Page 45 of The Boss

Why didmy head feel like I’d stuck it into a fucking drum?

And why did my mouth taste like someone had taken a shit in it?

And what thehellsmelled so bad?

Gradually, the truth came to me as I remembered what had happened the night before. Pieces of it, anyway.

I’d needed a distraction, so I’d gone to Club Privé, the elite BDSM club where I was a member. It was exclusive and discreet, two things that a man in my position needed. There’d been plenty of women there. Not all of them were subs, but enough that I’d had my pick; I generally had my pick wherever I went. I could have taken any woman into a room and spent hours doing all sorts of things to her. Club Privé offered everything anyone could ever need to have a good time. No improvising necessary.

But I hadn’t wanted any of the women. Not the ones who played at being coy, and certainly not the ones who threw themselves at me.

Since I hadn’t wanted the women, I’d taken advantage of their excellent liquor selection. That’s where things got even more hazy.

I was hungover. I now had an explanation for how I felt and the smell. What I didn’t have was answers for new questions.

Like why my knees were practically in my chest, and things were way too loud. I could hear cars and people, though those were faint. I could also hear someone moving around, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out who it could be.

Then I opened my eyes. This wasn’t my place. It was too colorful, for one. After a moment, I realized that I knew this place. I’d been here before.

Fuck it all.

I was at Ashlee’s apartment. On her couch, apparently, because this wasn’t her bedroom. Judging by the way I smelled and the fact that I was still wearing the same clothes as I’d put on last night, she hadn’t had any reason to take me to bed.

Heat rushed to my face as I realized how I must have appeared. Drunk enough that I could barely remember anything about the interaction. Reeking of booze, sweat, and various types of perfume, most of them cheap. Had I made a pass at her? I must have because there was no other reason for me to have come here than to get what I hadn’t taken at the club.

I pushed myself up, muscles complaining at the way I’d slept, contorted onto a couch that would’ve been uncomfortable for anyone over five and a half feet, let alone someone over six feet tall. My head spun, and my stomach churned, but I managed to keep myself from throwing up. The last thing I needed was to humiliate myself even more.

“Good morning.” Ashlee smiled at me as she came over from the kitchen. She held out a mug of coffee.

“What time is it?” I snapped as I sipped at the steaming dark liquid. It wasn’t even close to the expensive kind I had at home, but it was decent enough.

“About six-thirty,” she said. “Plenty of time to get cleaned up and get to work.”

“We’re not going into work together.” I stood up, swayed, and then caught myself. I took another gulp of coffee. “I don’t know what sort of shit I said last night, but drunken sex talk doesn’t count when sober.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We did a little talking last night, but we didn’t have sex at all, so there was no drunken sex talk.”

She was missing the point. “We’re still not going into work together. We’re not a fucking couple.”

Her face went blank, wiped clean of all emotion, of everything. “I’m aware of that.”

“Are you?” I glared down at her as I put the coffee mug on the closest flat surface. “You talk about going in to work together, make me coffee like we were some sort of–”

“I’m getting in the shower,” she interrupted. “And then I’ll be getting dressed. I suggest you see yourself out.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.” I took a step toward her. “I’m your boss, not some fuck budd–”

“You’re in my home.” She made the statement simply, plainly. “Youcame tome. Don’t let the door hit you in your ass on the way out. Or do. It’s all the same to me.”

I opened my mouth to yell at her, to tell her to come back so I could keep telling her how we weren’t anything, but she closed her bathroom door with enough force that I knew if I opened that bathroom door, I’d regret it, probably more than I regretted being here at all.

I needed a shower.

On my way to the door, I reached into my pocket for my phone and found nothing. Shit. I turned around and ran my hands over the couch cushions, dug under them, looked under the couch…what thefuck? Where was my phone?

I heard the shower turn on and wondered if she’d been waiting to hear the front door close, but then realized she needed to make it sound like she was following through…

My head was spinning too fast, too far. I was way too hungover to be dealing with any of this shit.

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