Page 29 of Broken Boss

She nods, taking my hand and standing. Without heels, she’s a few inches shorter than me. Those red toes make my heart lurch again, and I fight the urge to pull her into my arms.

Instead, I take her chin and lean down. My parted lips brush against hers.

It seems to startle her out of whatever dark thoughts she’s been lost in. Her breath catches and she sways forward.

But before this can turn into something real, I pull back.

Just enough to meet her eyes and murmur, “I need you to tell me his name, Autumn. I need to know who did this to you.”

Chapter 11

Autumn

“You’re sure you’re fine?” Orla anxiously glances up and down the street, as if she’s expecting Kieran to jump out from behind a trash can.

Gently pulling Frank away from a half-eaten breakfast sandwich outside, I answer, “Yes. I’ll be fine. It’s just an Uber to the office. Not a big deal.”

Not an expense I want to deal with, either, but it’s my only option. Growing up poor has left its mark; I have a hard time spending money on anything, even now that I’m more than financially secure.

Orla is a great example—I could definitely afford an apartment on my own, without needing a roommate. But I like saving the extra four hundred dollars a month.

And you need the company, the frustrating voice in the back of my head reminds me. You’re scared to be alone.

A shiver goes through me and I pull my puffy coat tighter around my waist. Frank looks up at me with pleading eyes, as if begging me not to go to work today.

It’s 7 a.m. Wednesday morning. The day after.

The day after he reappeared in my life.

How? And why?

But now isn’t the time for those questions. I still have to get upstairs, change out of my sweats and into decent clothes, apologize to Frank again, and get to work.

Pretend it’s all okay.

Field vague questions about who left the flowers, and why I had them cleared out of the office almost immediately.

Everyone will think it was me, of course, but it was actually Chris who gave the orders. Chris who drove me home once the office was quiet enough for no one to notice.

“I’m just saying…I bet if you texted him, he’d come get you.”

Orla gives me a worried glance as she opens the door for Frank and me. We all head into the foyer, wait for the elevator of kids heading to school to unload.

“No thanks.” The thing is, I know he would. I’m pretty sure Chris would do anything for me if I asked. And that makes me nervous. “I really don’t need to get any closer to him, Orla,” I tell her dryly.

She has no idea how far it’s gone. Too far.

I told her about hooking up in his car, going along with her plan, but I definitely did not tell her about snuggling up into his arms yesterday when I was anything but logical.

About how safe I felt sheltered against his broad chest, which rumbled as he made his demands.

Just tonight.

It’s a promise I intend to keep. I can’t go running to Chris Sharpe for protection.

He’s my enemy.

Ugh. Why does that feel like such a weak response these days? If you’d asked me who Christopher Sharpe was two years ago, or even a few weeks ago, I would’ve spit those words out like venom.

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