Page 47 of Boss of Me
“Seriously? That’s freaking awesome!”
I smile. “It was definitely a big selling point.”
“No kidding.” Ember sounds thoroughly pleased. “So . . . I just have to ask.”
“What?”
“How far is his bedroom from yours?”
I scowl. “Why the hell does that matter?”
“Because he wants to fuck you,” Ember says with a dirty laugh. “And you want to fuck him, too.”
I feel my cheeks warm. “Just because I want to doesn’t mean I intend to.”
“Mmm. At least you didn’t deny the mutual lust.” Ember rummages noisily in her handbag, probably searching for lipstick. “You know, as an employment attorney, I could rattle off a litany of reasons why you absolutely shouldn’t sleep with your boss. So many things could go wrong. Frankly, it’s a recipe for disaster.”
I puff out a breath. “I’m not sleeping with my boss.”
Ember chuckles. “Famous last words, kiddo. Famous last words.”
Chapter Eleven
marlowe
Despite the ridiculously short notice,themansion’s enormous living room is overflowing with guests the following Saturday. At least two hundred people have showed up for Gunner’s impromptu dinner party. It’s the not-to-be-missed social event of the weekend, apparently.
I’m stationed at the front door to greet arriving guests. They’re the movers and shakers of Austin: tech executives, entrepreneurs, billionaire investors, socialites with massive trust funds.
They pour out of chauffeured cars in designer tuxedos and glittering evening gowns. I can practically smell the power, luxury and privilege wafting off them. It makes me feel like a pauper in my plain white blouse, slim black skirt and tall black pumps—the uniform assigned to me for special events.
During a lull in arrivals, I sneak down the hall to peek in on the party. Strains of Chopin float romantically through the airas the guests mill around laughing, chatting, sipping champagne and nibbling hors d’oeuvres.
In the center of the room, Gunner is swarmed by a small crowd. He’s wearing a bespoke tuxedo, one hand tucked casually in his pocket.
He looks so good it takes my breath away—and pisses me the hell off. I don’t want to find him attractive. After the way he cockblocked my date with Dawson—again!—I want to stay mad at him. But it’s so damn hard when the mere sight of him sends my hormones into a tailspin. After not seeing him all week, I find myself drinking in every smile, every wink, every lift of his sexy eyebrow as he converses with his guests.
He rocks a tux like no man I’ve ever seen, and I positively hate him for it.
Gnawing my lower lip, I watch as he raises his champagne glass to his mouth. As if sensing my gaze, he turns his head and looks straight at me.
All the air leaves my lungs.
He stares at me for a long moment, then slowly takes a sip of champagne without breaking eye contact.
Pulse rioting like crazy, I duck out of sight and hurry back to my post by the front door.
Hearing the roar of a motorcycle, I open the door to see a man rumbling up to the house on a black Kawasaki Ninja. He’s wearing a black tux with black cowboy boots.
I watch as he kills the engine, lowers the kickstand and pulls off his helmet to reveal thick dark hair spilling over a drop-dead gorgeous face. I instantly recognize him as Maverick Ransom, Gunner’s twin brother.
He runs a hand through his hair, trying but failing to tame the unruly locks. I watch with equal parts fascination and enjoyment as he smoothly climbs off the bike and flashes a grin at Mr. Leland, who’s overseeing the valets tonight. The two menexchange a few laughs before Maverick glances toward the house to see me lurking in the doorway. His lazy grin widens, a white slash against his dark beard stubble.
Holy smokeshow!
After a few more moments of banter, he claps Mr. Leland on the shoulder and then starts up the front steps. He’s built the same as Gunner—tall and broad shouldered with narrow hips and long legs. Though fraternal twins, their square-jawed good looks are similar enough to leave no doubt that they’re brothers.
As Maverick reaches the top of the steps, I open the door wider to let him in.
