Page 55 of Selfie

No. I want my lawyers on this now. And also, every bone in my body is aching to see Spencer.Tonight.

“Do you like Chinese food?”

“Yes, but I’m still on my diet.”

“Oh, fuck your diet.” If I weren’t her boss, I’d tell her it’d be a travesty for her to lose even an ounce of her curvy hips or plump tits. I’d happily bury my face between her beautifully thick thighs and suffocate there. It’s a crying shame she doesn’t see what I see when she looks at herself. “I’m going to pick up dinner, then I’m on my way. I’m not far from Graystone.”

I ate, so this is mostly for Spencer. I just don’t want to show up empty-handed. Breaking bread together is always the best way to start a truce.

“Spencer, is that all right?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything. “I won’t if it makes you uncomfortable.”

She hesitates for so long, I’m certain I overstepped. I’m doing mental gymnastics, trying to figure out how to rescind my offer with my dignity intact, when she finally answers, “Charlie likes orange chicken, but not spicy. I like pork lo mein and hot and sour soup. We’re in apartment 3F.”

“Attagirl. Give me a few, I’ll be right there.”

“Hey, Nathan?” Spencer asks.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being cool about me being late with this project. I’m so relieved. I thought you were calling to yell at me.”

“Of course.”

The call ends and I instruct my driver to head toward Lucky Buddha near Graystone. Spencer’s words bounce around in my mind as we pull into traffic.She thought I was going to yell at her?Am I that far gone?

I get my past assistants didn’t like me. Admittedly, I never gave them a chance.

But Spencer? I don’t understand. If she thinks the worst of me, why has she stuck around? Is her stubbornness and determination honestly about the job?

Or is it about me?

18

Spencer

What in the actual fuck?

My boss is coming over.

I’m trying to wrap my head around the conclusion of the conversation I just had with Nathan. But it’s really hard to focus because the butterflies in my stomach have erupted into synchronized choreography in my gut. Those fluttery little creatures are telling me he has ulterior motives. Never once in my entire professional career has a boss asked to come over this late at night. Not even under the guise of an urgent work project.

I could’ve easily said no. Mr. Billionaire, who people bow to with the snap of his fingers, could’ve told me to report to the office, or could’ve demanded he stop by and confiscate my work laptop for the data. But no. Heasked.And he’s bringing dinner.

My phone lights up the darkened living room as a text from Nathan populates.

Bosshole

Sorry, terrible memory sometimes. Charlie’s orange chicken—you said spicy or not spicy?

The butterflies are ricocheting off the walls of my stomach now because not even I can deny it. The only time a man cares to get the details right is when he’s trying to make a good impression. So here we are, with my ass of a boss turning a new leaf. This man is a professional shifter going from toad to prince, every other day.

Me

Not spicy.

Bosshole

Got it. Be there in twenty.

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