Page 8 of Her Boss

I can’t fucking believe it. It’s him!

Rick put his arms on the desktop, lacing his fingers together. My mouth went dry. Those hands again. What could such powerful hands do? To a little female five foot nothing?

Stop it, bitch. You need to back the fuck out of here, right now. Not indulge in some weird perving about an old dude’s hands.

“Well, this presents a problem, don’t you think?” He sighed, picking up his cell phone, his thumbs tapping away at the screen. “I mean, I didn’t expect my intern would be the same girl who?—”

“Wait.”

He looked up at me. “What did you say?”

You cannot be seriously considering this, Gen.

“We’re the only two people who know we’ve met before. I guarantee Uncle Chest didn’t.” I took a deep breath, trying to summon up the courage that seemed to have abandoned me as soon as I’d laid eyes on the frustratingly good-looking man. “So… why should it matter?”

“Because we know we’ve met.” But he set the phone down on the desk. “How can you be my intern when we, well, you know…”

“Nothing happened.”

“No?” His gaze flashed. “I do want to know something though. Before I send you away for good.”

“O-okay.”

“What did you think you were doing flirting with a man like me? A man at least twenty years older than you? Did you think that would end well, or was it just garden-variety showing off for your little girlfriends?”

Asshole.

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean anything by it.” It was a lie, of course. I really did want to see how he’d react. If he’d pursue me, if he’d get angry at me for flirting so blatantly. I wondered then—and I still did—if teasing him… would provoke him.

Provoke him into what? Chopping you up into pieces and throwing you into the trunk? What the fuck has gotten into you?

“You may not think it matters, but I assure you, girl, it does. Just how old are you, anyway?”

I’d never felt so awkward about revealing my age. In that moment it was as embarrassing as letting a man see the number on my bathroom scale the day after I’d eaten all the food at Chipotle following a close encounter with my girlfriend’s bong. “Ah, I’m… twenty-one. Sir.”

He watched me for a second. “At least you have a little bit of sense in you.”

“Pardon?”

“Sir is the correct way to refer to me. Especially here.”

“Oh…” I tried to ignore the tiny little jump of my clit, and the subtle tightening of my pussy at his words.

“I’ll call Chester. Have him come pick you up. This would never work.” He hit the red dial button on the screen, putting the phone to his ear.

“No—wait. Please?” I took a step toward him, keenly aware of how close I’d drawn to his desk. Even at just a few feet away, I could sense his body heat, his immense size making my breath catch in my throat.

“Can’t we just give it a try? A trial run or something?”

What I didn’t say—and intended to take to my grave—was that I had thought of Rick often since that night. More than once, I’d berated myself for not getting his number. How many times had I played that scenario in my head? Simply asking him if he’d like to have a drink sometime. In a place that wasn’t a meat-market night club.

It didn’t make any sense though. He just wasn’t the usual type of dude I’d have normally taken a second glance at. He was this big, burly, hulking man, his huge barrel chest and silver-frosted stubble something that hadn’t ever piqued my interest before.

Stop lying. Yes, it has.

In my fantasies? Okay, maybe. But most of the guys I’d hooked up with over the years had been various permutations of either pretty boys, or quasi-emo ‘deep thinkers’—who’d turned out to be nothing more than sullen man-babies who couldn’t so much as pick up a check, or even open a fucking door for their woman.

But with him? And those goddamned hands… it was different. A lot different. His personality was one I would have normally been repulsed by—or so I’d told myself. He was brusque, arrogant. While I wouldn’t have called him cold, he could be dismissive—something that not only pissed me off, but intrigued me too. More than I wanted to admit.

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