Page 170 of Savage Bosses

In another chat, I lurked, unable to deny my curiosity about the site. Did my employees post about me? I was sure some of my team thought I overworked them, maybe even called me a bosshole behind my back. I made a note to search for clues when a chat with @Desk_Pet caught my eye.

Her situation with her boss sounded messy. I shook my head and squelched the urge to offer advice. People paid me a lot to handle their crises, and I wasn’t the charitable type to give my services away for free.

The next day, I arrived in the office expecting to exchange more barbs with Kent. Like the day before, I dressed to highlight my body’s curves, and his penetrating stare told me I’d succeeded. Maybe too well.

My skin itched from feeling his eyes on me. In response, I tried to bait him, but he refused to give me the satisfaction of replying. Instead, his calm demeanor left me feeling like a hormonal adolescent lashing out for no reason.

I endured for two hours before leaving the office. This time, I called my team to find out if they’d made any progress on the open murder investigation. There were few leads, and the digging into the women’s lives didn’t turn up many clues.

The next time I glimpsed the time, it was late enough that Elsie and Kent would have left for their first event together. I tamped down the jealousy desperately fighting for a foothold on my emotions. I knew what I was doing when I linked those two together. Their complementary looks would leave people in awe.

I rubbed my chest bone. Deciding not to attend tonight had an added benefit; I wouldn’t exhaust myself pretending Kent didn’t affect me. I needed to live rent-free in his mind, not the other way around. After a long exhale and arm stretches, I headed home.

Nikita’s cooking slapped my tastebuds the second I walked through the door. Eager, I helped set the table for our first family meal since I arrived. My butt hovered above the seat at the dining table when the doorbell rang. Both of my parents looked at each other before glancing in my direction.

“Are you expecting someone?” my dad asked.

“No, but I’ll check if it’s someone from my team. If they traveled here, there must be an emergency I’ll have to deal with.” I stared longingly at the smothered chicken, greens, and red beans and rice.

“Go on. We’ll leave you a plate.” My mom spooned a healthy serving of smothered chicken gravy over her beans and rice.

“Who is we?” My dad shoveled a mountain of the rice dish onto his plate. “Don’t go volunteering me for altruist of the year when it’s your famous chicken in front of me. Maddy can always call Grubhub.”

“Daddy, you are cold.”

“Don’t you worry about me. All this good food will warm me right up.”

I shook my head as I moved toward our mystery guest. Through the stained-glass front door, Omar’s sheepish brown face stared at me.

“Omar, what are you doing here?” I asked, after letting him in.

He raised a garment bag he held in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. “Kent sent me. I… uh… have to escort you to the event tonight.”

My mind raced. Kent couldn’t have spent a full thirty minutes at the party before sending the well-prepared Omar over.

“When did you have time to shop for me?” I unzipped the bag to find a gorgeous emerald sequined gown inside.

“Technically, I didn’t. This afternoon, Kent sent me to pick up everything. I don’t even know what is in all the packages.”

I wanted the dress, but I refused to let Omar see my desire, or else he’d report my reaction to Kent. One thing I wouldn’t abide in the war I was waging was seeing a satisfied smirk on his face because he managed to one-up me. Hoping for an easy excuse, I checked the size.

“This is my size. How?” I asked, staring dumbfounded at the discreet tag.

“Beats me.” Omar checked his digital watch. “So, do you mind putting these on so we can leave? Kent was rather insistent.”

I glared at Omar. “What were his exact words?”

“Look, Madison, I’m just the messenger. You’ll be doing me a solid by dolling up and coming with me. So can you, please?”

“Omar…”

He slumped his shoulders and evaded my glance by looking at the ground. “He said if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as you’re told, wear the damn dress and get your”—Omar cringed—“ass to the gala.”

I patted Omar’s shoulder. “Thanks for telling me. Don’t worry, I won’t bite your head off.”

“That’s a relief because I really like you. As a friend, promise.” A smile returned to his face and relief replaced the stress lines around his eyes from moments ago. “So, how long do you think you’ll need?”

“Not long at all.” I shifted my hold to Omar’s elbow and led him to the door. “Because I’m not going. And you can tell Mr. Luxe that someone else has already filled the role for my father is, and I don’t need a second one telling me what’s good for me.” I gently shut the door in Omar’s face and returned to dinner with my parents, with a lightness to my step and a grin I tried to suppress.

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