Page 7 of Her Boss

“Jeanie was what he told me when he called this morning.” She shrugged. “Anyway, she’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Christ. All right. Go back to… whatever it is you do here.” I waved a hand at her. “When she shows up, send her in.”

The door closed again, and I rubbed both hands up and down my face. I didn’t even know what I was going to have the silly girl do. Maybe some filing. Or sweeping. Hell, I didn’t have a clue.

But it did remind me of the woman I’d encountered that night. She’d been a definite pain in the ass too, but one I would have loved to have gotten to know more about. I wasn’t sure what it was about her, but she’d stuck with me. Completely not my type at all—and entirely too young. But still, there was… something there. Alas, it was not to be.

Which was probably for the best. As interesting as she’d been, there was trouble written all over her.

Too bad your dick doesn’t think so.

I shifted in my chair, my swelling cock twisted up in my pants. I sighed in relief as I adjusted myself, pushing my erection down the left leg of my slacks.

“You need to get laid, pal.” It was ridiculous that some intriguing piece of ass I’d run into at a club had had such a visceral effect on me, even weeks later. What was it with that girl?

I grunted, opening my right-hand drawer, dropping my pen inside it and retrieving my pistol. An M&P 9mm, it wasn’t the sexiest of guns, but its slim profile and surprisingly light weight made it a good choice, especially for discreet concealment. Its only drawback was it was a bit small in my big hands. But I still made it work.

I opened the coat of my suit, slipping the piece into my shoulder holster. My meeting at two o’clock. I never, ever took a meeting without being armed. It didn’t matter if I was having lunch with a fucking nun or a Bratva goon. I was always prepared.

Fucking Boy Scout.

My door opened once again. “What?”

“She’s here,” Chloe said, tipping her head back.

“What happened to fifteen minutes?”

“Eager beaver, I guess.”

I slammed my desk drawer shut. “Fuck. Let’s get this over with.”

Chloe disappeared for a moment, then my office door swung open fully.

Buttoning my suitcoat, I looked up—and my mouth dropped open. “You…?”

CHAPTER 4

Geneva

Of all the sights I might have expected to encounter beyond that beat-up door in that little hole-in-the-wall office space in the dogshit section of downtown… Rick wasn’t it.

When Uncle Chest had told me where to go to start my internship, I’d done a double-take. Where he was sending me seemed to be the last place I’d expected to end up. In my mind, I’d pictured some soaring office tower of glittering glass, filled with beautiful people with even more beautiful personal networks—and, most important, job prospects.

Instead, I’d found myself in a place that looked more like an old set from one of the film noir movies I used to watch with my uncle. Any second, Powers Boothe or Robert Mitchum might come shambling out, looking like they’d slept in their disheveled, sweat-stained suits, and between drinks from a cracked, dirty crystal tumbler, waxing laconic about dames, bad booze, and scheming wives that left them for better men.

“Um, hi?”

“I thought you were Jeanie? But you obviously aren’t her. What the hell is this?” His voice grew gravelly. “You get some sort of kick out of using a fake name at the club?”

I frowned, unsure what he was getting at. Who was using a fake name? Then it hit me. “Oh! I see the confusion. Yeah, no, I go by Genie—with a G, not a J. Like the genie in the bottle. Rub me the right way, and all that.”

I cringed so badly at the words, I feared I might actually turn inside out.

My God, you’re an idiot.

His dark eyes were flinty in the harsh light of the incandescent lamp at the corner of his huge, battered desk. “Tell me this is some sort of joke.”

“I was going to say the same thing.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, desperately attempting to regain some semblance of poise. “Did I… am I in the right place here?”

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