Page 60 of Broken Boss

Everything in me is shying away from this topic. From having to explain Stephen. From getting too close to telling Chris why I’m at his firm, in his home, here with him. But I can’t keep lying to him.

My heart sinks with the realization.

It’s not new, that I don’t want to lie. It’s been a problem my whole life. I like to think it makes me a good lawyer, but right now the ball is definitely not in my court.

Right on time, the waitress returns. Chris lightens up briefly enough to play his charming self, and she laughs and flushes, touching her hair self-consciously.

“Ladies first.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine, and inexplicably, I think of other times and places I want to hear him say it—like in bed.

With eyes glazed over, I order a seasonal risotto and salad. I’m not usually a salad girl, but the promise of burrata sucks me in. Chris goes with a classic pork chop and apple entrée and politely turns his attention away from the waitress, who looks a little disappointed.

He looks down, breathes out through his nose, and I brace myself.

Is this dinner actually an interrogation? A last-ditch effort to get the truth out of me?

What man in his right mind would persist at this point?

“I’m not going to ask you about that tonight, Autumn. I told you—I just want to show you what you deserve.”

My heart is pounding in my chest. What does he mean, show me what I deserve?

I don’t deserve any of this, a quiet but opulent restaurant, a man’s full attention. The woman I was a decade ago shivers inside. I raise a hand to my throat, warding off the ghost of the past.

Interrupting the rush of memories, a different hand wraps around my leg. Chris locks his eyes on mine and gives a slight tug, making me gasp.

“Did you hear me?” he murmurs in that velvet voice that makes my blood run hot.

I nod, unable to look away as his fingers stroke the underside of my knee. Thank God his sister-in-law put us far in the back, out of the lights and away from prying eyes.

The food comes and Chris pulls back.

“Thank you.” He says the words to our server but doesn’t break eye contact with me. The waitress flushes again, inevitably sensing the heat between us. When we’re alone again, I drop my gaze to the salad and pick at the leaves with a fork.

“Tell me what you want, Autumn.”

He says it like a demand. I look up through my lashes, part of me longing to tell him, I want you to take me home. I want you to put me on my knees again, tell me I’m a good girl, and make me come. I want to spend the entire weekend under you, on top of you, forgetting that the rest of the world exists.

But that’s impossible.

“What do you mean?” I breathe.

“What do you want? It’s a simple question.” His brows furrow, food untouched. “But maybe you’ve never been asked that before.”

I wait, but he doesn’t question me further—not about my past, not about the things that make me feel inferior.

That’s all going through my mind right now, and to quench it, I blurt out an answer to his inquiry.

“A family.”

“A family? You mean?—”

I feel the heat in my cheeks and am thankful for the dim lights.

“A family like what your brothers have. Kids and a spouse or partner. Someone to share a life with.”

I’ve never admitted that out loud and it sounds ridiculous. Clearing my throat to hide anxiety and shame, I try and turn my attention back to the plates in front of me.

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