Page 7 of Heartless Boss
“If you’re not next in line to suck my dick, I suggest you stay the fuck outta my business.” His voice is cold, and I swallow hard. I bet you a whole dollar my cheeks turn fifty shades of pink.
I tilt my chin in the air, inhaling. “You smell that?”
“Smell what?”
“It’s me slapping you with a sexual harassment suit.” My threat is as dead as a doorknob, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“The moment you sue me is the day hell will freeze over.”
“How so?”
“Because under your hateful glares, you’re starving for my dick.”
I want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. “Whatever. I wouldn’t touch you if you were a cure to a disease I had.” The lie rolls off my tongue, and I twirl the strand of hair that floats in front of my forehead with my index finger.
“Liar.” His gaze clings to mine. “I fucked enough women to know when one wants my cock. When you look at me your eyes are begging for it.”
He twitches his lip and folds his arms across his chest.
I stare down at the carpet. What can I say? I can’t lie anymore. Every time I’m around him my ovaries are on fire, ready to explode.
“If you got fucked properly on a regular basis, you wouldn’t walk around with a stick up your rainbow ass.”
He rolls his eyes and his face bleeds boredom.
Gunner doesn’t have any filters. I’m not offended because he’s the type to tell you if your poop stinks and if he doesn’t like you.
That’s just part of his personality. Last week, he asked Mason, during a business lunch meeting, if he dipped his toothbrush in crap because his mouth smelled like butthole.
“Don’t worry, we won’t be having any hanky-panky. Fucking my employee is as appealing as shoving my dick in a vise.” Before giving me time to respond, he reaches over his clean desk and hands me a brown folder with a stack of papers. “Make a copy of this orientation package for the new HR manager.”
Without a word, I head to the copy room located on the nineteenth floor where most of the employees have already gone home. Gunner likes to keep me after hours.
Four copy machines are pushed against the gray wall with a white dry-erase board above the paper station. Thankfully, the room is empty, and I don’t have to deal with other people. I’m not in the mood to hear about the latest office gossip.
My phone rings, and I grab it from the pocket of my dress. My landlord’s name flickers across the cracked screen. It’s odd for Jacob to call me during this time of the day. I just paid rent so there is no real reason for him to be calling.
“Hey, Jacob.” I juggle the phone between my ear and shoulder while lifting the lid to the machine, resting a sheet of paper face down, and closing it. The machine hums as it spits out freshly inked paper.
“I have some terrible news.” His voice is gravelly from years of smoking. I can practically smell the nicotine through the phone.
Swallowing hard, I place the paper back into the folder.
“You have a week to find a place to live. The new owner is knocking down the building.”
Is he serious? Please tell me I’m onPunk’d, and Ashton Kutcher is about to jump out and shove cameras down my throat.
“Is this a joke?”
“I’m afraid not.” He exhales loudly.
“And you couldn’t have told me earlier?” I screech through gritted teeth. My anger bites at me like a hippo chomping on food.
“Listen, you’re not the only tenant living here, Gallagher. I have a very sick mom who’s dying from cancer. Not everything is about you!”
The phone line goes dead, and I stare at it for a few moments, trying to fathom what the heck just happened. I want to bawl my eyes out. This week can’t get any worse. Where will I live? How am I going to find a new place in under a week?
My apartment might not be the best place in the world, but it’s still my home. When I first rented it, it was the first step of independence from my ex. It was a big F-you to him that I can survive on my own without help from him. He can no longer break my heart by feeding me empty promises.
