Page 59 of #Bossholes

“Of course.” Maverick’s tone is tight as he steps in front of me, his hands resting on my shoulders, and he presses a quick kiss to the top of my head.

He lingers for a second, his fingers hovering above my lips, his eyes searching mine. He leans closer, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me. My heart races. My lips part. I shouldn’t want another kiss, but I do.

Except, he pulls back and heads out the door.

Wyatt gives me a curt nod as he passes. “See you Monday morning.”

They’re gone. No hard feelings. No strangled goodbyes.

It’s how it should be.

So why do I miss them already?

THIRTY-ONE

Brantley

I’m watching the Devils’hockey game from last night because I’m feeling violent, and while I can’t go around smashing things in my apartment, watching these guys beat each other on the ice makes me feel marginally better.

Marginally.

I didn’t sleep for a goddamn minute last night, and while I don’t regret my decision to stay home…well, I don’t have to like it.

Especially when I spent every fucking second imagining my brother and my best friend mauling the one woman I can’t seem to get out of my head. Why? Fuck if I know.

But I can tell you it’s pretty damn inconvenient.

I usually spend my Saturday nights working. I know, not exactly a shocker, but it’s how I prefer to spend my time. It’s easy. Simple. And at the end of each day, I’ve accomplished countless things for my high profile clients and the firm.

Kinsley is messy. She’s a complication to my life I don’t need.

A fight breaks out on the ice, usually my favorite thing about hockey, but I was so lost in my own head, I didn’t notice until the whistle was called. I need to get it together.

With a grunt, I turn the volume down on the TV and head to the kitchen to make myself a drink. It’s almost noon, but it’s five o'clock somewhere. I have the drink to my lips, letting the taste of scotch linger when Wyatt and Maverick sweep into my apartment. I quickly glance at their rumpled suits from yesterday and down my drink in one gulp. Cheers.

Knowing what likely went down between the three of them is bad enough; I don’t need them rubbing my nose in it.

“We have a problem.” Wyatt frowns as he takes in my glass, but doesn’t say a word about it.

I match his frown with one of my own, clinking the ball of ice around my glass before slamming it down on my counter. “What kind of problem? And don’t tell me our secretary kicked you out of the hotel room. If she had, you'd have come sulking last night. And you wouldn’t look like shit.”

“I don’t sulk,” he scoffs. He glances down at his suit and attempts to brush out the wrinkles. He fails. Instead, he takes off his tie and suit jacket and tosses them in a heap on my kitchen island. “Is the apartment below yours still vacant?”

I snag the bottle of scotch, pour myself another shot, but leave it on the counter. “For the moment. I have a few more applications to go through today.”

If I can pull my head out of my ass and concentrate on something for a solid ten minutes.

“Well, don’t.”

My gaze shifts to Maverick who’s casually leaning against the island, watching me with his trademark smirk. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

My words come out a little harsher than intended, but I’m not one to play games, and the two of them are starting to irritate the shit out of me.

Maverick’s grin only deepens. “So, it turns out oursecretaryneeded the auction money to take care of her younger brother.Her parents are dead, and I can only assume that means she’s raising her brother on her own.”

Not exactly news to me, but I keep my mouth shut. At least about that. “That’s nothing problematic. I’m sure that kind of thing happens more than we know.”

It’s a lie, one I chase with a small sip of scotch.

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