Page 17 of The Boss

8. Zac

Monday morning came too soon. I barely slept, tossing and turning in my bed all night, and when I did, my dreams were disjointed and hazy—flashes of last night bleeding through like ink seeping into paper. The rasp of Chris’s voice in my ear. The sound of him coming apart on the other end of the line. My own desperate groans tangled with his. The raunchy images he put in my mind.

The logical part of my brain tried to rationalize it. I’d been drinking. Not much, but enough to lower my guard. It had been a joke at first, nothing serious. But then it wasn’t. Then I was stroking myself to the sound of Chris’s breath, to the filthy things he was saying, to the way my name rolled off his tongue like something decadent.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, scratching my beard. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. I was straight. Engaged. But the truth was, a part of me was… curious. Intrigued. In the two years we’d dated, Chantelle had never shown half the enthusiasm to suck my cock as Chris showed last night, at least in theory. And if he was able to make me that fired up with only his words, what could he do if he’d blow me for real?

I forced myself to get up, shower, and go to work like it was any other day. But as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, a sharp awareness settled over me. Chris was already at his desk, preparing for the tasks of the day ahead, and the moment I saw him, something twisted in my gut. I never really paid much attention before to how handsome he was. Not that I was suddenly attracted to him—but, objectively speaking, Chris was a very good-looking guy. Blond and blue-eyed. Athletic. A model’s face—high cheekbones, chiseled jawline. A firm, roundass that would make anyone look twice. And those sinful, succulent lips made to be wrapped around my cock.

Fuck.

He looked up as I passed him, those tantalizing lips twitching into a devilish grin. “Morning, boss. Feeling… refreshed?” His voice was teasing, laced with amusement, making my stomach clench.

I kept my face blank. “Morning.” That was it. No smile. No joke. No return fire. Just the single word, curt and dismissive.

Chris blinked, his smirk faltering. “Uh, right. Okay.” He cleared his throat and glanced at his computer screen, like suddenly it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “I’ll have the Masterson report on your desk in half an hour.”

“Good.” I kept walking without looking back.

It was the right thing to do. The necessary thing. But when I reached my office and shut the door, I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable tightness in my chest. I could still feel him there, outside, like some part of me was attuned to him in a way it hadn’t been before. It made me feel fucking crazy. I chose to ignore it.

I buried myself in work, in meetings, in emails. Anything to keep my brain occupied. Anything to keep myself from looking at him. But I wasn’t an idiot—I knew he noticed the change. I could see it in the brief, puzzled glances he shot me when I walked past his desk without our usual morning banter. The way his posture stiffened when I addressed him in clipped, professional tones instead of teasing him like I normally would.

Is this how it’s going to be now?

I hated it. I hated the distance I was forcing between us. I missed our ribbing, the easy camaraderie. And yet, after what happened yesterday, I didn’t know how to get back to that.

By noon, I felt suffocated. My brain felt fried from back-to-back meetings, and I stepped out of my office for a quickstretch. Chris was at his desk, typing away, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Drowning in spreadsheets already?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice carrying the familiar teasing lilt I always used with him.

Chris glanced up, a flash of relief passing over his face like he’d been waiting for me to act normal again. “Yeah, and I’m going slightly mad,” he quipped, tilting his head as if daring me to play along, eyes bright with mischief.

Without thinking, I started to reply—it’s a hard life, or something along those lines maybe. The words sat right there on my tongue, part of the natural rhythm we’d fallen into over the past weeks. But at the last second, I clamped my mouth shut. Instead, I nodded stiffly. “Make sure it’s done by lunch.”

Chris’s smile faded, his fingers hovering over the keyboard like he wasn’t sure what just happened. “Uh. Yeah. Sure thing, boss.”

I turned and walked away, jaw clenched, ignoring the faint twist of regret in my gut. I needed air, space, something to shake this off. Normally, I’d hit the gym and sweat it out—maybe go with Chris, bullshit with him in the sauna afterward. But now the thought made my stomach twist.

What the hell was I supposed to do? Pretend like nothing happened? Pretend like my skin hadn’t gone hot at the sound of his voice last night, like my cock hadn’t throbbed to the image of him on his knees before me?

I had no fucking clue.

For now, I decided it was best to avoid him. I avoided him like a coward, like a man who didn’t want to examine the thing slithering just beneath the surface.

* * *

At least Chantelle was back at last, and I took her to dinner that evening. I needed the normalcy, the familiarity. I needed to remind myself of who I was. And if spending some quality time with my fiancée wouldn’t do it, then fuck if I knew what would.

I pulled up in front of her building and spotted her immediately—impossible to miss, standing there in her long fur coat, poised and elegant, scrolling through her phone with a practiced ease. Even in the dim streetlights, she looked impeccable, her dark hair cascading in smooth waves over her shoulders, her makeup subtle but polished. She always carried herself like she was on display, like she knew eyes would be on her.

When I jumped out of the car, she glanced up, her lips curving into a smile as she tucked her phone into her coat pocket.

“Hey, handsome,” she murmured, rising onto her toes to kiss me.

I caught her waist, pulling her flush against me for a second, inhaling the familiar notes of her perfume—jasmine, with a crisp undertone of citrus. It was nice. It was comforting. “Hey yourself, gorgeous,” I said, my tone warm and easy as I pulled back and opened the car door for her. “I missed you. The weekend felt like an eternity.”

“Same.” She slid into the seat with a graceful motion, smoothing her coat as I shut the door. I rounded the car and got behind the wheel, glancing at her as I pulled into traffic.

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