Page 15 of The Boss' Pet

Most people who live in the world I own are unaware of it. They go about their lives knowing somewhere in the back of their minds that there’s someone who owns it all, but they never really know who. Of course there are the public billionaires everybody knows about, but the real wealth and power, that never shows its face.

Except I just showed mine to Charlie. In all likelihood, she still doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m an eccentric rich man with a personality disorder.

I know that, because I can see what she is typing on her laptop in real time. I stand outside her door as she starts furiously recording the incident in her little article which will of course never see the light of day. Even if she were to make a video and post it on one of the social media sites, I’d have it down in an instant. She doesn’t understand how captive she is just yet—but she will.

I wait long enough for her to finish another little literary tirade and presumably get herself dressed. I want to speak to her, but I don’t want to mishandle the situation.

She opens the door, and stares at me. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

My palm itches at her rudeness. I have half a mind to take her back into that poky little apartment, sit down on that messy bed that looks as though it has never been formally made at all, and remind her of her manners. Instead, I restrain myself, and she continues to throw barbed words at me.

“Are you just going to follow me around, weirdo?”

“Don’t be rude, Charlie.”

“Then don’t be a psycho.”

“I came to see if you were alright,” I say. “I was worried about you after you left my office in such a state. You were highly emotional. My car, which you took, ended up in this neighborhood. I looked up the address and realized that your building is not in any way up to code. The previous owner had not maintained fire systems, heating systems, and more. So I decided to buy it, knowing I could make you more comfortable.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you ended up in my room.”

“I knocked on your door, and it opened.”

“No, it didn’t, you liar,” she says, not mincing her words even slightly. “I know I locked the door. I always lock the door. It wasn’t just bolted either, it was chained, which means you did some really sketchy shit.”

“It took me less than thirty seconds to open it. That’s effectively the same thing as it being open to begin with. I liked meeting you, Charlie. I’d like the chance to see you again.”

She tilts her head, looking at me with a considering expression. “And if I say no? Do I just wake up in a restaurant, halfway through a lobster bisque?”

I allow myself a little chuckle at that notion. “I know this is an unorthodox way of courting a woman, but I don’t think either of us are entirely normal, are we?”

“You’re weirder than I am,” she says, accurately.

“Little girl… you have no idea.”

Charlie

Thank god I’ve managed to dress myself before confronting him in the hall, which still smells like pee. He does not belong here. This is not an environment for billionaires. It’s a place for average people struggling to get by.

He’s messing with me. He’s enjoying whatever game it is we’re playing. I don’t know what the rules are. There probably aren’t any rules at this point.

I am angry. I am scared. But I am also secretly thrilled, because it is occurring to me that although yes, every interaction I have had with this man has been terrible for me, I am being given yet another chance to infiltrate his world. I thought for sure I’d messed it all up completely when I ran out of that bar last night, but I think I piqued his interest.

I don’t think Marcus is used to anybody running from him. I think he’s used to people fawning all over him and doing anything and everything they can to stay in his company. They definitely don’t kick him out of their apartments. Somehow, just by being my disastrous self, I’ve actually managed to attract this billionaire.

I have to try not to be obviously excited. I have to go with my instincts. And right now, my instincts are to walk back inside my apartment and slam the door in his face.

So I follow them. Just to keep things organic.

“Well,” I say. “You can buy whatever you want. You can buy a building. You can buy the air we breathe. But you can’t buy me.”

I spin on my heel, storm back into my apartment, and fling the door as hard as I can.

I’m expecting to hear a very satisfying slam that might even be hard enough to do damage to the door and maybe the frame. The landlord will have to fix that.

Instead, that big wall of a man catches the door before it can bang home and follows me into my room. He just can’t leave me alone.

“The problem with you is that you’re untamed,” he says.

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