Page 15 of Broken Boss

It’s going to be a bitch to get that out of this skirt.

“I hate you.”

I don’t even realize the words slip out in a whisper.

Chris’s hand on my thigh goes still.

This is it. This is when he pushes me away.

I’ve lost my chance—what use am I to him now?

“I wish I could say the same about you,” he says dryly, carefully arranging my skirt to cover my modesty despite our compromising position. “But I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

My eyes open.

Chris Sharpe, my boss, is looking at me with a completely open expression. Clearly amused and…maybe a little…sad?

“No one at the office can know about this,” I rush out, clumsily trying to slip off his lap without getting bodily fluids everywhere. He helps, lifting me more easily than I expected, and readjusts himself as I glance away.

It’s what anyone in this situation would say, right?

Okay…maybe Marty would want everyone to know she’s fucking the boss. But not me.

“Of course not.” He says it cooly, as if it’s common sense, something we’d already agreed on ahead of time.

I should’ve made him sign an agreement.

Except that hours ago, I had no idea I’d fully give in to Orla’s crazy plan.

And not only that…but I’d enjoy it.

Chris turns his head, that earnest look still on his face. It’s doing strange things to my stomach, making it flip and ache all over with guilt.

“Can I take you out?”

His voice is so low that for a second, I think I imagined it.

My lips part.

The word yes starts to form?—

Because a part of me wants to know if he would really take it further. Be seen out in public with me. A part of me wonders what it would be like to sit across from Chris Sharpe at some fancy restaurant, letting him wine and dine me, both of us knowing I’d end up in his bed no matter what.

And because I want that so badly, my next word comes out resolutely. “No.”

If any of that ever happened, I’d never make partner. Chris would never give it to the woman everyone knows he’s sleeping with.

My best bet is to keep stringing him along, if I can.

“But maybe next time, you’ll treat me like a lady and we won’t fuck in a car.”

The look on his face, as if I slapped him, has me worried—was that too far?

Then he laughs ruefully, starts the car, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in that grin of his.

“Fair enough. Where do you live, Miss Cavendish?”

I wish the way he said my name didn’t make something in me ache.

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