Page 23 of Rolling with My Bosses

Lexi pipes in, “She’s my sister, but I guess we moved too fast to sort out all of our connections. You can quit your cooking classes and library trips. This thing between us was a blast, trust me, but it’s over. I’ll even return your little toy.”

She waves over her shoulder as she storms to her car.

“That’s yours to keep,” Austin yells after her. “We don’t have any other use for it.”

“She’s frazzled,” her sister says. “She has a lot to process. She’ll talk when she’s ready, but please don’t get in the way of her job.”

Crap. Lexi thinks we’re faking it with all of our newfound interests. Why can’t she see that it’s all because of her, and we’re better people for it? She’s shown us a different side to ourselves. All we’ve ever done is work.

How did she learn Bear’s name? Maybe she’s right. We don’t deserve a woman like her.

Thirteen

Lexi

Adrenaline’s a bitch. After the revelation about Bear, talking to my stepsister about her pregnancy, and getting accepted onto the Hot Rollers, I was all worked up and couldn’t control my freaking mouth…blabbing Bear’s real name. So much for using it as the element of surprise in a well-crafted plan.

With a web of deceit to untangle, sleep eludes me.

The next morning, I let myself into the mail room, prepared to have them demand an explanation. They aren’t there.

Pulling the box with the remote-controlled toy from my purse, I set it in Bear’s locker, which is never locked. No more play time until we clear the air.

I check the clock. I grab a stack of incoming mail and sort it into the slots. I check the clock again and grab a second handful of envelopes. Still no sign of the guys.

It would be nice if I could work without thinking about sex, but apparently, the F.U.C.K. policy is set with good reason. How on earth can I work with these men after they’ve given me mind-blowing orgasms?

I have to get to the bottom of whether my dad’s arm around Garrett’s shoulders was a fleeting social thing, nothing more than crossing paths, or they actually know each other.

But something doesn’t add up about their mail room clerk status. I can’t entirely fault them for not being honest with me, because I haven’t exactly told them who I am. But mail clerks don’t get invited to thousand-dollar-a-plate charity dinners, and the date doesn’t match their employment.

The click that precedes the door opening causes me to flinch.

“Grab your belongings,” Monica’s voice calls out.

I turn, surprised that it’s Monica and not one or all of the guys.

“Come with me to my office.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m going to decline to answer that.”

That can’t be good.

“Do you have anything in your locker?”

“A few…” I pause as my heart sinks.

She gives a sad smile. This can’t be happening. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding.

Once we’re seated inside her office, she explains that I’m being let go and asks for my badge.

I grip my fingers around it. It’s my pass key to the company. It’s my pass key to my life plan. Ironic that I’m already attached to this symbol of belonging to a corporation when I harassed the guys about their dedication to it.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“You watched the F.F.S. training video, didn’t you? You checked it off.”

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