Page 5 of Her Boss

“No sitting. That’s not what you do here.”

She looked bored, glancing at her painted nails. “I do everything here.”

“Who issues your paycheck?”

“Fine. Almost everything.” She pushed herself off my desk.

I scowled, straightening papers that didn’t need straightening. “How long have you worked for me?” I waved my pen toward her, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t exaggerate. You know I’ll check.”

“Officially?” She nibbled her upper lip. “Let’s see… yeah, a year? Give or take?”

“And in that year, how many times have I told you there are to be no emails regarding clients, even tangentially?”

That hit home, her pretty face paling a shade or two. “Uh, a few times, I guess.”

“More than once was too many.” I tapped the desk with my pen, emphasizing each word. “Discretion. Matters. It’s everything when it comes to what we do. You understand that?”

Her nostrils flared just the slightest bit, but she nodded.

“Good.” I jabbed a finger at her. “Start acting like it. I have to take a call, so whatever you came in to bother me with is going to wait. That’s all, Chloe.”

Without another word, she spun on her heel and made for the door. When her hand grasped the brass knob, I stopped her.

“One more thing. If I have to talk to you about this one more time, when I call you to come in here, you’ll be sitting uncomfortably the rest of the day. You picking up what I’m laying down?”

It was an empty threat, of course. I wasn’t above spanking a woman, but that was sexual—which meant it wasn’t happening. There was no way I was doing anything of the sort with a woman I was paying. That just wasn’t who I was.

Maybe it’s time you found the sort of woman where that was happening? A lot.

Her swallow was so hard, it was audible. “Okay… I mean, yes.”

“Yes, what?” I let the irritation bleed into my tone, needing to impart to the girl that my patience with her impertinence and inattention did indeed have limits.

“Yes… Mr. Trafford.”

“Now, you can go—and bring me my coffee.”

The door closed behind her at lightning speed, leaving me to myself. Finally.

Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my notes, paying attention most to my upcoming meetings. There were a few, the two o’clock regarding the security arrangements for a possible trip to Washington catching my eye. That was an opportunity that held some personal interest, which was unusual for me. My client had let slip some tidbits about the community we might be visiting that had even me raising an eyebrow. It sounded like some sort of lurid patriarchal idyll.

My kind of spot.

There had to be a catch though. There always was. Especially in my line of work. Nothing was ever easy. I wasn’t paid for easy.

People came to me for the other jobs.

And I never failed to complete them.

When I was young, I’d wanted to be a detective, of all things. A fucking cop!

I shook my head, chuckling softly at my youthful naiveté. “Stupid kid is stupid.”

It wasn’t that I’d planned this life though, that I’d intended to pursue this line of work. One didn’t exactly go to college to major in Fixer.

But that was what I was. People came to me to have problems solved—discreetly, quickly, comprehensively.

I was good at it.

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