Chapter Eight
"Do you have to look like you're going to rip someone's head off?" Bryce demands.
I sigh loudly. The Bryce of a few days ago is completely gone. This man won't be making me dinner any time soon. More's the pity. The pasta he made was delicious.
"Do you have to act like you have a stick up your a*s the whole time?" I mutter.
I don't have to turn around to know he's glaring at me. I can feel his gaze boring into my back.
It doesn't matter. However he feels about me, I'm not going to worry about it. So long as he keeps to what he's supposed to do, it won't be a problem. And if he doesn't do his job, then it won't be my problem. Despite what he seems to think, I'm as deadly with my hands as with a weapon. Defending myself won't be a problem. But I don't think he'll have such
