Page 21 of #Bossholes

Another note. “Got it.”

“I’ve got two cases going to court next week, and I’ll need those files to review on Monday.”

I tap my pen a few times on the notepad before pointing it in his direction. “I’ve already sent both of those to your email along with any communications you’ve had with opposing counsel. You’ll also see an updated employee expense report and a detailed report of the firm's weekly expenditures.”

He lets out a low whistle, and there’s a moment where I think he’s going to initiate a slow clap, but he simply smiles. Well, truth be told, it’s anything but a simple smile, but I’m going to pretend it doesn’t make my stomach flop and my palms sweat. “I knew I had a feeling about you.”

I’d love to ask what that feeling was. Especially when we first met, I was insulting him and his partners, but I hold my tongue. “Thank you, sir.”

He lingers for a few seconds, his eyes back to my colorful wall, and just when I think he’s about to say something else, he abruptly turns and heads back to his office.

He’s gone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t come back. Or either of the other guys will pop in for a spontaneous conversation. It’s too risky. I can’t look this up at work. What if they have IT monitoring our site usage? What if they find out what I’m searching?

I couldn’t imagine. I’d be mortified.

I’d need to go through with it to be able to afford to live because if they found out, there’s no way I’d be able to show my face here again.

THIRTEEN

Kinsley

It tookall afternoon to finally leave that damn office.

First it was a coffee run for Brantley. Apparently he indulges in a chocolate cream cold brew on Friday afternoons, and the little coffee shop four blocks away is his favorite. It doesn’t matter if there are several between here and there all making the same thing.

Then it was Wyatt. The dick still couldn't get my name right and had the audacity to askCatherinefor collated copies while he was standing next to the copy machine. Not on the other side of his office, not on a different floor, literally inches away.

Until he saw me shoving the papers into the loading tray he probably thought it was a decoration.

Maverick stopped me from leaving twice after that. The first time he roped me into looking for his lost cell phone, a cell phone which had fallen under his desk. It wasn’t until I was on my hands and knees crawling on his office floor he admitted he hadn’t even thought to look there. Did I mention I’m in a skirt and pantyhose?

And then I was almost free. I was seconds from the elevator door when Maverick decided he needed me to pull another clientfile. One he apparently needed urgently even though the case wasn’t due to go to court for another couple weeks.

It’s no wonder their secretaries never last long.

These guys are the worst. They’re demanding. Egotistical. Inept at doing basic tasks.

Oh, and did I mention they’re so annoyingly handsome?

I don’t know why that grates on my nerves so bad, but it does. Why can’t they look like trolls? None of the lawyers at my last firm looked half as good as they do. It’s not fair. I want to strangle them one by one.

I can handle the expense reports, pulling files, organizing emails, setting up meetings, taking messages and getting all their court documents in order. I’m no stranger to hard work and don’t back down when challenged. But there’s just something about the way they demand these things I can’t stand. I’m not sure if I want to knock them out with their own briefcases or push them down on my desk and undress them piece by piece, let them know who’s really in charge here.

Obviously the correct answer is the first option.

Despite how ridiculously hot they are—you know, if you like older jerk bosses, which I do not—I have zero desire to actually be with any of them. Okay, fine, maybe there’s a tiny little piece of me that might actually enjoy it, but I am looking to sell my virginity for top dollar, not give it away to one of my bosses. Especially when one of those bosses thinks I’m a frivolous woman who wasted her time decorating her office. Brantley’s words not mine. Maybe he likes the plain white walls and lack of color. It’s fine for him, but I’m not going to work in a drab prison.

In fact, I’m thinking about getting him a few portraits of various animals dressed up from the Victorian era.

I think he’d really love the pug wearing a monocle and a Shakespearean collar.

The look of pure terror on his face would be worth twenty-one, ninety-five plus shipping. That mental image has me chuckling all the way in their swanky apartment building, my arms loaded with their freshly cleaned suits and dress shirts.

“Good evening, miss, can I help you?”

I’m so close to rolling my eyes because of course these guys have a doorman. Hell, I’m lucky I have a front door. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. Not only do they own that law firm, but I get the distinct impression all three of them come from money. Hence, the general lack of awareness the three of them seem to have.

“Ah, yes.” I peek over the piles of suits. “I work for Ellis, Ellis, and Wallace. I’m here to drop off their dry cleaning.”

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