Page 11 of Grumpy Boss of the Year

“Would you rather me say her pussy?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“I’m not going to lie. I can sip some champagne out of a butthole, as well.”

“You’re disgusting, Liam. You know that?”

“What? You asked me.”

“I expected you to say a champagne glass, a cup, a...”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“You love that phrase, don’t you?”

I press my lips together, and I don’t respond.

“Anyway,” he says chuckling, “we both know that this is going to be an interesting, wild ride.”

“An interesting, wild ride?” I burst out laughing then. “I don’t think so, Liam. Whatever you think you’ve got planned for this working relationship is definitely not going to happen.”

“What do you think I have planned?”

“If you think any of these wild rides are me bouncing on top of you or you pushing in and out of me, you are mistaken.”

“Oh, yeah?” he says. “What if my vision is you just bouncing up and down on my face?” He chuckles then. “Would you like that?”

“I’m going to go now, Liam. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Not if I see you first,” he says, and hangs up.

I stand there with the phone in my hand, and I can feel my entire body shaking with heat. “Fuck, what am I doing?” I sayunder my breath. I’m in trouble. I know that I shouldn’t go in tomorrow, but I know that I’m definitely going to.

Chapter Four

Liam

“There’s one thing you should know that I haven’t really told anyone yet,” I say to Max as we head to the bar. I feel extremely uncomfortable, and I'm not sure if I'm making the right decision. However, Max is my attorney, and he should be loyal to me. No matter what. I study his intense blue eyes as he gazes at me, and I try to ignore the scrutinizing look he gives me.

“What’s that?” He frowns slightly as he looks me over, as if he's trying to read my body language to figure out if what I have to say is good or bad. It's good for me, but I'm not sure he will like it. “Please don’t tell me that you’re being investigated by the government or that you’re part of the CIA or anything like that.”

“No. I think you’ve been watching too many TV shows.” I rub my palm against my slacks. "I'm English, remember. I'd be a part of MI5." I give him a wide smile to lighten the mood. "But I'm not." I stare around and look at the crowds of people. New York has to be one of the most vibrant cities I've ever lived in. To the right of me, two men dressed in all leather are discussing The Real Housewives of something or other, and to the left ofme, a woman with shocking pink hair is complaining that her boyfriend left the toilet seat up.

“Then what is it?” Max frowns again as his eyes bore into mine. “You’re not secretly harboring money in offshore accounts?” He really is taking this far more seriously than I thought he would. Maybe he's not the partner that I should be talking to about a sensitive matter.

“Stop!” I say, staring at him and quickly thinking that I should keep my mouth shut. “It’s nothing like that. In fact, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised when I tell you what it is that I’m hiding.” I stare at him for a couple of seconds, and I smile warmly. It's a trick I learned in a psychology class. When you want to lie or give someone bad news, always have a warm and kind expression on your face. It makes it so people don't associate you with any negativity. I don’t actually think that he’ll feel better about what I’m hiding, but I’m hoping that he will, at some point. I can tell by the quarrelsome look on his face that now is not the time to tell him my news. He's gone soft since getting into a relationship.

“What’s going on, Liam?” He gestures towards the bar. “Is this something that I need to have a beer in my hand to hear, or should I hear it before I get a beer?”

“I mean, that’s totally up to you. I personally wasn’t going to get a beer." I cock my head to the side. "What about some gin or whiskey? I was thinking that maybe we could have some old-fashioneds tonight.”

“You and your old-fashioneds,” he says, shaking his head and smiling slightly. I'm sure he's remembering the trip he made to London a few years ago, where we'd had old-fashioneds in a castle with a couple of models before playing poker for the rest of the night with some of my uni friends. “I didn’t really want any hard liquor tonight.”

“I know that you're not turning down hard liquor.” My tone is aghast, but I'm only teasing him. Keeping things light and easy. Hopefully, he will forget that I'd mentioned having to tell him something.

“What? A man can’t want to be sober when he gets home?”

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