Page 15 of #Bossholes

“What is Mrs. Wright here for today? Mediation? Division of assets? Or is this an initial consultation?” There. I’ve shifted thefocus back to work. I’d promise myself a cookie, but I think we all know what happened last time I raided the cookie bin at lunch.

He stops just outside the conference room, his hand poised on the door handle, and gives me a pointed look. “We will be working on asset division, and while I suspect Mrs. Wright will want everything regardless of what she’s entitled to, you never know. She tends to draw out these meetings, no doubt trying to entice me to be her next husband. Which is where you come in. You’re here as a buffer. Her behavior tends to improve when there’s someone else in attendance, and I have way too much to do today. I can’t get stuck in there for hours.”

My brows draw together, and I shift my stuff from one arm to the other. “So you don’t need me to actually do anything?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t my time be better spent helping one of the others or learning what my job actually entails?”

“No.”

Well, isn’t he a little ray of sunshine? If he wants to pay me to sit next to him and pretend to work on my computer, I guess that’s what I’ll do. I have Solitaire. There could be worse ways to spend my day, so I gesture to the door and nod. “After you.”

His lip twitches, and I’m not sure if he wants to smile or deepen his frown. Probably the latter. Especially when he gives me a look that clearly says he’s not amused right before he opens the door and his entire body stiffens.

“Wyatt Ellis. I almost thought you were going to stand me up this morning. If you weren’t so damn delicious, I’d be offended.”

Wyatt. Thank you, Mrs. Wright, for that confirmation. And for the damn delicious comment. I’ll be laughing about that later, when I’m completely out of earshot fromWyatt. I can’t believe none of these assholes bothered to introduce themselves. Between their general jerkiness and pompous attitudes, it’s no wonder no one wants to work with them.

“Sorry, Mrs. Wright, we had a new employee start with us this morning, and I had to get her up to speed.” Wyatt sounds so sincere I have to physically restrain my eyes to keep them from rolling out of my head.

He and his brother are so magnanimous. They certainly caught me up to speed, demanding client research without so much as asking my name. Real good training program they have up here. Maybe in a few weeks I’ll actually know what I’m supposed to be doing every day.

“That’s okay; I don’t mind waiting for you.” She is over-the-top flirtatious, and while I can’t see her yet, I have no doubt she’s making sexy eyes at my new boss.

How much trouble do you think I’ll get in if I turn around and high tail it back to my office? If this entire meeting is going to be this nauseating, I might pass out on purpose. Maybe they'll take pity on me and send me home.

Likely, with a newly printed pink slip.

But no such luck.

Wyatt holds the door for me, watching every little move I make as I hold my head up, waltz into the conference room like I’ve been here a thousand times before, and take my seat across the table from Mrs. Wright. And judging by her pursed lips and the disdain written across her face, she’s not happy to see me.

She straightens, her narrowed gaze leaving me moments after I open my laptop. “Wyatt, who is your newfriend?”

With a quick glance at Wyatt, I roll my lips inward, suppressing the grin threatening to spread across my face. I could be nice, I could introduce myself so he learns my name, but I won’t. He wanted to keep me guessing, and karma can be a real bitch.

“This is my new legal secretary. I thought sitting in on a meeting with our most important client would be a greatexperience for her.” Wyatt answers smoothly, putting a banana and a bottle of water in front of me.

It throws me off my game, and I’m not sure why. It shouldn’t. It’s a dang piece of fruit and a water he snagged from the counter behind us. It’s not like he cured cancer or figured out the secret to world peace…but I’ve never had anyone take care of me before. Even a small gesture like this. Not my parents and certainly not Brian.

Maybe it’s a peace offering. Or maybe this is all an act for little Mrs. Hot Pants sitting across from us.

That’s probably it.

So instead of eating, I slide the offending items on the other side of me when his hand grabs mine. An electric shock jolts through me, and my breath catches in my throat.He’s touching me. My hot as hell, grumpy boss is holding my hand. Sorta.

His grip is firm, his eyes unyielding and as he stares me down, my heart races and my mouth goes dry.

“Eat.”

The feminist in me is reeling, but my inner book girlie is squealing with delight. She loves his undivided focus, his demanding tone, and more than anything— she’s desperate for more of his touch. Her. Me. It’s all the same.

He had his hands all over me earlier, yet this seems more intimate, and I can’t help but want more despite the fact that he’s my boss, that he’s likely a decade older than me, that he’s way too experienced and refined for a girl like me. With this simple touch, it’s easy to forget that I was dumped yesterday, humiliated in front of the entire coffee shop, that we’re not currently alone.

I blame all those romance novels I’ve been reading. They have all my wires crossed, and I want nothing more than to hear my boss murmurgood girlafter I take a bite.

Which is why I should absolutely toss this banana in the trash, but I don’t. Against all my better judgment, I slide my hand from under his and peel it, taking a small bite.

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