Page 8 of Boss with Benefits

After Derrick had come to my rescue on Saturday, I’d spent the whole next day thinking about my life, which was not something I regularly did. I typically went with the flow, but my flow kept slamming me into my stalker. Saturday night had shaken me more than I wanted to admit, and my regular routine felt unsafe.

That was when the idea of working part-time at Dreamary had come to me, but there were other reasons too. First, Derrick obviously needed some help. The entire office was a hot mess. Second, I wanted to send my mom and me on that cruise. And third, I felt way safer working there than managing the Pilates studio. It was small, and when there wasn’t a class being taught, I was the only employee there, tackling the admin work.

“Didn’t take much bullying. I texted you Monday night about it, and you practically threw the job at me.” I grinned. “But thank you. I can’t wait to see the look on my mom’s face when I surprise her.”

Derrick’s gaze softened, the corners of his mouth curling into a subtle smile. “You’re a good daughter.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like distant thunder.

“But don’t go spreading it around,” I said, standing up and stretching my legs. “I can only handle so much extra work.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Derrick said.

I grinned at him before continuing the task at hand. We’d been at this for several hours now, organizing his chaotic mess of papers and files. I could tell he hated it, but there was a certain satisfaction about bringing order to the chaos—at least for me.

His office was an extension of its owner—rugged, unpolished, a little intimidating. But now, with the evening light filtering in, the dimness softening the harsh edges, I could see the potential beneath the mess. Derrick was meticulous when it came to his work, but when it came to organizing his office? Not so much.

I caught a glimpse of an old photo peeking out from a stack of papers and, curious, I pulled it free. The image was grainy, black-and-white, showing a younger Derrick, in his late teens, surrounded by several little girls, all of them laughing. His sisters, I assumed.

He must have noticed the photo in my hand because he stood and strode over to me, plucking it from my fingers.

“Are those all your sisters?” I asked.

“Yep. All six,” he said, a soft smile on his face as he looked at the memory.

“What was that like growing up with six girls?” I asked, genuinely interested. I’d been an only child. His childhood was so different from mine.

“Hell,” he said, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

I laughed. “I bet.”

“Rachel.” Derrick’s voice sharpened. He tucked the picture away, done with the conversation. “Can we talk about what happened on Saturday?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” I waved him off, not wanting to dive into the paranoia that had been eating at me. “Now, shut up and let me earn my money, Mr. Jackass.”

Derrick looked at me pointedly, not happy with my dismissive answer, or perhaps my nickname for him. I grabbed another thick folder, flipping through it, avoiding his glare.

Derrick frowned but gave a reluctant nod. “Keep that one.”

I placed the folder neatly in the “keep” pile, trying to ignore the lingering tension in the room. We worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the steady hum of the shredder.

“The owner of the studio doesn’t mind you working here?” Derrick asked.

“Nope,” I said, but the truth was I hadn’t told Gianna.

For the past two years, I had been the manager of Hotties by Pilates, and Gianna wanted me to take over the studio when she retired, but I wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted anymore.

The door creaked open, and Peyton poked her head in, her brown hair swinging across the doorjamb.

“Hey, did you get my message about that new political podcast I want you to consider acquiring?” she asked, her tone breezy.

Derrick clicked his mouse, eyes locked on his computer screen as he scrolled. “Where did you send it? I don’t see it in my inbox.”

“Snapchat.”

I snorted, unable to resist. “He’s too old for that.”

---