Page 11 of Savage Bosses

“No,” he says cutting me off. “You’re mad because you thought you were going to sit on your ass and be a trophy wife collecting money off my skills. That’s why you picked that dumb ass design major. You had no real intentions of working. Now you’re mad at your boss and everyone else because you have no real talent. Face it Tif, as much as you hate your mother, you’re just like her.”

If I were cut open and left to bleed out, it wouldn’t hurt as bad as his words did. Everything he said was purposely used to bring me down. I’ve always loved design. I’ve told him this a thousand times. I never once told him that I didn’t want to work while he played. In fact, I was trying to get a job when he first went into the league. He is the one that told me to wait. And for him to mention my mother knowing our history is heartbreaking. There was a time when he would’ve never mentioned her in my presence, let alone compare us. That ocean between us is spreading wider.

Again I ask myself, how the hell did we get here?

“Today was one of the best days of my life,” I say as I fight the tears that burn the back of my throat. “I finally got one of the biggest projects in our company’s history, and you were the only person I wanted to celebrate with. I’m so thankful you finally told me how you really feel.”

I back away, as he reaches for me.

“Tiff,” he pleads.

Turning my back on him, I walk into our bathroom and slam the door. On the other side I hear him cursing and throwing things. The room goes silent and minutes later the front door slams. He’s gone again.

CHAPTER 5

The Brothers

Tiffany

T

hree Months Later…

Walking into Basille headquarters always takes my breath away. The glass building is exquisite with its unique modern architectural design, and twenty-three floors. Walking inside is like entering one of their luxury resorts. On the main floor is a giant cylinder fish tank that goes all the way to the top floor. It’s filled with the most beautiful tropical fish.

“Hello, Ms. Best,” Richard, the first-floor security guard greets me as I enter.

“Hey, Richard. Your Nuggets are doing good this year.”

“We’re going all the way. I promise,” he replies with a wink. “Oh, and Happy Birthday.”

I smile before saying thank you.

Although I have so much to celebrate this year, I’m not exactly in the birthday mood. It could be because Marcus and I are still at odds. We both apologized for that night he brought home the money, but things are strained with us. He still has yet to find a job and insists on gambling his money away. So far, he’s been winning, which has given him a lot of false hope. But I can only prepare myself for the day he doesn’t win.

This morning as I was leaving, he didn’t even say happy birthday. I’m not worried. Marcus knows I love a good surprise. He’s probably waiting until I get home to do something fun. At least that’s why I hope he didn’t acknowledge my birthday this morning.

I make it onto the elevator and up to the top floor. Knowing I will soon be in the presence of Niccolo Basille has the butterflies in my stomach going insane. It’s not professional to have a crush on your client, but when your client is as fine and as charming as Nico, what can you do.

I expected someone as rich as him to be a little more standoffish or stuck up, but he’s funny, kind, considerate, and just an all-around great guy. He’s taught me so much about business and design. He’s had me by his side the last three months as we work together on this project.

Stepping off the elevator onto the top floor, I’m met with the front desk receptionist. Her common scowl turning her pretty face into an unpleasant sneer.

“Good morning, Claire,” I say to her in my cheerful tone as I always do.

From the first day I walked onto this floor she has had it out for me. I have no idea why when I’ve been nothing but nice to her.

“Tiffany,” she replies dryly.

I head for Nico’s door. My arms are heavy with upholstery books.

“He’s in a meeting. You’ll have to wait. Not even you can interrupt when he’s inside with his brothers.”

I don’t miss the snark in her tone. Instead of making a big deal out of it, I take a seat in the lobby, placing my books down in the chair beside me.

My phone chimes with a message.

Dad: Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.

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