8

Damon

It took every ounce of self-control not to return to that smug prick’s office and slug him in the face. I was doing my best to control that urge, but it was hard. I would have been outraged if he’d done that to anyone, but especially to my Phoebe.

My…she wasn’t my anything. I had to give myself that harsh reminder, which made me clench my hands tighter around the wheel after we’d returned to the car. “Where would you like to eat?” My voice sounded stilted.

She was already stiff and jerked upright at the question, seeming on-edge. I saw her from the corner of my eye and wanted to reach out to soothe her sore spots when she winced.

“I’m not hungry.” Her stomach rumbled then.

I turned slowly from the wheel to look at her, brow raised. “Really?”

She flushed and looked away. “I’m sure you have things to do, and I need to get some rest before my shift tonight.”

I frowned. “You can’t expect to be able to dance tonight?”

She glared at me. “I’ll do what I must, Mr. Santos.”

I realized he