“Thank you so much again, Mr. Rhodes.” Jesus. I both love and loathe the fact she’s calling me that. It collides inside my head with the force of two bulls charging one another. The fucked up part of my brain enjoys it more than I want to dare examine. The other part of me wants her to call me by my first name, because, at this stage, I’d do damn near anything to erase any lingering evidence of boundaries. “Don’t mention it.” My jaw is almost frozen in place.
