Page 26 of Boss with Benefits

"A secret that's none of your business."

Valeria flung open a door to one of the refrigerated display cases. "Oh God, did you sleep with her?"

"No," I roared.

"Whoa. Sorry, bro." Valeria threw her hands up, the door slamming shut. She flung it open again, snatching a Pellegrino.

I opened the register and counted the money as Valeria wiped down the glass doors of the coolers and then the countertops. After I placed the money in a bank bag and took it to the safe in the back room, we walked onto the busy sidewalk.

"I'm also stressed because of how fast Dreamary is growing. I know the deal with NOW was great for the company, but it's brought a ton more exposure. I had to hire a media relations person to manage all the requests for crossover podcasts, media inquiries, speaker invitations, and a ton of other things."

Valeria slapped my shoulder. "Stop complaining. You're like a bazillionaire because of that deal."

"Not quite," I said, but she wasn't far off. Isaac and I had done very well when NOW acquired Dreamary and became its umbrella company. We gave healthy bonuses to our staff and donated a large chunk to various charities we supported.

"Do you want to work at Dreamary?" I asked, half joking. "We could use the help."

"No time," she said, skipping up the steps to our parents' row house. "I'm heading upstate tomorrow."

Valeria worked as an administrator and vet assistant at a large animal veterinary that mainly dealt with horses and farm animals.

"You can work remote," I said, sweetening the deal.

"It would help with my school loans, but I don’t have the time or bandwidth for anything else."

Valeria had never mentioned she had school loans. I assumed our parents paid for her college. They didn't pay for the police academy, but that's because the deli was barely covering their bills at the time. Now they made more revenue than they ever imagined, so why hadn't they paid her debts?

"Mom and Dad don't know," Valeria said, reading my thoughts. "And I'm not working for you. The other day you were going on and on about how grateful you were to have a Gen Zer in the office who actually did work and didn't need to be coddled. Which, as a Gen Zer, I’m offended."

"No, you aren't."

"No, I'm not. We are an awesome generation, but we are also an entitled generation."

"But you understand how to fix my internet when it goes down."

"I understand a lot more than that. And stop being an asshole to my generation. And to Rachel." Valeria opened the screen door to our family home, but I didn't follow her inside. "You're not coming?"

"I need to be at work early tomorrow. My inbox is filled with complaints from all my disgruntled hosts in desperate need of more help managing all the new attention. Everyone's workload is strained."

"Enlist a recruiting agency to hire more people. You have the cash flow. Use it. People need work, dude." Valeria held the door open with the toe of her tennis shoe. "And whatever else is stressing you out, fix it. You've been very emo the last few months."

"I thought emo meant goth."

Valeria patted my head. "Oh, my old, naive brother. Get out of your feels and into therapy or whatever the hell you need. Just...chill. Your life is going great. Enjoy it."

At home that night, I sat on my back patio looking over my small, manicured garden. Valeria was right. I had it made. A successful company I loved. A new townhouse with a backyard—a rare gem in Manhattan. A family who bugged the crap out of me but that I loved dearly. It was the reason I bought a four-story townhouse—so my nieces and nephews could visit and fill the home.

Valeria was right. My generation might be workaholics, a bad word these days, but we didn’t like to work on ourselves. I preached it behind my microphone. I believed it. I just didn't want to go through the effort of finding someone new to help. Not with something as personal as my health issues.

I closed my eyes, and thoughts of Rachel flashed through my mind again, and with them so did a fiery rage. And yet…I missed her.

I’d been stunned when I ran into her on the platform earlier. Rachel had been wearing a see-through top with a skimpy black bralette and underneath all my anger affection bubbled up.

What was that about?

My watch vibrated with a message, and I twisted my wrist to read it. It was from Rachel. I whipped my head around as if she might be there, lurking in my back garden.

Of course, she wasn't.

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