Page 3 of Like a Boss

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” I say, as three glasses of champagne in the span of two minutes is my limit.

I go in search of the bathrooms but soon become disoriented because this place is like a damn maze, and these pumps are definitely not making my journey any easier. I make my way up the plush carpeted steps, but I don’t have time to admire my superb surroundings as my bladder is about to burst. I sing in relief when I see the bathrooms are a few feet ahead.

Very ungracefully, I half run, half waddle, not caring I resemble a deranged duck because the only thing I care about is making it to the restrooms in time.

However, when I’m only mere steps away, my monster stilettos catch on the long hem of my gown and I clumsily trip over my own feet. I yelp, “Sweet baby Jesus!” and bump straight into a wall… of muscle.

Lifting my eyes up and… up, I see my muscled wall is attached to the hottest man… ever. And that hot man is smirking at me, his fingers searing my skin as he caresses my bicep with poise. My body goes lax, my mouth gapes open on its own accord, and my eyes go to town on the tall, dark, and handsome in front of me.

His eyes are incredibly bright, appearing a green-blue, licked with a curving swirl of violet. Their vibrancy complements his slightly down-turned lips, which gives him a full, sexy pout. His strong jawline is coated in a dark scruff, a dark scruff that matches his thick, wild tresses, styled messily atop his gorgeous head.

It’s impossible that a man this hot actually exists. But as I rake my gaze down his hardened, chiseled physique, I know that it’s possible, very possible.

Even underneath the monkey suit, I can see that he’s the owner of a well-oiled machine, a machine which has meforgetting my own name. And obviously my manners, because when he clears his throat, I realize I’m staring at his groin.

“You’re welcome,” I blurt out. What the actual hell? That is so not what I intended to say.

But my stranger chuckles, a deep, gruff laugh, and goose bumps instantly bathe my skin.

“I mean, thank you,” I correct a second later, feeling my cheeks rival the pinkness of his devious mouth. “I tripped over my shoes because I was busting to pee.” Again, what the actual hell?

I need to shut up, but my need to fill the silence is greater and I continue rambling like a crazy person.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue. I can only imagine what compromising position I would be in if not for your skilled… hands.” I cringe while my stranger smirks, a dimple hugging his whiskered cheek.

Why isn’t he talking? He needs to talk, so I shut the hell up.

But when he strokes over my bicep once again, talking is the last thing on my mind.

He leans in close, his cologne encasing me in a prison of perfumed heaven. Does heaven have a smell? Well, it does now.

“After you’re done…” he whispers, his voice deep, rough, and raw. “How about you come up to my room, and I’ll show you how skillful my hands can really be.”

I actually choke on my saliva and subtly cough so I can breathe. Is this man asking me what I think he’s asking me? I mean, maybe he’s a massage therapist, and he wants to knead the knots from my shoulders because God knows, the stress from the past three months has me wearing my shoulders for earrings.

However, when he leans in even closer and his lips tickle my ear, I know the only massaging he’ll be doing is to my libido.“Just in case we’re unclear… that was an invitation to fuck you senseless.”

Before I have time to reply, he pulls away, appearing calm and composed, while I resist the urge to not vomit all over his expensive Italian loafers.

“Room fifteen thirty-five. See you soon,” he confidently says before sauntering off with a self-assured swagger.

I stand frozen to the spot, my need to pee long gone because I have just been hit on by the world’shottestman, whose arrogance and self-assurance was a surprisingly heady combination. This has never happened to me before. I have always been with Scott. And when I saybeen, I mean that physically, as well as emotionally.

But just thinking about what that dirty son of a bitch did to me has me springing into action, ready to make good on Hannah’s suggestion and grab a tiger by the balls. The thought of being naked and in his presence, however, has me yelping and running into the bathroom.

Once I’m done in the stall, I wash my hands and stare into the mirror above the sink. I look flustered, even more so than usual because my usual rosy cheeks rival a tomato. Dousing my neck with some water, I take three calming breaths.

Any sane woman would forget she just encountered this arrogant asshole and go back to the party. But I never said I was sane. And going back downstairs has every fiber in my body protesting loudly.

Fanning my cheeks, I hope it’ll also douse the fire in my pants, but all it does has me remembering those mesmerizing eyes which could promise the world. The old Baylee would walk away because she wouldneverdo something so… spontaneous. But that Baylee got treated like a doormat by her supposed “soulmate.”

With that as my incentive, I march out of the bathroom, making a beeline for the elevator. The doors part open, and I enter, refusing to back down.

“You arenota coward,” I chant to myself for the sixth time, hoping the avowal will magically give me the confidence I so need.

It doesn’t because I have ridden in the elevator to the fifteenth floor three times, and each time, I’ve ridden it back down to the lobby, unable to take that first step because I know I’ll have to take another and then another after that.

I’ve never been the one-night stand kind of girl, and even though I’ve been in a relationship for the majority of my adult years, I still think that fact would stand, even if I hadn’t been.

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