Page 11 of Like a Boss

“Well, you look both,” Hannah says, zipping in and out of morning traffic.

“Are you sure this dress isn’t too much?” I ask, straightening out the gray tunic I borrowed from her wardrobe.

“Nope, it’s perfect.”

“And my hair?” I ask, touching my high bun.

“Perfect.”

“What about my makeup?” I cringe when I examine my coral-painted lips and smoky black eyes in the visor’s mirror. “This is a lot more makeup than I’m used to wearing.”

Hannah laughs. “Good. You’re now working for one of the most successful businessmen in the United States. You have to look the part.”

“Great,” I grumble, flipping up the visor. “I have to look the part of a stuck-up, corporate snob. That’s not me.”

“It is now,” she sweetly says, making a left turn toward a private underground parking garage.

“Wow,” I gasp, looking out the windshield at the soaring building in front of me. “Thisis where you work?”

“This is where webothwork,” she corrects, swiping us through the boom gates and looking for a parking space.

Placing my hands on my gurgling stomach, I groan when she kills the engine. “I feel sick, Han. I should have done more research on him.”

“You’ll be fine. Just don’t upset the boss, cardinal rule number one.” She cheerfully reaches for her blazer and leather bag from the back seat while I drag myself out of the car.

As we stroll to the elevator, our heels clicking along the concrete, I gripe, “I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“At least you know his name,” she teases as she pushes the call button.

I nervously cover my throat and blush a deep red.

Hannah winks. “Don’t worry. Makeup works magic. No one will ever know what you got up to this weekend.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Good, because I’d hate for my boss to know that I slept with a random stranger the night of his charity event.”

“Tramp,” Hannah playfully whispers behind her hand.

However, talks of my promiscuous weekend are put on hold when we’re joined by a dozen or so fellow coworkers who step into the elevator with us.

When the elevator doors open and I feast my eyes on Fox Technologies. Hannah nudges me out as I’m in awe of the impressive sight before me. We march down the long carpeted hallway in silence, my gaze darting around the bright open spaces, taking in everything around me.

The walls are painted a warm cream, with beige carpeting and partitioned desks as far as the eye can see. Everyone is soridiculously quiet, I feel like I need to whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace.

“Wow.”

I walk with my head held high, trying not to squirm when I feel everyone watching me, no doubt wondering who the new meat is. Maybe if I hadn’t engaged in hot AF sex, I would have met everyone. Glancing down at my black heels, I curse when I see they’re scuffed.

“Okay, this is you,” Hannah says once we arrive at a glass door.Dylan Foxis written in a frosted, elegant font, not that anyone would mistake whose lavish office this was.

I gulp.

“You’ll be fine, Baylee. I’m just down the hall if you need me.” She points down the corridor.

“I can do this,” I affirm, taking a deep breath.

“You can.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “Just remember, yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir.”

“I’m going to hurl.” I pat over my stomach, making a pained face.

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