Page 34 of #Bossholes

“Let me tell you a little about how we work at Ellis, Ellis, and Wallace, especially when we’re working with someone with a higher public profile, such as yourself. We have a few talented individuals specializing in marketing and PR who will be at your disposal as you deal with the media and are there to help curb any attacks that can and will come from your wife.” I take another drink of my coffee, my eyes drifting to the woman sitting next to me.

She checks her phone, shifts in her chair, and then checks her phone for a second time. Her lip twitches. She grips the edge of the table. “Excuse me; I need to use the restroom.” She chokes out a laugh. “This coffee just ran right through me.”

Yeah, sure. The coffee that sits in front of her remains mostly untouched. Thanks to my dumbass brother, I’m pretty sure I know why she needs to go to the bathroom, and it has nothing to do with how much she’s had to drink today.

I can’t stop her. I don’t want to stop her.Lie.

“We’ll be here when you get back.” Another smile from Mr. Gray as he gestures toward her.

I make an attempt to give her a smile, but it wobbles as my gaze zeroes in on the phone she’s gripping tightly between her fingers. “Do you always take your phone in the bathroom?” Don’t know why I’m asking that. It shouldn’t matter what she does with her phone or what website she may or may not be loading a profile on, but it sure doesn’t stop me from pointing to it and saying, “You can leave it here.”

Her eyes widen, and she clutches her phone to her chest. Am I being unreasonable? Yes. Can I stop myself? No.

Even August is eying me like I’ve lost my mind, and you know what, there’s a good chance he’s right.

“Is there a problem?”

The longer we stare at each other, the tighter she clutches her phone, and the faster my heart beats.

She opens her mouth, closes it, and then peers around the cafe. “I…uh…I need to check in with my brother too.”

What can I say to that? A big fat nothing. So I stand up like the chode I am and wave her toward the bathroom like I’m Vanna Fucking White. And because the universe hates me right now, August excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving me here to stew.

I’m being completely inappropriate. I know it, and so do you. I had no business berating the barista for giving her his phone number. No business growling at August because he kissed the back of her hand. And I sure as fuck have no business opening my phone to log into the account I created with Cherry Bid. So not only am I inappropriate, but I’m also a hypocrite.

Life is full of revelations for me today.

But it doesn’t keep me from scrolling through the sellers and refreshing the list when I don’t find her on my first search.

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart hammers in my chest. There she is, right at the top of the page. She’s outside wearing a simple white sundress, her smile so genuine I almost find myself smiling back. Almost. Because while she looks so fucking gorgeous it hurts, she’s listing herself for sale, for someone who’s not her boss to buy the innocence she’s teasing me with.

Goddamn it.

She should be mine. Fuck.

She should stay far, far away from me.

I’m a miserable bastard, and I’d only bring her down. She doesn’t want some washed-up man fifteen years older than her. She doesn’t need my damage, my rough edges, my baggage.

She deserves so much better than me.

Which is why I deactivate my account and slip my phone in my pocket.

I’m her boss; that’s it. That’s all it can ever be.

NINETEEN

Kinsley

If I thoughtMonday was a disaster, it has nothing on the rest of the week. Not only have I been slammed at work, but every second of free time I’ve been consumed with the auction—the one that’s ending today. Correction—an hour from now.

And what am I doing? Well, I’m sure as hell not monitoring my account. Nope. I’m running in the building, my purse clutched to my chest, my entire body drenched from the torrential downpour outside.

My clothes are soaked, my hair is plastered to my face, and I’m dripping down the hallway toward the elevators. I look like I jumped into someone’s pool fully clothed. If the fucking weather man had mentioned rain, I’d have brought an umbrella, but no, he said it was going to be cool and sunny.

If only the guys currently bidding on my virginity could see me now. They’d either be hitting that cancel button or hoping someone outbids them. But, I mean, they’re bidding on a stranger’s V-card. Can they really be that picky?

Sure, I uploaded several pictures—including one I had to take in a bathing suit—and filled out a basic profile, but they don’t get more than that. Oh, and a letter from a doctor verifyingmy virginal status. That was a fun conversation to have with my OB/GYN.

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