Page 31 of The Boss

Oh.

I blinked, momentarily stunned, my brain scrambling to keep up. This was her.Zac’sChantelle. The woman he kissed. The woman he fucked. The woman he was going to marry. And she was breathtaking. Hell, even I wanted to fuck her, which was saying something. How the fuck was I supposed to compete withthat?

I forced a polite smile, my fingers gripping the edge of my desk. “Uh, nice to meet you. Should I announce—?”

She held up one gloved hand, flashing me a conspiratorial grin. “Don’t. I want to surprise him for his birthday.”

My stomach dropped.His birthday? I didn’t even know it was his fucking birthday.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and nodded, slumping back into my chair as she breezed past me like a goddess descending from Mount Olympus. I watched her disappear into Zac’s office, the door clicking shut behind her.

Then I just… sat there. Staring at my computer screen, suddenly unable to focus on a single goddamn thing. From inside his office, I heard his voice—low, warm, affectionate in a way I had never heard before. Then her laugh, light and musical, like wind chimes in a summer breeze.

A sharp pang of something nasty shot through me. It coiled in my gut, dark and insidious, and I hated it. Hated that I felt so betrayed. Hated that the sound of them together made my skin feel too tight, my heart hammer too fast. What the hell was I expecting? This thing between us—it wasn’t real. Not really. Zac had a life. A fiancée. A future that didn’t include me. I was just…a convenient distraction. A fun little indulgence. And maybe that had been enough for me at first, but now, I wasn’t so sure.

Minutes passed. I couldn’t help but wonder what were they doing inside—were they kissing? Were they making out? Would he let her touch him, maybe jerk him off, at the same spot where I swallowed his load only hours ago? I barely moved, barely breathed—until finally, the office door swung open again.

I glanced up just in time to see them stepping out together, Chantelle’s hand curled around his arm, her body pressed to his side.

Zac’s gaze flicked to mine. “Chris, I’m heading out early. Alicia can handle things without me for one day.”

I swallowed hard, forcing a neutral expression. “Right. Have a good night.”

His brow furrowed slightly, like he noticed something in my tone, but he didn’t press. Instead, he nodded and led Chantelle toward the elevator.

I watched them go, my stomach twisting as the doors slid shut behind them. And then I was alone. Alone with the crushing realization that this—whatever this was between us—was never going to end the way I wanted.

14. Zac

The bar hadn’t changed much. The same exposed brick walls, the same dim lighting, the same whiskey-soaked scent hanging in the air. The soft jazz music playing in the background. Even the bartender looked the same, polishing glasses with that same slow, practiced ease.

“This place takes me back,” Chantelle said as we slid into a booth near the back. She draped her coat over the seat beside her, the black satin shirt cascading over her torso, the soft fur brushing against her shoulder. “Remember that night?”

Of course I remembered. It was the night when we first met, and now she brought me here on purpose, so we could relive that moment. She had been standing at the bar in that skin-tight red dress, flipping her hair and laughing with a group of friends. I had been here with some of the people from work, and when she caught me looking, she smirked—just a little—like she already knew I’d be coming over. And I had.

I gave her a slow smile. “You mean when I spent the better part of the evening fending off every other guy who tried to approach you and charming you into giving me your number?”

Chantelle laughed. “Youwerecharming. Andverypersistent.”

I chuckled. “When I see something I like, I go for it. And it worked, didn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Apparently.”

I leaned back, exhaling. For a moment, the memories felt real again—the thrill of chasing her, the easy flirtation, the way we had sparked against each other like flint and steel. Maybe this was exactly what we needed—to remember how we started, to remind ourselves why we had fallen into bed, into love, into a life together.

A waiter came by, and Chantelle ordered a cocktail while I got a scotch. We kept reminiscing while we drank, teasing each other about who made the first move, who kissed who first, who had fallen harder. The conversation flowed easily enough, like muscle memory. She was beautiful. She was charming. She wasmine.So why did it feel like I was going through the motions?

Chantelle pulled a sleek black box from her purse and slid it across the table. “Happy birthday, stud.”

I lifted the lid. Inside, cushioned against black velvet, was a Rolex. Clean, elegant, expensive.

I whistled. “Damn, babe. You didn’t have to.”

She leaned in across the table, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Of course I did. You deserve it.”

I turned my wrist, letting the light catch on the polished metal. It was a beautiful watch—classic, refined. But somehow, it felt like I was looking at it through glass, like I wasn’t really there.

Chantelle’s smile turned sly. “And there’s more waiting for you tonight.”

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