Page 12 of Bossing My Holiday
WAVERLY
Anoise from behind startles me as I’m putting on my coat, ready to get the hell out of here. It’s been a very long couple of days, and I’m anxious for some dinner and sleep now that my apartment has heat and hot water again.
I turn to find Tristan standing in the doorway of his office.
“Got a second?” he asks, though I can tell by his voice he’s not asking.
I give him a slow owl blink as I try to figure out a way to say no. “I was heading out.” We’re the last two on the floor. Not an uncommon phenomenon, but it’s late, and I’m sure whatever it is can wait till tomorrow.
“This won’t take long.”
Evidently, I’m wrong.
He turns and walks back into his office but leaves the door open. I creep over and watch as he goes straight for the bar he has in here that he rarely touches. It’s primarily for bullshit schmoozing of clients or an after-work stress reliever, but in the two years I’ve been here, I’ve only had to restock it once. So I have no idea what he’s doing as he pours two glasses of bourbon.
He turns and beckons me in when he finds me lingering by the door. “Shut it behind you.”
I gulp but do as he asks, suddenly more nervous than I’ve ever been around him, which is saying a lot because this man has a way of naturally making me nervous.
“Here,” he says, doing his best to offer a smile. Smiles aren’t his forte, and it throws me. Suddenly I feel as though he’s about to sprout horns and drag me to the underworld the way Hades did with Persephone.
I accept the glass but continue to stand, even when he gestures to a chair for me to sit. “Um. Thanks. I guess. What’s this about?”
He sits on the edge of his desk, one hand tapping on the wood, the other rolling the glass around so the bourbon breathes a bit. He takes a small sip, and the anticipation is killing me. It has my heart racing and is making me clammy.
“I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Okay.” I don’t care about letting it breathe. I down the entire glass like it’s a shot, because if he fires me right now, I might die. The glass clinks as I set it down on a nearby table and stare expectantly at him.
He looks at the empty glass, and his lips twitch before he turns serious again. “I have a proposition for you. One that will benefit both of us.”
“A proposition?” I parrot skeptically. “One you felt the need to wait until seven o’clock in the evening to discuss?” My eyebrows lift.
“Yes,” he admits, not bothering with pretenses.
“You’re starting to scare me, Mr. Ouest.”
“Tristan, or better yet, Tris.”
Tris?What the fuck now? I squint, his words not making any sense. “What?”
“My name. People who know me outside of work call me Tristan or Tris.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to know you outside of work.”
He smirks but quickly clears it away and gets back to business.
“I’m about to make you an offer that might change your mind about that.”
I don’t ask him to elaborate. It isn’t that I’m not curious because hello, who wouldn’t be curious when their boss lands a statement like that on them? It’s that I’m afraid of what this proposition will be, and as I go through the different options in my head, I immediately cancel them out one by one.
He’s not looking for a kidney or a piece of my liver—as far as I know, he’s in excellent health, and he wouldn’t know my blood type.
He’s not looking for a woman to have his baby—he’d never come to me for that and likely has women fawning all over him. He’s a gorgeous, self-made billionaire and also comes from very old billionaire money. Women flock to that. Plus, he doesn’t exactly strike me as the fatherly type.
He’s not interested in sex with me—see the above statement, and the man hasn’t spared me a glance in the two years I’ve worked for him or given off any sexual vibe with me.
He could be asking me to cover up a crime, though again, I doubt it. He’s a straight-edge, by-the-book businessman, not to mention, I’m sure he could buy his way out of most things. Plus he has Braxton, and Braxton is the guy you’d call for that.
