Page 2 of Bred By the Boss

Our gazes lock together, like I’m the car and she’s the deer caught in my headlights. Even with the glass and the distance between us, there’s an intensity here that I’ve never felt before. I’m not sure how much time passes, but suddenly, she breaks away as someone taps her on the shoulder to ask a question.

Irritated, I turn back to my car, unlock it, and settle into the driver’s seat.

The lust I’m feeling is fine, it’ll help with my plan. But the underlying curiosity, the desire to know more about her … That doesn’t serve me at all. It could muddy the waters and distract me from my goal.

I’ve never experienced anything like it before. For a moment, I’m almost annoyed that I have to use her for my plan instead of pursue her like a decent gentleman. I sigh to myself as I start my car. I’ve waited long enough for my revenge, I’m not going to let a pretty face or a plush body get in my way now.

I will destroy her father. Just like he tried to destroy me.

The difference is that I’ll succeed where he failed.

As I pull away from the laundromat, I send a voice memo to my assistant, asking her to make a call for me to the private security firm I have on retainer for my home and business. I want someone discreet to keep tabs on Noelle for me, to keep her safe while I start putting things in motion. While this has been a part of my plan since I first found out where she was living and working, now that I’ve seen her, there’s an urge within me to keep her safe, in spite of my plans to use her. I don’t want toadmit it’s there, but it is. For now, I don’t care to examine my motives.

Seeing her for myself changes nothing. Sure, she’s gorgeous and soft and the sight of her fills me with lust, but she’s just a tool for me. A pawn. She’s the key to success in my plan for revenge against her father, but nothing more.

I will convince myself of that.

Chapter One

Noelle

I breathe out a tired sigh as I scrub away at the stubborn stains on the shirt, the rhythmic hum of the washing machine filling the air and blending in with the catchy beat of the music playing on the radio. The laundromat, with its fluorescent lights and the scent of detergent, always feels oddly comforting to me.

Lost in my own world, I find solace in the mundane tasks. It’s a slow day and as much as my boss hates slow days, I tend to find comfort away from the chaos the weekend brings. It’s selfish, but the undistracted time allows me to think of him.

I haven’t stopped thinking about the man I saw outside the laundromat a few weeks ago. Sometimes I think I imagined him, but the memory feels too real for it to have been a dream of some kind. When I saw him, standing there, looking at me intently like that, the world stopped.

I know that he was real, but I often wonder if he was actually looking at me. It sure felt like it, but maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part. I’m not much to look at, and I know for a fact that I looked worn out and tired on that day, because I was. Honestly, I usually am, anymore. But that hasn’t stopped me from wondering for the past few weeks if I’d see him again.

It’s a dangerous line of thought for me and I know it.

I stopped wishing for someone to show up and carry me out of this hellhole long ago. I used to think about it all the time as a teenager. I always pictured a knight in shining armor showing up at our apartment and carrying my mother and I away from this place.

Reality hit fast when my mother died.

Now that it’s just me, I can’t afford to entertain delusions. If I’m going to get out of here, it’ll be because I did it myself, without the help of a random handsome stranger I saw once a few weeks ago.

A sudden commotion breaks through my thoughts and shatters the quiet atmosphere. Startled, I look up to see a customer frantically searching for something, their urgency evident. Curiosity piqued, I pause my cleaning and cautiously approach.

My boss had once warned me against approaching customers unless they directly asked for help, but this poor woman seems concerned about something and no one else is paying attention. Hell, someone even walks right past her, knocking her basket to the ground with their elbow, and doesn’t even stop to apologize.

I rush forward, leaning down to start picking her laundry up and throwing it back into the basket but she barely notices me, looking around with panic written all over her face.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” I finally ask her.

“My purse,” she cries. “Someone took my purse. I placed it here to load up the washer and now I can’t find it!”

Oh.

Oh no.

I stare at the woman pitifully, unsure how to comfort her. This neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest and the fact that the laundromat is here at all speaks for itself. I want to comfort thewoman and assure her that she’ll find her purse but if it really is gone, it’s long gone.

“Where did you say you left it,” I ask anyway, hoping that she just dropped it and that by some miracle, we’ll find it.

“Right here,” she says pointing at an empty space. “I don’t have any other money for laundry. Everything was in there.”

I bite my lip. I want to help her, I really do. But after working at the laundromat for well over five years, I’ve met my share of people pretending they’ve lost money at the laundromat, hoping to get someone to give them money. I’ve had to get smart so I don’t have someone take advantage of me, but I also know how hard it gets for the people who come here. At the end of the day, some people really do need help, and the terrified look on this woman has me slipping my hand into my jeans, drawing a few bills from my back pocket to hand to her.

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