Page 12 of #Bossholes

“I have a meeting with him in thirty. I suggest you get started.” His tone doesn’t waver and neither does his withering stare.

Perfect.

I’d love to roll my eyes and tell him in very vivid detail what he can do with that coffee mug of his, but I need this job, and his attitude isn’t going to bother me in the slightest. Or, at least, I’m going to pretend it doesn’t.

This man in his thousand dollar suit and fifty cent smile isn’t going to break me.

“Sure thing.” That smile is back on my face like armor, and I make a show of sitting down at my desk, pulling up the company database and my trusty Google search bar. Only, I can still feel his eyes on me. Am I not typing to his liking? Perhaps my posture isn’t stiff enough. I don’t lift my gaze, nope. I just use my sweetest voice, asking, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr…?”

His answering hum of displeasure is the only thing I get before he stomps to one of the offices to my right and closes the door with a resounding thud. I guess he’s not going to let me know which Ellis he is.

Very well, Mr. Grumpy Pants. I’ve read enough grumpy/sunshine romances to know there’s a heart somewhere under that gruff exterior. A very small heart buried very deep in his chest. I can only hope the other Mr. Ellis has more of a personality.

Doubtful, but still.

I spend the next twelve minutes printing off and organizing everything I can find on Bennett Holden. I’ve included every one of his competitions, scandals, relationships, profiles on his family, and the charities he supports. I even noted his shellfish allergy.

I’m double and triple checking my work when a throat clears right outside my office.

Smile firmly in place, I stand, file in hand with eight minutes to spare only to stop short on the way to my door. He’s…shaved. That’s freaking weird. Most guys take care of that at home before coming into the office, but you know, who am I to judge? Maybe he was running late this morning and didn’t have time.

It’s too bad; the scruff looked good on him.

“Here’s the file you requested for Bennett Holden.”

His head cocks to the side, his brows drawing together as his gaze rakes over me. I assumed I’d get some kind of approving grunt, not…confusion? Did he expect me to sit back, twirl my hair around my finger, and completely forget what he asked me to do?

I’ve always been good at my job, and despite this being my first day up here, his lack of faith in me stings. At the very least he could give me a thank you and a curt nod. I’d even take a thank you and a middle finger.

But it seems like that might be too much to ask for. Especially, when his eyes scan my face, a slow smirk spreading across his face. It’s an evil one, and I’d love to say it makes him less appealing, but it doesn’t. Not even close. The damn thing has my heart fluttering in my chest, and I’m forced to grip it as tight as I can so he won’t notice the tremble in my fingers.

What a see you next Tuesday.

“Kelsie, is it?” His fingers run down his tie, dancing along the silk in a way that shouldn’t be as mesmerizing as it is. And oh, he took off his vest. He can’t get my name right, or do his own research, but he has time to undress and shave. I don’t want to know what else he does in there.

I take a quick breath, shifting my eyes to his. “It’s actually?—”

“We’re going to be in a meeting for the next hour and need you to take notes.” He leans toward me, lingering in my space for several beats before snagging the file from my hands and leafing through it. “Or you can keep staring at your wall.”

I’m frozen for a second, blinking at him like an idiot, and really trying not to be affected by his spiced sandalwood scent, but luckily manage to nod.

I am a professional, after all.

A professional who is going to be in the same room with Bennett Holden, Olympic swimmer and winner of not one, not two, but eighteen gold medals.A professional who also happensto know exactly what he looks like in those little swim shorts. I might have internally squealed. And done a little dance. Family law might not have been my first choice, but damn if this place doesn’t have its perks. I’m pretty sure I saw country music star Ember Lynn in here last week, and she’s my favorite.

“And I’m going to need you to set up a lunch meeting at the Japanese place I went to last month.” He continues, and I’m still standing there nodding though I have no freaking clue what he did yesterday let alone last month.

Now I’m beginning to understand why secretaries don’t last long up here. These guys—at least this one—are oblivious.

“Are you two planning on blocking the hallway the entire morning?”

That voice…

The suit in front of me glances over my head and as I whip around, I somehow enter the twilight zone. There’s two of them and, of course, this guy is sporting scruff and is wearing the supposed missing vest from earlier. Twins. Freaking twins. Wyatt and Brantley, although there’s no way to tell who is who.

This isn’t going to be confusing at all. Not in the slightest. As long as he doesn’t shave his face, I should be okay. Maybe. Hopefully.

If he does, I’m screwed for sure. This is, of course, provided one of them introduces himself, and I can figure out who has the five o'clock shadow and who has the clean face.

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