Page 10 of Beauty and the Boss Man

Glancing at the clock, I realize I’m running out of time, so I quickly get dressed and head back into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I figure I may also do this up right, so I switch my glasses out for my contacts and use my curling wand to add a few waves to my hair.

After a coat of mascara and some lip gloss, I’m out the door.

When I get downstairs, I head inside the restaurant. Walking up to the host station, I ask if Mr. Montgomery has arrived yet. When they say no, they go ahead and seat me at an empty table.

When the server comes over, I order a rum and Coke along with a water.

I look down at my phone and see a text from Mr. Montgomery.

Headed down now. I’ll get us a table.

I text back saying I already got us one and let him know about where in the restaurant I’m seated.

Fidgeting in my seat, I try to pull my hair in front of my shoulders, hoping maybe it hides my ample cleavage that is trying to pop out and say hello.

Trying to sit still, I take a sip of my drink, but when my eyes flick up, I choke on it at what I see.

A man is walking toward me, but it’s not just any man. It’s a man who looks like he belongs on the cover of a romance novel—a dirty one. A man who looks like he could have every woman in the room on her knees in a heartbeat.

A man who just happens to be my boss.

That’s right. Walking toward me is none other than Mr. Montgomery.

But holy hell, he looks different.

That hair that is always hidden under a hat? Now, there’s no hat, and his hair is longer than I ever would have guessed—like halfway down his back long. It’s dark brown, almost black, and straight and shiny.

His neatly trimmed beard matches, and his hand scratches it as he walks toward me.

His typical layers of clothing have been replaced with some form-fitting dark blue jeans and a black button-down shirt. The top few buttons are undone, showing off his dark chest hair. The sleeves are rolled up to just below the elbows, and I can see the veins roping down his forearms.

His body doesn’t look like that of a bodybuilder. Instead, he’s burly and stocky. And I find myself wondering what he looks like under that clothing.

Stop that.

“Hey, Romy,” he greets with a smile.

Clearing my throat, I respond, “Hi, Mr. Montgomery.”

He sits down across from me, and immediately, our server is upon us.

He orders a whiskey before turning his attention back to me.

“Romy, you and I are going to be here for an entire week with each other. How about you call me Aiden?”

“Aiden,” I say the name, feeling how it sounds on my tongue. “Okay, then.”

The waitress brings back his drink, but we tell her we need more time to look over the menu. We peruse all of the choices, and he decides on a surf ‘n turf while I settle on a fried seafood platter. After we order, he looks back at me.

But he’s not staring at my overly-exposed boobs. No, his light caramel-colored eyes are staring directly into mine.

I’m not sure exactly what to say, and as usual, I proceed to stick my foot in my mouth. “You look different. I mean, not bad different. You look good—really good.” My mouth snaps shut, and my face turns beet red.

Why do I have to be so damn awkward?

But Aiden just chuckles. “Thank you. Usually, at work, I dress for convenience and comfort rather than style. But I figure we are on vacation—well, kind of—so I might as well let my hair down—so to speak.”

“Well, the warm climate looks good on you.”

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