Page 36 of The Boss Situation

Who is smarter? Right now, Banks has me thinking about all of my options. I wonder if I’m playing into his hand.

Harper

You need to do something he’d never expect. If your normal answer would be no, maybe you say yes, and vice versa. He’s in your head already.

I hate that she’s right.

Billie

So annoyed. I should’ve never gone to his place. I made everything worse. But he doesn’t know me that well. Banks only knows my public persona.

Harper

Okay, but you have to admit, there has always been a vibe. Like you’d choke each other while you banged.

I swallow hard, and a small smile plays on my lips. It’s not something I’d ever admit. The two of us would be too destructive together. We’re two tornadoes traveling down the same path. I’m not sure people like us can ever truly find happiness.

Harper

I just hope you didn’t eye-fuck him, like you usually do.

Billie

I do not eye-fuck him, except for when he wears Dior.

Harper

Mmhmm. That’s the only time?

Billie

Why does he have to dress so well? Another reason why I STRONGLY dislike him.

Harper

Am I speaking to DB? Drunk Billie? Deb?

Billie

I love that you called my drunk personality Deb. I’m going to bed for real. Chat tomorrow. Night.

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, feeling my head swim. The champagne has taken over. As I drift off, I stupidly envision honey-colored brown eyes.

MONDAY MORNING

My alarm sounds, and I slide on a black pantsuit with my red fuck-you heels. I paint my lips the same color, brushing down my perfectly cut bob. It’s just past seven, and I stop by Roosters and order my double shot of espresso. As soon as I round the corner, paps are waiting for me. They snap photos.

“Hey, Billie! Thanks for what you do,” one of them says.

I ignore them, pretending they’re not there. I step inside the coffee shop, exhaling. As I take a step forward, I look over broad shoulders and dark, clean-cut hair. Then I smell the faint hint of his cologne. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I know I could sneak out thedoor, but I refuse to change my routine for him. My headquarters was on this road first.

He orders, and just as he’s about to pay, he notices me from his peripheral vision. “Satan, wow. You got another pass to leave hell? Two in a row?”

The barista snickers, batting her eyes toward Asher. I get it. He’s attractive. I don’t give him the reaction he wants.

“Whatever she wants is on my bill,” he tells the cashier.

“No. Not necessary,” I tell her, then turn to him. “You’re not paying for my coffee.”

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