If I’ve ever written a scene that could be my life, it’s this one from Switch. I mean, my car isn’t … clean. Ever. LOL! Besides that, GRAHAM LANDRY. I always forget how much I love him and this office romance until I read back through it. Gah!
Tossing her bag in her car, I hear a crunch. There are a host of takeout bags and Styrofoam cups littering her passenger seat and floorboard.
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” she giggles.
“I know what you’re getting as a Christmas bonus.”
“What’s that?”
“Your fucking car cleaned. Just . . .” I can’t take it. Stalking back to the elevator, I grab the plastic garbage can and haul it across the parking lot. It squeals as the bottom rips along the pavement.
“Graham!” she shouts over the ruckus. “What are you doing?”
Shaking my head, I nudge her out of the way. “My God, Mallory,” I groan. Bag after bag, cup after cup, napkin after pieces of plastic that are semi-damp, get swiped up and dumped into the can behind me.
I’m leaned across her console, the crunch of the debris muddling the sound of her objections. The carpet is a mess and there’s a weird smell that reminds me of bacon, but at least you can see the carpet now.
Making a face, I climb out of the driver’s seat and dispose of the last items in my hands. “That is a fucking disaster. Park in the front tomorrow morning and I’ll have someone shampoo it out.”
“You will not!”
“Oh, I will. I’ll consider it a gift to humanity.”
“You’re such an ass,” she says, smacking my chest. I catch her hand and pull her to me. It’s automatic, such a natural move that it catches us both off-guard. “There are probably cameras out here, Mr. Landry.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That means I know that look in your eye.”
“You’re safe,” I sigh. “I can’t throw you on the console of your car. I’m afraid your face would get stuck in syrup or something.”
She rolls her eyes and climbs inside. “I’m going to be late to class. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I close the door behind her and step away so she can pull out. She gives me a little wave and a beep of the horn as she drives, entirely too fast, out of the garage.
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