Page 16 of Heartless Boss
“What about your mom or dad?” I cock my head to the side.
“Did you know hair keeps growing after death? Like three months? That’s crazy, right?” Gia babbles random facts when she’s nervous, so I rest my hand over hers, and she looks at everything else except for me.
“Why are you nervous?”
Her tits rise and fall as she takes a deep breath, and her amber eyes meet mine. “I’m ashamed of where I come from. It isn’t pretty.”
“No one’s past is a ray of sunshine, Gia. Elaborate.”
What the fuck am I doing? Sitting here, trying to get to know her. Hannah would have a field day with this.
“My mom is dead, and I don’t know who my father is.” Pause. “I lived in foster care most of my life, and some of the families weren’t nice to me.”
“What do you mean by ‘weren’t nice’?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Calm down, Gunner.
She doesn’t need to see you raging. If you keep this shit up you’ll run her off.
“They treated me like they didn’t want me, used me for my foster care subsidy, and some neglected me.”
Her face looks like the calm before the storm, and my heart bleeds for her.
Now, the urge to bash someone’s skull in is even stronger.
Mental note: Make sure to check if I’m growing a pussy between my legs because that’s what Gia is doing to me—turning me into a giant one.
I tuck a few silky strands of her hair behind her right ear, and she flinches like I’m going to strike her. It isn’t the first time she’s done this. She does it a lot at work. My ma was abused, so I know the signs.
I want to ask her who the fuck abused her.
But I don’t. She’s always struggling to give me glimpses of herself.
The tension is thick enough to choke a person, so I untie my black tie and rest it over my shoulder. She takes out a purple pen and a notepad with the Underwood Banking logo stamp at the top of the page from her worn purse.
“Me paying you a hundred bucks a month isn’t enough, so I’ll cook you dinners on nights you’re here, and I’ll buy groceries,” she says, changing the subject, writing on the pad “food items,” drawing a heart over theI. Her penmanship is girly and cursive. “What kind of food do you like?”
“You don’t have to do that.” I wave my hand at her dismissively.
“Yes, I do.”
“No. End of discussion.”
She exhales loudly. “Yeah. Um, no. You’re not my boss when I clock out from work, and I’m going to do what I want. Again, what do you like to eat?”
Classic Gia. Always wanting to have the last word.
Rolling my eyes, I’m not in the mood to argue, so I’ll let her believe she won this argument. “Anything but Brussels sprouts and nuts.”
She scribbles it down on a pad. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“No, not that I know of.”
She places the pad in her purse, and I turn my whole body to face her.
“You’re sassy,” I say bluntly.And beautiful, not as uptight as I thought, and I’m going to fuck your brains out when you give me a chance. If I were to say that out loud, she’d call the cops on me so quick I wouldn’t be able to finish my sentence. When I inhale her scent, she smells like she rolled in a tub of fresh apples.
“Well ... You’re a whore.” She shakes her head and stands up from the stool. “I’m still traumatized from the smell of the couch in your office. Be a gentleman and take her to a hotel.”
