Page 2 of Broken Boss

Definitely not what I was expecting…

When it becomes clear he’s not going to make a move despite his reputation as a womanizer and a flirt, I toe off my heels and move toward the large closet that covers one wall. It’s full of practical, necessary things like a massive filing cabinet and thick books on hallmark cases. Behind a slim door to the right is an extra set of clothes.

“You’re talking about Grant Walton.”

It’s not a question. I learned early that if you ask a question, they’ll assume you’re stupid.

“Mmm.”

I can feel Mr. Sharpe’s eyes between my shoulder blades as I take out a simple dark gray dress with a square cut neckline. The sound of the zipper in the otherwise quiet room is exceptionally loud.

As I step into the dress, I can hear the humor in Sharpe’s voice.

“Of course you know about Grant. I’m assuming you’re interested in becoming his replacement?”

There’s a bitterness to that question. Isn’t that what Sharpe should want? Another partner to take on half the job of running this firm? I pull the zipper as high as I can, and glance over my shoulder.

“I doubt anyone could replace Grant Walton.”

The man’s name carries a heavy weight. Decades of not only winning his cases but doing amazing work for those in need. The vulnerable. Grant Walton is a saint, and I’ll never understand his decision to join Chris Sharpe’s firm when he shut down his own a decade ago.

Sharpe’s features settle into a look of satisfaction. He was probably expecting me to pitch him on why he should make me partner, but I didn’t wait all these years to come in here looking like an eager law school graduate.

As I turn, he starts to walk toward me.

It’s unexpected enough that I pause and take him in. This is the first time I’m getting a good look at Chris Sharpe. I’ve only seen glimpses of him around the office since I started this past Monday.

He’s handsome in the kind of way that makes your knees weak. It’s not in your face handsome or male model born with perfect bone structure handsome, but the kind of handsome that comes from a confident man.

As I take in his dark eyes, bowed upper lip, straight nose, and perfectly tailored suit, a thought suddenly enters my mind:

Chris Sharpe is a man who knows how to make women beg.

Red flags and sirens go off in my brain as I blink and take a step back. Mr. Sharpe comes in close enough for the scent of his cologne to make my muscles go slack. He lifts one arm to box me in against the closet.

“Turn around.”

A pulse throbs insistently between my legs at the command. It takes a second for my brain to catch up and make sense of the situation as he says, “Zipper.”

Turning slowly, I push my short auburn hair behind one ear and stand perfectly still. His fingers ghost up my spine and catch the little metal tab, smoothly pulling it all the way up.

Then he steps away and I can breathe again.

You’re Autumn Cavendish. Act like it.

My shoulders straighten at the reminder, and facing Chris Sharpe again, a cold surge washes over me.

“You’re right. I want partner.”

Sharpe’s face goes blank. Then he laughs and my body buzzes with confusion.

I knew the man was dangerous, but this isn’t how I planned things would go. Years of researching him and his firm made me sure I knew what, and who, I was walking into.

The last thing I expected was to have such a visceral reaction to being around him.

“You said yourself, it’ll be damn hard to fill Grant Walton’s shoes. But I look forward to seeing what you can do for me, Miss…Cavendish.”

When I don’t correct his assumption that I’m unmarried, that slow smirk comes back.

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