy."

"Rhokar," I say as soon as the waiter leaves, and I have every intention of ripping him a new one for ordering without even asking me, despite the fact that his choices sound amazing and the way he took charge did something fluttery to my insides. But instead, for some reason, I murmur, "You remembered my drink."

He looks at me as if he has no idea how to respond, before eventually shrugging one large shoulder. "Rhokar, now, am I?" His voice is gravelly, and he looks away quickly.

" Lady, now, am I?" I throw back, and he snorts but doesn't look at me.

"Only in public, apparently," he mutters, and I cross my arms and do everything in my power to stop my treacherous lips from tugging up in amusement.

Is

he flirting with me?

The waiter quickly returns with a huge stone mug of frothy beer, and a glass of red for me, and we both lift our drinks and sit in silence.

A few minutes later, there's a rhubarb and beetroot salad on the table before us, and the sweet tang of balsamic vinegar curls over me and has my stomach growling again. I hesitate as I stare at the salad, suddenly keenly aware of my crackers-and-ham diet this past week, before I fold my hands in my lap and look away.

No need to be greedy. I'll just wait for a few more items to get on the table.

Rhokar is watching me though, his dark eyes flicking from me to the salad and back. Then without a word, he lifts the bowl and quietly serves a generous portion onto the plate beside me, before nudging it closer.

I stare at him.

My chest warms. I feel touched by the gesture, despite how simple it is, and the flip-flop of my thoughts intensifies.

This is Rhokar , the man who has single-handedly ensured I've gone to bed annoyed every single night thinking about him since the moment I arrived in this town.

But I can't get over how sincere he seems right now. As if this

is him, this

is the real Rhokar, with all his frustrating outer layers stripped away. Feeding me, because he's worried that I'm hungry.

I once more hesitate, but for a different reason this time.

He really is stupidly handsome, isn't he? My eyes trace over his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline accentuated by the gentle sweep of his tusks. His green skin looks appealing in the dim, warm lights of the restaurant, and even his hair, pulled back in a topknot like always, looks masculine and thick and nice. I never thought I liked longer hair on a man, not until I met Rhokar, anyway.

"What?" he huffs, frowning even more heavily.

I look down at his own still empty plate. He fed me without even thinking of himself. He remembered my drink order after a single night two freaking years ago. Why is he suddenly being so sweet?

Before I can overthink it, filled with a desire to make sure he's looked out for too, I lift the salad bowl and serve him back. Then I pause, suddenly a little uncertain.

"Oh, uh, orcs do eat salad, right?"

He lets out a breath as he stares at me, as if he's surprised at what I just did. Then he glares suddenly and grabs his fork, spearing three huge red chunks of marinated beetroot and shoving them jerkily into his mouth. "Eat."

Okay, I can't help it. A reluctant smile pulls at the edges of my lips despite my attempts to stop it, because he looks a bit embarrassed, of all things. I feel a little more of my aggravation crumble away, and I stare at him consideringly.

"What?" he snaps, his mouth still full, and I swear I can see the tiniest hint of color flush his cheeks beneath his angry gaze.

"Nothing , jeez," I mutter back. But my smile doesn't recede.

Why did I find that so cute?

He glares harder and looks away, taking a huge swig of beer, and when he slams the mug down and I lift my own fork, I find my eyes drawn to his lips, and I remember how soft they felt.