Page 7 of The Boss

It seemed like an attempt to shift the spotlight, but Chris didn’t strike me as the type to suck up to the boss. He seemed genuinely interested. “Yeah, middle linebacker. Team captain, too. But it was all for fun. I never had any interest in pursuing it as a career. My body just craves the exercise, the action, the discipline—always had. And I liked hitting people.”

Chris chuckled. “Bet you had a killer hit stick.”

I glanced at him sideways.“Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “You seem like the kind of guy who’d read the game three steps ahead. Calling the shots. Keeping everyone in line. Making the big plays when it counts.”

I huffed a laugh. “You get all that just from sitting in a car with me?”

“Some people just give off that vibe,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah? And what vibe do I give off?”

He tilted his head, considering. Then he grinned again. “Like the kind of guy who never let a receiver cross the middle without making them regret it.”

I smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t meant as anything else.”

He was quick. Observant. I liked that. “I still hit the gym most mornings before work. If, for some reason, I can’t make it, then I go in the evening. Running on the weekends, too.”

“I should really get back into the drill as well. I just need some consistency.”

“There’s a gym on the ground floor of our building. All Nova employees get a free membership.”

“Oh? That’s good to know.”

The conversation meandered through weightlifting routines and favorite workouts, and I started to see the real Chris—the confident young man with great potential, not the awkward,panicked guy who first barged into my office. He had the easy enthusiasm of someone who still enjoyed the physicality of training, who hadn’t yet let the corporate world siphon the joy out of sweat and exertion. By the time I pulled up to Nova Systems, we were talking like old chums.

I put the car in park and glanced over at him. “You should be all set for tomorrow. Ed can be a little handsy, but he’s a master of his craft. The suit will fit you like a glove.”

Chris unbuckled his seatbelt, then looked back at me. “Thanks for doing that,” he said, smiling. “I mean, really. You didn’t have to.”

I shrugged. “Can’t have my employees walking around with their asses hanging out, can I?”

He flushed, but grinned. “Guess not. Well… Goodnight, Mr Steele.”

I tilted my head. “Zac.”

A flicker of hesitation. Then a nod. “Zac.”

I watched him climb out, standing for a moment under the glow of the streetlights, the light forming a halo around his golden head. His reflection ghosted across my windshield before he turned, offering a final wave as he made his way to his Honda Civic.

I exhaled through my nose, rubbing the back of my neck before shifting the car into drive. Time to see Chantelle.

* * *

She lived in a luxury high-rise overlooking the Providence River, her apartment a minimalist’s dream—clean lines, bright colors, a perfect blend of modern design and personal elegance. She didn’t clutter it with unnecessary things. Everything was curated, intentional. Just like she was.

I turned the key and let myself in, the smell of something rich and fragrant wrapping around me like a warm welcome. Bothof us still kept our own apartments, a habit born from years of independence and busy careers. Most nights, we alternated between her place and mine, never feeling the need to rush into merging our lives completely. But now, with the wedding on the horizon, we were on the hunt for a house—something classy and stylish, with enough space for two people who valued their autonomy. We still had enough time, though, and neither of us seemed in a hurry to give up the comfort of having a place that was solely our own.

Inside, candlelight danced against the marble countertops. Chantelle stood at the stove, barefoot, wearing a silk slip dress that skimmed over her body like water. Her dark curls were twisted into a loose bun, strands escaping around her sharp cheekbones. She didn’t look up.

“You brought the wine?” she asked without turning, stirring whatever she had simmering in the pan.

I held up the bottle of Bordeaux. “As requested.”

She smirked, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Good man. Pour us some.”

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