Page 41 of Her Boss

A neighborhood that looked increasingly familiar.

“Um, aren’t you taking us back to your other, uh, office?”

“No.”

“Then how am I supposed to get my car? I drove to work today…”

But he said nothing, as if the question was so unimportant it didn’t even warrant confirmation he’d heard it.

Asshole!

He was taking me to my apartment—something that I hadn’t even given him the address for.

“How do you know where I live?”

“I’m paid to know things, girl.”

He pulled up in front of the building, but didn’t look at me, his big hand draped over the top of the wheel. I opened the door and slipped out, the surprising warm breeze catching my hair, lifting it a moment, and tangling it about my face.

The car pulled away the instant I turned for my apartment. I needed to be away from him, as quickly as possible.

And I had no explanation as to why.

It wasn’t that I was scared of him, not really. There was a protectiveness to him, if one squinted really, really hard. But it was hard to detect through all the brusque alpha male bullshit.

Bullshit? That’s not what your pussy is saying. She liked that part just fine.

Truth be told, I was grateful for what he’d done, for giving me a chance. But what had just happened… there was no way that was ever okay.

Right?

Even worse were the contradictory—and even stronger—needs to see just what he might ask of me. If he’d actually back up those admittedly chillingly titillating words with action. So, so many men didn’t.

What? He’s not some player you’re trying to size up at a club, you dipshit.

No, he was a man whose entire stock in trade was, essentially, deception. On what basis could there possibly be anything there with a man like that?

Punching in my access key onto the battered number pad, the door unlocked with the characteristic metallic thunk. I swung it open, taking one last look behind me.

He hadn’t left yet.

His car was idling in the parking lot, a tiny wisp of translucent white exhaust wafting from one of the tailpipes.

Knowing he was waiting somehow made it better—and worse. Did a tiny part of me thrill that he might be watching to make sure I got inside safely?

There was too a note of almost… menace in seeing him there. Faceless. Silent. Was he protecting me, or was he deciding what he’d like to do to me next?

As I walked down the long hallway to my unit, carefully avoiding a large new dark brown stain in the worn carpet, I tried to ignore the fact that both possibilities seemed to be doing the same thing to my clit.

The familiar warmth and scent of my apartment enveloped me as I closed my door, leaning against it. At least I was home, finally.

None of that changed what had just happened, however—or the choice I still had to make.

CHAPTER 18

Rick

I surveyed my rundown office. It was a pitiful place, a shithole, with paper-thin walls and windows that sealed about as well as a screened door. The old carpet was discolored and matted, and the air smelled vaguely of dust. The windowpanes were slightly blurred, warped in a few places, evidence of their shoddy, cheap construction. It was a stark reminder of how far out of place Geneva seemed there.

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