Page 55 of #Bossholes

Cute. I purse my lips and keep my eyes narrowed, as I take a small sip of my coffee, expecting it to be terrible. But it’s not. He knows my coffee order? He’s obviously been paying attention, and I have no idea what to do with that information if anything. I’d better stick with my original plan and get the hell out of here.

“Speaking of secretary, I should really let you two go on about your day. Thank you for last night, but I’m afraid I need a shower and a fresh set of clothes.” I hustle to the closet and grab my purse and overnight bag. Which yes, has clothes and stuff for me to shower, but I can’t do it here. With them. “I appreciate the coffee. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Nope.” Maverick steps in front of me, his towel slipping slightly. If he’s trying to use his body to make me stay—well, let’s just say it could work.

Wyatt is on his other side casually sipping his coffee, the both of them completely blocking my path to freedom.

With a huff, I drop my bags and put a hand on my hip. “What do you mean, no?”

“We’re taking you home.” Wyatt’s tone is very matter-of-fact. It’s one he uses at the office that generally doesn’t allow room for argument. But we are not at the office.

“Very funny. Ha. Ha. Ha. This wasn’t a date, so you are under no obligation to drop me off at my front door. In fact, I drove here. You’re off the hook.”

Only neither one of them move. Wyatt crosses his arms, and Maverick drops his towel.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He’s not even looking at me, just puts down his coffee and gets dressed like it’s perfectly normal. I really try not to look at his body, at his dick that’s very clearly swinging between his legs—fine, I totally looked. But now, I’m trying not to stare, instead holding Wyatt’s amused gaze.

“You didn’t see enough last night, sweet cheeks?” I want to slap the sly smirk straight from Wyatt’s face. “It’s a shame I got dressed. I could have really used the confidence boost.”

“Shut up,” I grumble, adding in a few more choice words for extra effect, but his smirk only grows. Especially when I sneak a quick peek at Maverick’s ass right before he pulls up his boxer briefs. “But like I said, I’m good. I have my car.”

“And we have a driver who is perfectly capable of following us in your car so we can drive you home.” Maverick turns to face me, brows raised, his fingers working overtime to button his dress shirt. “You should check out your hair before we go. While I appreciate the freshly fucked look, you might not.”

“What?” My jaw drops, and I immediately drop my coffee on the side table, my hands flying to my hair.

It feels like a disaster. I was so worried about getting busted by Maverick, I didn’t even think about what I looked like. Rookie mistake. I bend down and rifle through my purse for a hair tie,and as soon as I find it, I’m off to the bathroom to pull my hair into a messy bun. While I’m sure I’m nowhere nearly ready to walk a runway, it’ll do for the ride home.

Now I just need to plead my case and hope they let me drive myself home. I need the distance from the two of them to get my head on straight. This is why you don’t sleep with your bosses. I need to extract myself from this situation before things get more tangled.

Except, when I get back to the room, Maverick is fully dressed, this time with my keys dangling from his fingers. Wyatt is holding my bag and purse, and they’re both heading toward the door.

What the heck is wrong with these guys?

I work for them, and I know they don’t hear the word “no” very often, but I’d have thought it would be present in their vocabulary.

“Didn’t you hear me?” I scramble to catch up, making sure to grab my coffee and slip on my heels. “I don’t need a ride.”

“We heard you.” Wyatt is quick to respond. “We’re just choosing not to listen.”

Of course they are.

THIRTY

Kinsley

This iswhy you don’t sleep with your bosses. Okay, it’s not the only reason, but it’s certainly on the list.

I don’t need a man to walk me to my door or make sure I don’t have any hurt feelings from the night before. If they’re worried I’m going to make things awkward on Monday, it would be best for them to leave me alone and let me sort through the past twelve hours, try to forget the side of them I never should’ve seen.

“There’s not a lot of security here,” Maverick muses behind me, following me to my apartment despite my best efforts to get him to go home.

I don’t answer him. Instead, I choose to assume he’s talking to Wyatt. Although, he’s not wrong. Not all of us can afford a doorman or extra AF apartments with security cameras. I live with what I can afford, and if it’s not good enough for Mr. Fancy Pants, he can march his ass back to his brand new Mercedes and go the fuck home.

Where he has a doorman.

And I’m sure all the freaking cameras he could ever want.

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