Page 10 of Rich and Bossy

This would be so much easier if she was an asshole man. It’d be much easier to root out the problem before it spreads into something bigger. I can’t decide if I want to crush these illusions of hers, or if I want to arrange the world so she never has to suffer that way.

If she was only on my mind during the work day, this would be a much simpler problem. But no, she has to invade my thoughts at night. I can’t focus on anything for shit. All I do is wonder what her body is like under that work uniform, how that energy from the elevator would transfer over to the bedroom.

My dick starts to get hard under my desk just thinking about it, and I ball one of my hands into a fist.

Fuck, what is it about Hazel Strous?

“How the fuck are you sitting there all relaxed like this?” John barges into my office.

Once again, I slam down my laptop like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

Do I need to close my office door and make people knock?

I glare up at John, and he matches me with a glare of his own.

I blink a few times. “What?”

He takes his jacket off and tosses it sideways over one of my chairs.

My eye starts to twitch, just looking at it. At him treating my office like a laundry room.

I look him up and down, frowning at his disheveled appearance. Fuck, he looks rough.

“Jesus, did you shower this morning?”

Now, it’s him who stands there, staring like he’s confused. “What? I don’t fucking know.” He looks like he’s actually trying to remember.

“You have a rough one? Take home some strange? Lose a few assets?”

That gets a light grin out of him. “That happened exactly one time six years ago, and you never let me forget.”

“She stole a hundred grand worth of watches. You deserve the scrutiny.”

“For six years?” His eyes widen.

I laugh.

He scowls even harder. “I’ve never made that mistake again.”

“So far, as long as you stay out of the strip clubs.” I welcome this distraction from Hazel. Plus, it’s always fun to give your best friend some shit. “You need to take better care of your stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking do that.”

He starts pacing.

Fuck’s sake, what is his problem?

“What is up with you, man? You’re really high strung.”

He turns and glares at me. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what, bitch?” Now, I stand up, because he needs to come out with it. He’s not some date that’s pouting and I’m supposed to figure out what the problem is.

He spreads his arms wide, looking around my spacious corner office. “What do you do around here when you come in? Are you gambling on your computer? Tha fuck?”

“Obviously, I don’t know what you’re referring to. So just fucking spit it out.”

He drops into the chair across from me, sitting on his coat in the process.

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