Page 51 of The Boss

I nodded, turning my attention back to my screen, my face carefully impassive. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all. See you later.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Alone again, I exhaled, a slow smile creeping across my face. A business trip to Florida. Warm sun. Soft sand. And Chris, all to myself, for three whole days. My cock twitched at the thought.

I pressed the intercom button on my desk phone and said, “Chris, could you step into my office for a moment? I have some news for you.”

Yeah. This was exactly what I needed.

23. Chris

The first thing that hit me when we stepped out of Miami International Airport was the heat—thick, balmy, a world apart from the biting wind we’d left behind in Providence. The sun was relentless, hanging high in a cloudless sky, baking the pavement, making my sweater instantly unbearable. I tugged it over my head, stuffing it into my carry-on, and took a deep breath of the humid, salt-tinged air.

“Welcome to Florida,” Zac said beside me, smirking as he slid on his sunglasses. Unlike me, he looked entirely unbothered by the shift in climate, crisp and composed in his tailored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off his muscled forearms. He moved like he owned the place, like he belonged anywhere he went.

I, on the other hand, was still trying to process the surreal fact that I was here at all. Miami. I’d never been to Florida before, never seen palm trees lining the streets, never felt this kind of heat in December. It felt like stepping into another world. The city buzzed around us—cars honking, people moving in every direction, Spanish and English mingling in the air. Everything felt bright, fast, electric.

We slid into the black car waiting for us at the curb, and as the driver pulled onto the highway, I pressed my forehead to the window, taking in the sprawl of the city—the way the skyline shimmered against the blue sky, the sheer number of high-rises, the Art Deco buildings, the flashes of vibrant murals splashed across walls. It was impossible to take it all in at once.

“I know you said this was a business trip,” I said, still watching the city rush past. “But it feels more like a vacation.”

Zac chuckled, his hand resting on my thigh. “Well, it’s not.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The ride to the hotel didn’t take long, but by the time we arrived, I was practically vibrating with excitement. The place was impossibly luxurious—towering glass windows, an elegant marble lobby, palm trees inside, for God’s sake. A grand staircase curved toward the upper floors, and just beyond the check-in desk, I caught a glimpse of a sprawling pool area, people lounging beneath umbrellas with cocktails in hand.

Two rooms had been booked—appearances mattered—but when we took the elevator up to the executive suite, it was clear where we’d actually be spending our time.

The suite was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the view of the ocean, stretching endlessly into the horizon. A massive bed with crisp white linens dominated the bedroom, and behind it, a private terrace held an outdoor Jacuzzi, steam curling invitingly from its surface.

I let out a low whistle. “Yeah. Definitely a vacation.”

Zac gave me a pointed look but didn’t argue. Instead, he walked over to the balcony, loosening his tie as he glanced down at the city below. “Enjoy the view while you can,” he said. “Because we’ve got work to do.”

The conference was held in the hotel’s ballroom—an expansive, sleek space filled with round tables, towering screens, and men in pressed suits talking in low, serious voices. I recognized a few faces from Nova Systems’ past meetings, but most were strangers, exuding the kind of sharp, practiced confidence honed over years in the business.

Zac was in his element. He guided me through conversations with an effortless charisma, introducing me to developers, CEOs, and investors, weaving my name into the discussion like I already belonged there.

Between meetings, he took the time to explain everything—the strategies behind certain deals, the unspoken rules of negotiations, the importance of relationships in this world. Hespoke low, just for me, his voice steady and instructive, his hand always resting on my lower back as he guided me through the crowd.

I tried to absorb it all, tried to play the part of the ambitious assistant, but the truth was, I was distracted—by his constant touch, by the way his presence dominated the room, by the thrill of being here with him, of beinghis.

By the time we wrapped up for the day, my head was full, my feet ached, and my stomach growled.

“Hungry?” Zac asked as we stepped into the elevator.

“Starving.”

He smirked. “Let’s change and get out of here.”

We shed our business attire for something more fitting—light, breathable, easy. I put on a blue tank top, beige khaki shorts, and my white sneakers, while Zac opted for a crisp white button-up with dark gray dress shorts and black suede loafers. Even in something so simple, he looked good enough to eat—polished, cool, every inch of him screaming wealth and control. I wasn’t about to let that go untested.

Before we even left the suite, I dropped to my knees, pulling him deep into my mouth. He groaned, threading his fingers through my hair, his restraint slipping as he thrust against my tongue. I wanted to wreck him, make him feel as unraveled as I did every time he touched me. And from the way he shuddered when he shot his load down my throat, I knew I’d succeeded.

* * *

Lunch turned into an afternoon of exploring. Zac, despite claiming this wasn’t a vacation, seemed perfectly content to play tour guide. He took me toLittle Havana, where we walked down Calle Ocho, the air thick with the scent of Cuban coffee and roasting pork. We stopped at aventanitaforcafecito—tiny,potent cups of espresso that made my pulse race—and watched old men playing dominoes at Máximo Gómez Park.

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