Page 75 of #Bossholes

Sometimes I get a hug or a light kiss on the top of my head, but my grandfather used to do that before handing me a butterscotch candy or offering me some Chiclets. It’s not sexy and does nothing to stem these annoying urges. It only makes things worse.

“Dammit, Kinsley.” Brantley practically stomps into my office, his face a nice light shade of red. He stares down my colorful animal pictures, glaring at them one by one before shifting that look to me. “Did you submit all the paperwork to the court for Mr. Gray?”

He’s missing his jacket, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearm porn, and as he plants his hands on the other side of my desk and leans over, I almost swallow my tongue. He’s still wearing his dark gray vest and the whole combo really does things to me.

At least I know what moment will fuel tonight’s fantasies.

It doesn’t even matter that his voice is raised. It might make the whole thing better.

“Kinsley, are you paying attention?”

I blink. Trail my gaze up to his face and blink again. “Yes, boss.”

He growls, legitimately growls, and I shouldn’t be so turned on, but I am. I fucking am. I’m a damn horny mess in my office chair because I want nothing more than my boss to crawl up my body and growl in my ear as he slides into me.

Jesus. I have problems.

Big ones.

Three to be exact.

You know, you have one night of super hot, sweaty sex, and it’s all downhill from there.

He’s still staring me down, his jaw working back and forth, and I want to trace it with my tongue. “Yes, you submitted the paperwork or yes, you are paying attention?”

“Both. I think.”

Another growl rumbles deep in his chest, and his eye twitches. “You think?”

I clear my throat and shift in my chair. Why isn’t my brain working? I’ve seen forearms before, and he wears one of thosedamn vests of his every day. So why the hell am I so affected? I blame the top of the head kisses. They’ve got me all out of sorts.

What was he saying? Paperwork? Mr. Gray? Oh, yes, that’s right. “I submitted everything for his case yesterday.”

“Then why does nothing show in their system? Why did this woman Julia who forced me into small talk say they hadn’t received anything.”

The look of disgust on his face is almost enough to make me laugh. Almost, but not quite. He’s pissed, and I probably shouldn’t actively try to make things worse. You know, like laugh in his face. Or ask him about his day and his favorite color.

Which, but the way, I’m sure is black like his soul.

“That can’t be right,” I say more to myself than him. While it’s true, I’ve been distracted, I remember doing this yesterday. It was right after lunch. There was a ham sandwich and a bag of Cheetos involved. I had to wash my hands twice before faxing everything over. “I’m positive it was done.”

His palm slaps against my desk, and I jump. “Well, it wasn’t and now everything is going to have to be pushed back. Two weeks, Kinsley, you cost us two weeks.”

I swallow. Hard. “I’m so sorry. I’ll send everything over right now so we won’t have to worry about any future delays.”

I’m already halfway out of my chair when he holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it; I did your job for you.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond or really process what he said. He simply stomps out of my office, apparently just as pissed as when he came in. But as he disappears, my brain catches up.

He did my job for me?

Is he freaking kidding me?

I sent those papers yesterday; I know I did. I’m positive. And I have proof. I spin, pull Mr. Gray’s file from the cabinet behind my desk, and yep, there it is. The fax confirmation.

Take that, Mr. Ellis.

But my little internal victory isn’t going to work. He needs to know I can be competent at my job, and while yes, I did slack on a few things this week, this is not one of them.

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