Page 4 of Her Boss

That my jabs back at him had left him completely unfazed paradoxically left me almost speechless. I sagged in my seat. Suddenly remembering that he was watching my every move, I stiffened my spine, sitting ramrod straight.

Now you look like a simpering girl begging for his attention.

“Look, I… I think you’re way too sure of yourself, dude. You walk in here thinking you’ve seen it all, and done it all—and maybe you have. But you don’t know the first thing about me. Does that intrigue you?”

He said nothing though, laying his phone on the table, screen down, the silver band around his right ring finger catching the light for just a moment. His head tilted slightly to the side, as he adjusted the cuff at his left wrist. His dark shirt was finely tailored, probably worth more than my entire outfit. From his impeccably cut jet-black hair to the five-day stubble along his very square jaw, and even the hint of frost at his temples and chin, the man was meticulously put together. Nothing out of place, nothing overlooked, nothing unintentional.

Control freak, or psycho? That is the question.

But it wasn’t one I was going to stick around any longer to find out. On a whim, I leaned in close, whispering the words in his ear. “I’m not skeered of you.” I stepped back, playing with the silver necklace at the base of my throat. “Like I said earlier, have a nice night. Rick.”

His eyes were a heated weight on my ass as I walked away, the girls laughing and pointing as I put an exaggerated sway in my hips, letting him know that I knew he was looking.

When I reached my friends though, I turned my head to drink in my triumph, to rub it in that he wasn’t going to get his way this time… and I was sorely disappointed.

Well, goddamn.

He was already headed for the exit.

CHAPTER 3

Rick

The day was rainy and gray, so wet and cold I felt it right down in my bones. It was only a Tuesday and already I was looking for the exits, longing for the time when I could finally forget about work for the day, and deal with something—anything—more enjoyable than my day-to-day job.

You see, my occupation concerned one thing, above all else—making others’ lives better, easier, cleaner. More to the point, it was to fix problems for people.

But in my line of work those people… well, they weren’t exactly what you might call day-to-day regular clients. No, the shot callers I worked for were the kind who didn’t want to be known, the kind who preferred to stay in the shadows.

Whether it was crooked politicians, organized crime, various ‘extra-legal’ elements, or groups that were considered fringe or perhaps outside the bounds of polite society, I helped them all. They were the sort of individuals and entities who liked to control things from the comfort of anonymity, exerting their power without anyone knowing whom it was that was actually pulling the levers.

That’s where I came in.

The stack of mail on my desk was essentially for show, a way to look busy and legitimate, above board. But it was all bullshit. None of my customers ever sent anything via the mail, and if they did it wouldn’t be anything that was of use to me. The sorts of people I worked for were those you never wanted to receive any mail or package from. Not ever.

And I intended it to stay that way.

My clients were creatures of the burner phone and the in-person meeting. They all had different names for it—‘face time’ or ‘interfacing’ or even ‘walkabout.’

It all meant the same thing though. Information of a sensitive nature needed to be communicated without prying eyes—or ears—being a problem.

I leaned back in my chair, the legs creaking softly. Futilely attempting to massage the ache from my temples, I tried not to think of all the things I still had to do that day. It wasn’t even noon yet, and I was already behind schedule. My secretary, Chloe, God bless her, had sent me a flurry of emails already, each one increasingly frantic. That right there was a problem—because emails were traceable. They could be used against you.

I’d have to have a talk with her about that.

The help these days…

As if her ears had been burning, Chloe bustled into the office, her ever-present tablet computer under one arm, a cup of coffee in another. Her black skirt—one of my stipulated wardrobe choices for any woman working for me—hugged her slim hips firmly. Her button nose, sparkling blue eyes, and willowy figure never failed to garner attention from many if not most of my clients—which was how I liked it.

Distraction could be a useful tool, especially when dealing with men not accustomed to restraining their… baser natures. Chloe had been part of a negotiated deal on more than one occasion, and I was sure there would be more in the future. Still, she needed to be taken down a peg.

“You know I probably should just fire you right now.”

Her carefully sculpted brow arched. “Oh? How would you survive? You don’t even know how to work the coffee machine.”

I sighed. “I’d live.”

“Miserably,” she murmured, planting her butt atop the corner of my desk.

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