Page 2 of Arranged Addiction
“Offices are going to be a problem.”
“We’ll cross that bridge once we get there.” She glances over my shoulder and lowers her voice. “Is Boss Bastard going to be an issue?”
I shake my head. “He’s out for lunch right now.”
“Perfect. Then shall we?”
I hesitate, squirming in my seat. If Mr. Whelan comes back and finds me off wandering around the halls, he’s going to be pissed. And Boss Bastard isn’t some cute, fun nickname for a great guy.
He really is a nightmare.
I don’t know why I’ve put up with him for the last two years. Probably because the pay is obscenely good for this position and he promised that he’d write me the best recommendation letter possible if I stuck it out for a while. I still live at home with Sheila, which means my paychecks are getting dumped into savings, and soon I’ll have enough to buy my own house if I don’t give up.
That’s the dream. A place of my own. A little garden in the back, a reading nook with lots of colorful books on big shelves draped in crystals and Tarot cards. Two little yappy dogs running around my ankles. A sanctuary away from everything.
All I have to do is keep my head down and hope Boss Bastard doesn’t make my lifetoomiserable.
“Let’s make this fast. I don’t know how much longer he’ll be out.”
We disperse. She takes the left and I go right. Scanning the cube farm isn’t all that hard. I walk along glancing over shoulders, pausing if I can’t get a good look, and only have to deal with the bare minimum of small talk. Since I’m Mr. Whelan’s assistant, that means I get a little extra leeway. People in this office are used to me doing weird shit for him. Like that time he made me print out and collate an entire 200-page slide deck, only to make me reorder the entire thing like six times until it was goodenough. Or that time I had to test like ten different truck paints until we found one he thought “smelled right.”
I’ve never met a man more uptight than Declan Whelan.
He’s a perfectionist. It’s almost insane, actually. He’s always in an expensive suit, not a single thread out of place, with brightly polished shoes (thanks to me) even on casual days. I think I’ve seen him smile two times in the last couple years, and I’m pretty sure the first one was a mistake (he’d meant to frown but went the wrong way).
Most of my time is spent meeting his absurd standards.
The worst part is, he’s obscenely attractive.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t quit yet. It’s one thing to get bossed around by some random power-hungry psycho, but it’s another to obey the orders of a human who looks like a god.
Declan Whelan is perfectly built. He’s obsessive with his fitness regime. I’d know, since I keep his schedule. He never misses a day, no matter what, and his body reflects that dedication. He’s cut in places I didn’t know could be cut. And it doesn’t help that he’s got the face of a model. Square jaw, deliciously green eyes, and the stubble of a well-groomed movie star. Even his thick, black hair is luxurious.
It’s honestly messed up. No human should be that attractive.
Especially not one so terrible as Declan Whelan.
So much beauty was wasted on such a bastard.
But because he’s a crazy person, nobody thinks twice when I go poking around. I can always tell them that I’m on an errand forMr. Whelan, and that’ll get plenty of sympathy. Fortunately, it doesn’t even come up.
And I don’t find the box.
I manage to check a few of the empty offices. One shipping executive stops me to ask a bunch of questions about some project Mr. Whelan’s been running, but other than that, I’m not bothered by anyone. I head back to my desk, feeling defeated and terrified, and find Natalie already waiting for me.
“It’s got to be in here somewhere,” she says, looking frustrated. “I swear, I looked absolutely everywhere. I even put up with Bob giving me the play-by-play of his grandkid’s cello recital. I mean, the kid’s cute, but my god, she’s so bad. Like really bad. It should be illegal to play that bad. Put the kid in jail.”
“Focus, Natalie.”
“Right, I’m just saying, I have no clue where this stupid sex box is hiding.”
“It’s not a sex box,” I say, rubbing my face and groaning. “It’s a Spicy Self-Care box.”
“Same thing.” She taps a manicured nail against her palm, eyes narrowing. “There isoneplace we haven’t looked yet.”
I follow her gaze. I’m about to say there’s absolutely no way when Mr. Whelan appears around the corner, striding toward his door.
Natalie gives me a panicked look.Sorry, she mouths, before scurrying away with her eyes on the floor. She murmurs a quick greeting to Mr. Whelan, which he ignores, and barely spares me a glance before storming in through his office door. “Message!” he barks out, making me jump.
