Page 14 of The Boss

“There’s a difference between rumors without any substance and feeding what people are already saying,” I countered.

“What are people already saying?”

I looked away, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. “They’re saying that because Flora was suspended and I wasn’t, I must’ve…done something to earn a reprieve.”

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean.” I forced my gaze to stay on his. “But if you really want me to spell it out, it’s pretty simple. People think I slept with you so you wouldn’t suspend me.”

“And how didthatparticular rumor get started?”

At the accusation in his voice, my head snapped back in his direction. “I certainly didn’t start it.”

He gave me a hard look, but then nodded. “I believe you.”

“Thanks?” I couldn’t stop from making the word sound like a question.

“Who started the rumor?” he repeated.

I shook my head. “I’m not going to add to it.”

Before he could argue, someone else knocked on the door. We both turned to see a nervous-looking teenager with a plastic bag full of what – based on the amazing smell – I assumed was take-out.

“I buzzed the door, but no one answered so I tried the door, and it was open.” He held up the bag. “The note on the receipt gave the floor and–”

“Thank you,” Mr. Lexington said as he crossed over to the delivery guy. He handed over a bill with one hand and took the bag with the other. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks.” The delivery guy headed back down the hall, and Mr. Lexington watched him go.

When the kid was out of earshot, Mr. Lexington said, “Whoever’s on security tonight is getting fired.”

At least now I knew that he wasn’t sexist when it came to firing people for doing things on the job that they shouldn’t.

“But first, dinner.” He turned and held up the bag. “Sit. You’re eating with me.”

That didn’t sound like a request, and I doubted I could refuse what I knew was an order.

Dammit.

Ten

Nate

I’d intendedto stop at Miss Webb’s desk Wednesday or Thursday to remind her of our date, but I hadn’t expected anything that had happened within the last few minutes. She’d come to me. To change her mind and decline the invitation.

I’d never had that happen before. Not someone turning me down. Not someone surprising me. And certainly not both from the same person.

Which meant I wanted to talk to her now more than ever. I needed to figure out what made her tick. When my dinner showed up, I seized the opportunity and asked her to stay and eat with me. Well, I supposed the asking was less a question and more a statement, but making requests wasn’t really my style.

“You eat take-out?” she asked without moving from where she stood.

“What New Yorker doesn’t?” My attempt at charming her fell flat.

“I’d guess most New Yorkers with your bank account don’t.” Heat flooded her face. “I apologize. That was completely out of line.”

“You can make it up to me by eating dinner with me.”

For the second time, I was resorting to blackmail to get what I wanted, and it grated on my nerves. From the expression she was trying to hide, it bothered her too.

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