Page 96 of Wanting What's Wrong

Volume Three

STEP-BOSS

One

Lennie

Cade Jamison paces like a general, ordering his troops into battle.

Although, in my mind, I imagine him pacing in front of justme, ordering me down on all fours as he slips his belt from the loops on his perfectly tailored black slacks, laying it across my back as he unzips his fly...

Yes, hell awaits me. I’m lusting after my stepfather.

Who is also my boss.

“This is not a fucking party,” he seethes. The line of agents stand wide-eyed and silent. His voice is barely above a whisper, yet it shakes the room.

And me. Down into the gooiest parts of my core.

He scans the staff lined against the glass wall of the venue where the post-Oscars party is taking place. The mega-mansion overlooks the valley, and the air reverberates with thumpingmusic from Usher’s performance on the lower deck by the infinity pool.

Cade’s forehead furrows, his eyes locked in an annoyed scowl. It’s a look I know well. With his hard edges and dark corners, he is both gorgeous and intimidating. And I can’t help but fantasize about every inch of his six-foot-four tattooed frame darkening my bedroom doorway at night as he gives in to the secret passion he’s been too guilty to act upon.

But, yeah, that’s fantasy. This is reality.

His impeccable black tuxedo contrasts with the unruly deep golden beard that covers his jaw. His dark golden slicked-back hair is never out of place. The vivid colors of his painted body and arms show only on the backs of his hands and up the sides of his neck. Countless times, I’ve admired every swoop and letter of those colors that cover most of his upper body. Then, there’s his eyes.

Lord, in heaven, they are the bluest-blue of all the blues on this planet. A new Crayola color should be named after his eyes.

Cade Jamison blue.

He’s a living, breathing work of art, and I’m so in love with him it hurts.

Since we first met, I’ve watched him in silent and shameful awe. I wait for those times when he’s by the pool or walking around shirtless usually cursing at or into his phone. I sneak pictures of him to fuel my lusty fumblings under my sheets in the darkness of my bedroom while clouds of guilt hover over me.

As my fear that he’ll ask me to move out has grown in the last few months, I’ve fought a daily battle against sneaking in the smallest of physical contact with him. A struggle I’ve lost every time. Desperate that my time close to him is running out.

They are small touches like a brush of my arm against his as he helps me unload the dishwasher. Allowing my fingers to linger on his when he passes me my cup of tea in the morning orhands me my vitamins. Every second, every contact lights me up while simultaneously, my self-loathing grows.

Iwantmy stepfather.

It consumes my every thought.

“Tonight isnotfor celebrating.” He glares at the wall above the heads of his crew of ruthless talent agents, rarely looking directly at anyone. “Tonight is for finding and fighting for opportunities. Opportunities that only come on nights like these. This is war. Don’t forget that.”

A new-ish agent to my left with jet-black hair and skin as white as mine raises her hand, causing a collective cringe through the rest of us.

I don’t know her name. And if she’s going to interrupt my stepfather, she won’t be around long enough for it to matter.

“But—” she starts as the group shoots her irritated looks. Everyone else's eyes are lowered, looking anywhere but at the train wreck about to happen. “A lot of us worked hard to get our clients here tonight. Don’t you think it would be appropriate for us to celebrate with them? A little fun might be good for us.” She scans the rest of us for support but quickly realizes this is not a team-building moment.

“You’re fired.” Cade grunts, those Frank Sinatra baby blues focused on the phone he holds in one hand while pointing to the glass door to his left with the other.

She releases a nervous chuckle, looking around for us to save her.

We won’t.

I’ve been surrounded by Hollywood elite my entire life and I must be missing the chip that makes that important to me. I could have attended the ceremony tonight, but Cade likes to fly solo for most things, and I felt no need to sit in a chair for four hours, forcing a smile while tapping my fingers relentlessly and fighting off the urge to run away. Instead, I begged him to let mecome to the after-party, despite my discomfort with the crowds. And even though he looked surprised, he agreed.

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