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the conversation.
    I drop my purse to the floor and flatten my back against the wall of the elevator. I stare at the doors, holding my breath.
    I don’t know what that was—that switch from scared to sassy. It’s not the first time it’s happened since I got here, and I don’t know where it comes from, but I think I like it. It reminds me of the girl I was before any sense of myself was beaten out of me.
    I retrieve my purse from the floor and step out of the elevator. The lobby is bustling with the guys’ security team, and I can see why. Outside the hotel there’s a large group of girls barely being held back by yet more security guards dressed head to toe in black.
    “Is it always like this?” I ask Ajax, stepping up beside him.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he replies. “We take it in stride.”
    The elevator doors ping open and I turn to see Conner with his arm around Sofie and Mila, flanked by Aidan and Kye, and finally, a still-angry Tate. I fight my urge to shrink back as he approaches us. Instead I cross my arms over my chest and defiantly hold his gaze.
    “We ready to go?” he asks—presumably—Ajax, his eyes still on me.
    “Yes, sir,” Ajax responds. “Conner, you and the girls get in the car first.”
    “Got it.” He nods. “Ella?”
    “She rides with me,” Tate says firmly. “We need to have a word or two.”
    My chest heaves. Maybe it’s his words. Maybe it’s the visible tightness of his tattooed arms stretching the material of his shirt. Or maybe it’s the look in his eye. The one that’s scary and . . . a little . . . exciting . . . at the same time.
    “Ella?” Sofie questions, moving slowly toward the door.
    “He’s the boss,” I reply, blinking harshly.
    Tate’s jaw clenches. “Get in the second car,” he orders through clenched teeth. He storms past me, and I force myself to inhale slowly.
    He isn’t him. He isn’t him. He isn’t him. I chant relentlessly inside my mind as I follow Tate’s tensed, muscular body to the car. Girls are screaming his name, but he ignores every one, determination to get to the waiting vehicle evident in every one of his steps.
    He yanks open the door of the black SUV. “Get in,” he demands, nodding at me.
    I climb into the backseat and scoot along it.
    “Then ride with Ajax,” Tate snaps to someone over his shoulder. He jumps in the backseat and slams the door behind him.
    I edge a little closer to the door as he leans forward and closes the partition. My heart thumps—that thing, it’s soundproof. This is a tiny space. Enclosed. Totally private.
    I wipe my now-sweating hands on my thighs.
    “All right, Els. Let’s have a talk.”
    “My name is Ella,” I snap. “It’s not hard.”
    Tate rests his hand on the seat between us and leans forward. “I’ll call you ‘assistant’ if that’s what I wanna call you. I’m your fuckin’ boss, and if I wanna call you Els, I’m gonna call you Els. You got it?”
    Annoyance warms my stomach. “What? Is El la too complicated for you to remember? Two syllables too many?”
    His fingers twitch. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”
    “So do you.”
    “I can remedy that.”
    “I dare you.” I glare at him. When he doesn’t move, I continue, “As you just said, you’re my boss, and yet again this is a highly inappropriate conversation. Unless you have me in here to discuss something serious with me, I don’t wish to continue this.”
    He clicks his tongue, and a tension-filled silence ensues. And, boy, I’d hate to get into a staring contest with Tate Burke, because he’s relentless. For what seems like the millionth time, his eyes are on me, studying me, unnerving me. Intense and angry and fiery, those turquoise eyes are so bright they’re rendering me immobile.
    “Watch your damn mouth.” Each word is edged with anger and saturated in restraint. “I don’t give a shit how you spoke to people in your fancy-ass, upper-class world back in New York, but I sure as hell ain’t