Page 20 of #Bossholes

I open my mouth to respond, to tell the both of them how sorry I am, how I know what they’ve gone through, but she holds up a hand and shakes her head.

“I’m so sorry to keep you, Mr. Ellis, but we should go.” She glances down at the cracked sidewalk beneath us, and I get thedistinct feeling that she’s shuttering herself off from the world, from me. She’s protecting herself and her brother; I get that. But I have this strange need to comfort her. Them. “I need to get Colin to bed.”

“Yes, of course.” I take a step back, pulling myself back to reality. One where I’m her boss, her much older boss, who needs to mind his own damn business. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As they cross the street toward her car, I keep my eyes on them. I lie to myself. I pretend I’m watching them to make sure they get in the car safely, but I think we both know that’s bullshit. In fact, as her car pulls out onto the street and they drive away, I’m still standing here in the goddamn rain staring after them.

This is why I compartmentalize, why I see the world in black and white. She’s an employee which makes her untouchable. I don’t do complicated. I don’t do relationships. And I sure as hell don’t lust after women who work for me.

So, why am I still standing here?

She’s attractive, I can admit that, but she’s my secretary, and apparently the temp agency we’ve been using has blacklisted us. No more replacements. No more options. This has to work. She has to work.

So, I give myself a shake, turn, and continue to walk toward my building. I will not wonder where she lives or if she got home safely. I will not ask about her brother’s condition or about any treatments. I will not ask about her parents or anything else about her personal life. It’s none of my business. She’s not my business.

I have a law firm to run, and I won’t let her be the one gray area in my life.

TWELVE

Kinsley

I’ve spentthe rest of the week thinking about that damn book from book club and debating the whole virgin auction thing. I haven’t looked it up yet. Why? Because the idea of letting some stranger put his hands all over me—maybe even in me—makes me hesitate. Enough that until about an hour ago I was dead set against it, but then I got another call from the doctor’s office.

Unless about sixty thousand dollars is going to shoot out of my butthole in the next five minutes, I don’t see what other options I have.

My brother means too much to me to let him down like this. If he couldn’t get his surgery because of me, because I didn’t do everything I could, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’d be no better than my selfish, alcoholic, sociopathic parents. They didn’t give two fucks about either one of us. All they cared about was making enough money to pay their bar tab for the week. Their biggest decision was whether or not to start the day off with vodka or tequila.

I’m not them. I refuse to be.

Which is why I glance around my office, click out of the financial reports I’ve been compiling for the past hour, and bring up a google search.

My fingers are above the keyboard, poised and ready to type. I hesitate.

“Miss Rhodes.” Maverick sticks his head inside my office, his gaze wandering along the walls which are now decorated with some colorful art pieces. Mainly animals wearing fancy coats because I knew they’d hate it. “Nice touch. Is that a sloth in a fur coat?”

“Yep.” I push back from the computer and cross my arms, nodding to the picture next to it. “And that’s a rhino in a three piece suit. I think he looks rather dashing.” And reminds me of Brantley, not that I’d admit that fact to any of them. “But none of them are quite as fancy as the peacock with his little bowtie.”

“It is quite…something.” His lips twitch as his eyes land on the balloon animal bookends.

I didn’t mean to splurge but one of my favorite sellers on Etsy had a clearance sale, and I couldn’t resist. If I didn’t give this place a little color, I was going to end up crying into my chips like the last secretary.

“Thank you. Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Wallace?”

“Ah, yes. I’ll need my dry cleaning picked up from the place down on Acklen Ave and delivered to my building. In fact, you might as well pick up Wyatt and Brants too. They’d all be going to the same place.”

Interesting. “You guys live together?”

He barks out a laugh, looking down at his suit, and runs a finger down his tie. “Do we look like frat boys?”

I swallow, giving him a quick lookover, and for a second I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer. “No?”

“We live in the same building. Not the same apartment.” He clears his throat, loosening his tie a fraction of an inch. “It’s easier for us.”

I have so many more questions, but I’m not going to pry. Besides, his dry cleaning errand is going to take up a nice hunk of my afternoon and limit my time for internet research. His living situation, while it may seem odd, is not my concern.

“Okay. Dry cleaning.” I make a note—using a normal pen—and when I'm done, keep it poised over the notepad. “Anything else?”

“I need a meeting set up with Ember Lynn and her husband's attorney to start going over asset division. Brantley will be in attendance, so we’ll need something that works with his schedule as well.”

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