Page 8 of One Wicked Night with the Boss

Riley

The second task on Jonathan’s list was “dusting the library,” which took on a whole new meaning when the entire room was floor-to-ceiling bookcases. After I finished drooling over the medieval frieze in the bathroom, I grabbed a feather duster and got to work climbing up and down the library ladder.

Three hours later, the sky outside the windows was dark, my calves ached, and hunger gnawed a hole in my stomach. There was also no sign of Jonathan Barnes.

Not that I cared. It was better if he stayed away. I could work through his ridiculous list without dealing with his snarky comments or worrying about him looking over my shoulder.

Still, my gaze kept straying to the double doors that connected the library to his office. Was he curious about how I was doing? Or had he put me out of his mind the second he handed me the bucket of cleaning supplies?

Yeah, probably the second one.

As I descended the ladder for what felt like the hundredth time, I couldn’t help wondering what Lydia and my other grad school friends were doing. I stepped down from the bottom rung and put a hand in the small of my back. Assuming I ever finished Jonathan’s stupid list, I could go to Lydia’s Halloween party dressed as Cinderella.

Wind gusted outside, rattling the windows. A second later, the lights flickered. Goosebumps rose on my arms. I ran my gaze around the room, nerves prickling.

It’s nothing.Old houses always had weird electrical problems.

I shook off my apprehension and went to my bag, which I’d deposited next to an antique drafting table when Jonathan showed me the room. I dug out my cell and checked my messages.

Nothing. Disappointment washed over me. Even my friends had gone silent. Sighing, I bent to shove my phone in my bag when a flash of red on the drafting table caught my eye. I straightened and moved closer. Then my breath hitched.

Architectural renderings were spread across the table. But they weren’t just any renderings. They were drawn by hand—something of a dying art among architects. It was easier and faster to use a computer. However, something was lost when technology took over.

The renderings were proof of that. They were beautifully done—a work of art in their own right. Even the project name and file number in the bottom right corner were lettered by hand. I pushed the topmost rendering aside, revealing a sheet of detail drawings that showed several styles of windows. One was stained glass, each miniature pane meticulously colored. It was the work of someone who treated architecture not merely as a branch of engineering, but as an art form. A passion. Someone who loved preserving the past as much as building the future.

Only semi-conscious of what I was doing, I positioned my phone over the table and started snapping photos. I wanted a chance to sit down with the drawings, to linger over them like a decadent dessert. Snap, snap, snap. My phone’s shutter sound echoed in the quiet room.

A rough hand grabbed my arm and spun me around.

I screamed, shock making me go rigid. My heart stuttered, then raced so fast I felt lightheaded.

A furious Jonathan loomed over me, his dark brows lowered over blazing blue eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I—”

He glanced at the renderings behind me. “Are you trying to steal my work?”

“What? No!”

“Don’t lie to me.” His fingers bit into my arm.

My skin pinched, and I tried to twist from his grip.

He clamped down harder.

“Let me go!” Somewhere in my panicked brain, a faint alarm sounded. It was past working hours, which meant Tom the doorman was probably gone, leaving me alone in the mansion with a man twice my size.

An angry man who thought I was a thief.

He dropped his voice to a growl. “Give me the phone.”

“No!” I flung my free hand behind me.

He made a grab for it and missed.

I held it in the small of my back. “I wasn’t stealing! I just wanted to get a better look.”

“Please,” he said, contempt in his tone. He narrowed his gaze, then dipped a deliberate glance to my breasts. “Did someone send you?”

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