Page 7 of Playboy Boss

She needed to get out of the Korr Corp building stat, and away from Konrad.

Thirty minutes later, Scottie eased her ten-year-old Nissan sedan into the driveway of the duplex house in the Heights she rented with Tara, her childhood friend.

Fresh-baked bread scented the small house. Tara was a chef, trying to get her catering business off the ground. She’d been an apprentice to a well-known chef who owned L’Atelier, the most upscale restaurant in Houston. Unfortunately, few of his patrons had called for her services once she’d struck out on her own. By the smell of the apartment and the bags and boxes all over the kitchen, Scottie concluded she’d finally gotten a gig.

“Tara,” Scottie called, tossing her keys on the small dinette table. Tara stood from behind the island separating the kitchen from the dining area, a pissed-off look on her face. “Are you okay?”

Scottie grabbed a banana from the counter and peeled it.

“Those are my bananas,” she snapped, stopping Scottie mid-bite.

Scottie lowered the banana. What the hell is her problem?“Thanks, Tara. I had a great first day at my new temp job. Thank you for asking.”

Tara released a noisy breath. “It’s the fourth of the month, you know.”

“Yeah…” Scottie knew what this was about.

Tara glowered at Scottie, her lips pursing, holding back terse words Scottie knew had been festering since September first. Scottie stalled. She wasn’t in the mood for Tara’s complaints. Not when she still felt her new boss’s hands on her side-boobs.

The silence irked Scottie. She hated when Tara got that way. And, as usual, Scottie spoke first. “I get paid next Friday. You know I just started this job. Can you just spot me until then?” Scottie put the banana back on the counter. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

“That’s the fifteenth, Scottie. Rent is considered late on the tenth. You know that.”

Scottie pushed her hair back. “So, you can’t spot me until then?”

Tara’s hand shot down, slamming against the counter, startling Scottie. “You still owe me a hundred dollars that I covered for you from last month’s rent.”

“Jesus, Tara. You know the money my grandmother left me ran out two months ago, and I just got this job after looking all summer for one.”

Tara grunted. “Hardly.”

Scottie’s anger simmered. They’d had this hanging between them for months. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Tara shook her head. “You really didn’t try, Scottie.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Scottie thought she might cry any moment. She hated fighting with Tara. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find something suitable in your acceptable time frame.”

“It’s called being an adult, Scottie. You do what you have to do.” Tara scrubbed her face. “Look, I can’t cover for you this month. I’m barely making it, as you already know.”

Scottie sighed. Tara was right. “What do you want me to do?”

Tara turned back to the cluttered counter. “I’m catering a last-minute dinner tonight, and I couldn’t find affordable last-minute help. You can pay off the hundred by helping me tonight.”

Hell no! Scottie groaned. Hospitality wasn’t her game. With her luck, she’d trip and spill red wine on some rich woman’s white couture dress. But did she really have another choice? “How long is it?”

Tara’s eyes turned to slits. “It doesn’t matter. You owe me.”

She was right. Scottie did owe her. And she’d still owe her once the night was over. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not wearing an apron.”

Tara tossed a folded apron at Scottie’s head. “You will wear one. And you’ll enjoy it.”

Scottie sighed. There was no other choice.

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