Page 25 of Jealous Boss

I capture her hand and growl at her not to even think about it. “Do you know how many people have used that? It’s full of fucking germs, Pia. You want to try it, I’ll buy it for you.”

She blinks adorably. “Oh, but I don’t know that it’ll suit my color.”

“Everything will suit you,” I all but snap.

And then I buy her the whole damn shelf.

Hell, I would’ve bought her the whole store if she hadn’t gasped and sputtered in French.

Then I’m hard as stone and we need to leave the fucking store before the cops were called and I’m arrested for indecent exposure.

I don’t fare any better in the next store. Or the one after.

But would I have called time if my life depended on it?

Fuck no.

Her sheer delight in the little things makes my chest fill with a warmth I’ve never experienced.

Growing up there was no such thing as warmth in my house. There was survival. By any means necessary. Period.

My father scrimped and hustled until he dropped dead in the middle of winter on a construction job.

My mom and I went from a shitty bedsit in South Philly to a shittier trailer park. And, incredibly, things went further downhill from there.

Mom drowned her sorrows in drink and drugs and for a full year rock bottom had been my home before I was saved by a neighborhood outreach program offering free tutoring to disadvantaged kids.

Somehow I managed to avoid drugs, gang warfare and the voices whispering in my head that I was nothing. That I wouldstaynothing.

I scraped together a scholarship by the skin of my teeth, worked three part-time jobs and excelled enough to move from community college into Penn in two years.

My silent vow to dig us out of the dirt and rescue my mom like some kind of caped hero disintegrated when she died of an overdose a week before I graduated.

I stood over her grave vowing never to fall that low, get that desperate ever again.

And I didn’t. These days I have minions who pick my clothes, take care of my dry cleaning, book my private jets and ensure my fridge is stocked to the brim.

So yeah, following my sexy young intern dressed in leggings and a midriff-baring top, threatening to beast-out at any guy who looks at her one second too long while lugging half a dozen shopping bags is new for me.

And I’m not even relieved when she finally turns and smiles up at me.

“I’m done, I think.”

“You sure?”

Her head bobs. “Besides, I think you’re getting a little grumpy,non?”

“Non,” I reply, then narrow my eyes. “If you need more stuff, get them. I’d rather do it in one go than repeat this…”

“This, what? Torture?” she mock pouts.

I can’t drag my eyes from her mouth. Even when someone bumps me from behind and I turn to find yet another asshole staring at Pia like he’s caught in a fucking trance.

“Fine. If you’re done for today, let’s go. Anything else you need, we’ll get online.”

I hustle her into the town car idling on the curb, relief pouring through me, not because we’re done shopping but because I’m a little terrified I’ll deck the next guy who ogles her.

I’ve never been more relieved to return home.

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