“Your seatbelt, Miss Shaw.” Myra followed Professor Cal's eyes to her low-cut bodice.
She yanked the seatbelt, strapped it across her and buckled it.
The p*****t.
She kept her eyes fixed on the windshield, her hands gripping her purse tightly in front of her.
“I guess your assistant will take my car to the penthouse again today,” She said, and turned to see him smiling.
He looked at her, amused, and she made an effort to keep her eyes away from that tattoo as he gripped the steering wheel.
“I will let him know he is not alone in hating to pick your car up.” His eyes were dancing with laughter. Myra did not smile as she looked away.
“Does your uncle visit often?” he asked.
Myra froze, wondering why he suddenly brought up her imaginary uncle. “No. Why?”
She turned to look at him,
