“Then why is she just your assistant and not a vice president of something?”
The nerve she hit must have been pretty darned raw, from the way his green eyes darkened to nearly black, and his scowl prickled gooseflesh along the back of her neck.
“She’s in the position she’s best suited for. Fancy titles don’t mean anything.”
“Oh, really? Then why don’t you just call yourself a secretary? Or the maintenance guy?”
Nick’s smile returned. “Actually, I tried mailboy once, but the paper cuts were hell.”
Samantha sat back, shaking her head as the man effortlessly disarmed her indignation with unexpected humor. He was good. “I guess CEO does sound better, doesn’t it?”
“Definitely. Tell me, is it part of your services as a bodyguard to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“Only if it affects your safety.”
“Then let’s drop this subject. Anita isn’t likely to be a threat to my safety.”
She might be if you continue to undervalue her worth. For once, Samantha kept her comment to herself. She’d already skated on thin ice with him and she quickly remembered that she wasn’t his bodyguard—yet—and even if she were, he could send her packing without much cause.
“Sorry. I speak before I think way too often. It’s just…”
“…a lagniappe? That’s the word, isn’t it?”
His tease caught her completely off guard. Not only did he know the popular New Orleans term for “something extra,” but he considered her big mouth a bonus? One minute, he was all stern seriousness, the next he inspired a reluctant smile to tilt the corners of her mouth.
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