Elara stood beside Greg's car, fully expecting him to stay in character and open the door for her.
Instead, the walking wall of muscle strode straight to the driver's seat and slid in, starting the engine without a glance in her direction.
"You're not going to open the door for me?" Elara leaned into the window, her voice laced with a dramatic whine. "My stepmom is still watching."
"Get in, damsel. Your stepmom knows I'm not your chauffeur," Greg said flatly, one hand gripping the wheel, the other ready to shift gears.
Elara blushed at the nickname, even though it was clearly tossed without affection. Still, something about the way it sounded coming from him made her stomach flutter.
"You're still my boyfriend's P.A., remember?" she teased, sliding into the seat. If only Wesley had a P.A. this smokey-hot, maybe she'd be a little more excited when she was around him.
