Page 20 of Boss Daddy

“Nah, he was good. But I liked working with you better.” The words just tumble out of my mouth, and I regret them right away.

His eyes flash and he cocks his head to the side. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

I shrug, suddenly shy. “We just… had a rhythm, that’s all. It worked well.”

A silence settles between us, heavy and charged. His eyes hold mine, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades. My heart pounds in my ears, and I wonder if something is about to happenbetween us, but he just smiles.

“Well, with a full staff, I won’t need to be behind the bar, other than for fun every now and then.” He sets the glass down. “I’m going to finish some paperwork in my office. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He turns and heads toward the back hall. Of course, my eyes fall to his ass. I’ve never been the type to be all that impressed by suits, but something about the way the fabric hugs his rear…

He pauses and my cheeks turn red. Did he know I was looking somehow?

“You need a walk to the station?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder. “Or I can give you a ride.”

I bet you can.

I scold myself for the thought.

“Nah, I’m good. It’s just a few blocks to the subway. Thanks, though.”

He turns, another thought occurring to him. “Where do you live, anyway?”

“Central West. Bit of a walk from Union Station.”

“You serious?”

“It’s not so bad. It can be a little, uh, colorful, but it’s fine.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Alright. Stay safe out there. You know where the keys are. And don’t forget there’s pepper spray attached if you need it.”

I nod, and he heads into his office.

I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder and turning toward the door. Each step away from him feels like a missed opportunity, a chance slipping through my fingers.

Samuel Holt, you’re going to be the death of me.

I step out of the club, the night air sharp and cool against my skin. I turn and lock the heavy steel door, slipping the keys into my purse.

The city is quiet at this hour, the hum of traffic reduced to a low murmur in the distance. I tighten my jacket around me and start the three-block walk to the train station, my boots echoing softly against the pavement.

My mind drifts, settling on Samuel. His dark eyes, his steady presence, that voice—low and smooth, like a soft caress. He’s the first decent man I’ve met in a long time, one who doesn’t make me feel like prey when he looks at me. Well, maybe a little, but in a good way, in a way I like.

The wind picks up, a chill slipping under my jacket. The street seems darker tonight, the shadows stretching longer than usual. I glance over my shoulder, the empty sidewalk behind me doing little to ease the feeling of vulnerability creeping along my spine.

I shake it off and walk a little faster, my eyes focused on the glow of the train station up ahead. Almost there.

“Hello, Erin.”

The sound of my name causes me to freeze mid-step. My breath catches in my throat. I stare straight ahead, knowing exactly who it is. That voice has been burned into my brain.

I slowly turn around, and the man Samuel threw out of the bar last week is standing under the flickering glow of a streetlamp,his mouth twisted into a sneer that makes my skin crawl.

“Hey there,” he says, taking a step toward me. “I want to talk to you.”

My fingers twitch as I reach into my bag, feeling for the keys, for the pepper spray attached to them. My hand scrambles through various objects, ChapStick, loose change—where the hell are they?

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