Page 33 of At Her Pleasure

Yet as she met Ros’s gaze, Cyn realized whether it was the fight with her boss, or she’d accumulated just enough money she was no longer a breath away from homeless, she wasn’t going to be less than who she was anymore. Not just with Ros, but with anyone.

Every thought would be spoken as she felt it. No more lies in order to live or worse, to get by or get along. She wasn’t a nice person, but she was fair. And when it mattered to her, when the people and the company mattered to her, she’d not only get the job done, she’d fucking knock it out of the park. She might not be what they wanted her to be, but she’d be what they needed. Because that was more important, even if she was the only one who knew it.

“I have a hard time with incompetence. Laziness, dishonesty. People doing only what’s in their job description.”

Ros lifted a brow. “What else should they be doing?”

“Whatever’s needed for the company to succeed, because that takes care of everyone. Including the customers.”

“So you quit when that gets too frustrating?”

“No. I step in, try to tune it up, fix it, kick the asses that need kicking, suggest replacing what doesn’t work. Unfortunately, that’s most often whoever’s managing or owns the joint. So I get fired.”

Fernando was headed around the counter with Ros’s sandwich. Noting it, Ros lifted one finger. He stopped, turned and put it back on the pass through. Though he smoothly returned to other tasks and supervising his people, Cyn noted he kept a portion of his attention on them, waiting for Ros to gesture again.

It was impressive, and more than just a man fawning because she fucked him. Recognition stirred Cyn’s gut, something undefinable but familiar.

Ros’s gaze held hers as she tapped the side of the cup, her other fingers still curled around it. “So you’ve never quit a job.”

“No.” Cyn shrugged. “I can tell you where I’ve worked if you want to check. I’m okay with them telling you whatever they want about me.”

“Their version will be different from yours.”

“No doubt. But if you can’t read between those kinds of lines, we wouldn’t be having coffee and you’d be in the waiting room, happy to be overcharged for your service work.”

“Hmm.” Ros nodded toward the counter. A moment later, Fernando slid the plate in front of her. Cyn had said she’d stick with her coffee, that she wasn’t hungry. She tried not to inhale the fresh tomatoes and toasted bread. The scrambled egg had a garlic pepper scent.

“Fernando makes the best breakfast in New Orleans,” Ros said. “If you know anything about restaurant competition in NOLA, you know that’s saying something.”

“Yeah. It looks good. I’m fine with my coffee, though.” She said that right as her traitorous stomach growled, loudly enough to be heard by her companion.

“Fernando, Abby will be joining us shortly.” Ros typed in a text and glanced at Cyn. “We pick up the meal tab for our interview candidates.”

“I don’t need charity.”

Ros’s blue eyes went sharp. “You don’t look like you do. But you’re hungry, and a plate of food will be in front of you in a few minutes. For the car to run well, it has to have fuel. Right?”

Fernando backed a couple paces away from the table before turning. Once again, the cues caught Cyn’s attention.

Ros noted her scrutiny, her interest in the byplay. With a feline smile, she slid a piece of her toast onto the saucer of Cyn’s coffee cup. “We’re going to get along just fine,” the female CEO said.

* * *

Had it been that which had brought Cyn into the fold, as much as the eventual job offer? Probably, but it was more than that. Cyn didn’t see Ros as a surrogate for the type of mother she’d never had, but the CEO projected confidence that belittled no one, and was steadfastly loyal to her people. The women that populated the top floor were Ros’s inner circle, but anyone in her employ was family, unless they lost that privilege through shirking, dishonesty or other weaknesses on the same list Cyn had detailed that day.

So Ros had Cyn’s allegiance, no matter what. This place, these women, they were her center and what mattered. Though this thing with Mick had taken her by surprise, unearthing things that should remain buried, he would be gone in a few days. She needed to remember that.

She needed coffee.

Well before she reached the kitchen, she heard a baritone, humming like a bee with credible Barry White aspirations. Bastion was here.

Management, project and sales team efforts were what kept TRA a leader in marketing services to a select clientele, ranging from million-dollar corporations to up and coming small businesses. Even the occasional promising street artist. However, as far as the vital office operations and admin that supported them, no one doubted who was responsible for that.

He was in the kitchen, all six feet plus of him.

Bastion Lake was built like a pro athlete in top condition, and dressed with Tom Ford style. Today it was fashionable jeans stressed with a light sheen, paired with a belt whose antique gold buckle looked like a studded flower. A thin felt coat stretched over his shoulders and nipped the waist, flanking his hips and powerful thighs. His dress shoes had gold toe tips. His black locs reached his waist and were tied back with a clip matching the belt buckle.

“Sloppy as ever,” Cyn greeted him. “Did you even brush your teeth when you rolled out of bed?”

---