Page 30 of Unbossly Manners

“Hi,” I said, startled that he spoke to me. Even after working there for three months, I was in awe of him.

A few years ago, he’d helped solve a very high-profile cold-case of missing twin sisters. It had brought him praise and enough media attention to team up with a true crime writer—Isaac—and start a very successful podcast.

“How are things going, Peyton?” he asked.

I flushed, flattered he remembered my name. Of course, he would, he owns the company.

“Good, er…” I fumbled, tongue-tied.

He was tall and broad-shouldered and street-hardened. He’d been a detective in Brooklyn for two decades before he retired and started the podcast. I listened to it faithfully before I worked with them. I still didn’t miss an episode. The vulnerability they brought to the show was endearing.

“It’s Derrick,” he offered, assuming I was tripping over his name when I was tripping over myself.

“I know. I’d be an idiot not to know who you are.” Had he forgotten the whole signing my t-shirt thing? God, I hoped so.

He chuckled, brushing a piece of his black hair from his forehead. “I’d be an asshole to assume.”

We stood unmoving for a moment, his dark eyes kind and gentle.

“Is everything okay?” His gaze narrowed and his brow pulled down in concentration.

“Huh? Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You were talking to HR. Are you having an issue?” Derrick raised his eyebrows, patiently waiting me out. This was a man used to getting answers.

“I had a technical question about something.”

He stared at me for a moment then broke out into a smile that crinkled his eyes. He had to be in his forties, but he was a very good-looking forty-year-old.

“Great. I don’t want any of my employees to be unhappy.”

“No need to worry about me. I’m stupendous.” Oh my god, kill me now. What the hell was I saying?

“If you ever need anything, let me know.” He gave my shoulder the briefest squeeze then dropped his hand.

I blinked rapidly, butterflies floating in my belly.

“Aren’t you usually in the studio on Monday?” I asked.

“Our recording got erased. Second time this month,” he said.

“That sucks,” I said lamely.

“Yeah, it does.” He laughed, and I melted a little. Derrick Jacques laughed at something I said. “See you around, Peyton.”

Derrick went into the studio and I couldn’t help but watch him, floating from our conversation. It was way better than when I’d fawned all over him.

My gaze fell on the table and I cringed. I hoped someone wiped it down after Isaac and Brody’s bare asses were done grinding on it.

It wasn’t until I sat at my desk and replayed the conversation I’d had with Prathi in my mind that I realized she never mentioned the email I’d sent about Brody and Isaac.

twelve

“You told Prathi I was prostituting myself out to you.”

The accusation spilled out of my mouth when I spotted Jackson by the platform at the front of the office that evening. For hours, I’d been squirming at my desk, replaying the mortifying conversation with Prathi. I knew she had to be told about our relationship, but I didn’t appreciate being blindsided.

“Technically, I’m the gigolo,” Jackson said, straight-faced.

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