Page 24 of The Wrong Boss

I sighed. “I’ll handle it.”

“Thank you,” my fiancée answered, mollified. “And if you get them fixed today, I’ll make it worth your while tonight,” she added suggestively.

I grunted in response. “Fine. See you tonight.” I hung up the phone and tossed the device on my desk, scowling at it.

I hated when she did that.

Alba treated sex like a commodity. It hadn’t always been this way—or at least, I didn’t remember it always being like this. I’d thought our attraction had been mutual. And yes, my father had encouraged me to pursue the relationship, and her father had done what he could to set us up together. But the attractionhadbeen there. The connection had felt real.

But now, two years into our relationship and six months into our engagement, it had become obvious that I earned sexual favors by doing what she wanted. It was transactional. It felt…hollow.

My phone dinged—a photo from Alba. I opened it and stared at the shape of her reclined on the bed, black lace underwear hugging her curves.A little extra encouragement for you, she wrote.

Knowing she expected a response, I heart-reacted to the photo and set my phone aside. My chest burned, heat rising up the back of my throat. There wasn’t an ounce of lust inside me, which made me wonder if there was something wrong with me.

Well. I knew there was something wrong with me. I was a workaholic asshole who cared more about his job than the people in his life, other than a precious few. I was desperate to feel like I belonged, desperate to have a family, but I struggled to actually open up to any of them enough to form genuine relationships.

But Alba was gorgeous. She was nearly six feet tall and built like a swimsuit model. Blond hair down to her waist, curves that made men turn their heads, and a face to match. The sight ofher wearing lingerie on a bed should’ve filled me with need. A year ago, it would have.

Now I wondered if she had a stash of sexy photos saved in case she needed to ask me for a favor. I wondered if tonight, to thank me for doing her bidding, she’d push my pants down and use her mouth to make me orgasm, then stand up, brush herself off, and walk away like she’d just finished cleaning a toilet or checked off an annoying chore on her to-do list.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Was this what I wanted in my life? Really?

There’d been a time when I believed in something more than transactional sex. A night with a woman I barely knew, whose eyes saw right through to the heart of me. A woman who’d disappeared after reaching inside me and shaking me awake.

I had to stop thinking about her.

Seven years on, and I knew I’d never see her again. I didn’twantto see her again, because then it would confirm that I’d been seeing our encounter through rose-tinted glasses. My fickle mind had built that chemistry up into something that was bigger than reality. I was misremembering the fire that burned between us. I’d put her on a pedestal, and no good would come of meeting her again when my life was going exactly the way it should be.

A knock drew me out of my thoughts, and the short, sweet-faced Ms. Bronson stepped through the door. “You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Frustrated at myself, at my fiancée, and at the employees who couldn’t seem to manage to do their jobs properly despitethe detailed instructions and expectations I set out, I motioned to the chair across from my desk. “Have a seat,” I told her. “Has Kaia told you why I called you in here?”

Her shoulders caved in, and I hardened my heart against the thread of pity that tried to weave its way in. Why should I pity someone who couldn’t do the simplest of tasks? Why should I hold other people to lesser standards than I held myself?

This business relied on me being ruthless, on exploiting the thinnest of margins to make a profit. That meant only hiring the best. Anyone else had to be culled, early and mercilessly.

It wasn’t personal, and it never would be.

NINE

CARRIE

“This is your spot,”the head EA, Kaia, told me, gesturing to one of the desks in the pod. We were on the level just below where the C-suite executives had their offices, close enough to run and do their bidding, but far enough away that our tapping keyboards and ringing phones wouldn’t disturb them.

I frowned at the picture frame on the desk showing a smiling young woman and someone I assumed was her mother, then slid my gaze to the poor little succulent that looked like it’d been overwatered to within an inch of its life. “Are you sure?” I asked. “It kind of looks like someone already claimed this desk.”

“It’s yours now,” she said, and we both glanced up when the elevator doors opened.

A short woman with tears streaming down her face came rushing out, making a beeline toward us. She sobbed as shecrashed to a stop, grabbing the picture frame from the desk with one hand while she ripped open the bottom drawer with the other. Pulling out her purse, she stuffed the photo into it and turned to Kaia. “He fired me,” she blurted.

“I know,” Kaia replied, stone-faced.

Ouch.

“It’s only been two weeks! I need the money, Kaia. Can’t you just… Can I do filing? I’ll be the official coffee runner. I’ll clean the meeting rooms. Anything. I know I messed up the travel arrangements, but I was on hold for three hours! There were no flights! What was I supposed to do?”

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