Page 52 of The Wrong Boss

Cole’s finger stroked the blade of his jaw as he watched me, dark eyes like pools pulling me into their depths. I was pinned to my chair, unable to move until the flight attendant came around with a warm towel, a selection of drinks, and a plate of fresh fruit and chocolates.

I thanked her, wondering what I was supposed to do with the warm towel. Cole wiped his hands and face with it, I noted surreptitiously. Not wanting to disturb my makeup, I patted my hands and handed the towel back to her.

Apparently, you could organize a dozen private flights for your boss and still have no idea what actually happened on one of them.

Stealing a glance at the man across from me, I tried to remember that I was here to work. I stared at the side of his neckand the shape of his ear, the fine fabric of the shirt he wore—always in his signature black. His long fingers drummed on the armrest of his chair, and my heart seemed to thunder to the same beat.

Sucking in a deep breath, I tore my gaze away, took a sip of the delicious green juice the flight attendant had left on a tiny coaster, dabbed my fingers on the little napkin she’d placed beside it, then pulled out my laptop. I placed it on the table in front of me and booted it up, intending to triple-check that the caterers had gotten the long list of dietary requirements right for the planned meals on the retreat.

And Cole leaned forward.

That’s all it took for my pulse to take off at a gallop. If he had any idea what he did to me, I would have to throw myself into the fires of Mount Doom to get over the mortification. Resisting my attraction to him took every ounce of my will.

Casting about for something to say, the best I could come up with was, “How’s your day going?”

His blink was slow and dangerous. “My day’s fine,” he replied. “Kaia told me you were handling the new caterers.”

Good. Work. That was a nice, safe topic. “I am,” I said. “I’ve confirmed the welcome dinner menu and double-checked that they’re able to handle all the allergies and dietary preferences for each guest. I’m still waiting on updated breakfast details, because I know a few of the board members have very specific coffee tastes?—”

I stopped talking when Cole stretched out, his foot just inches from my own, his eyelids dropping to half-mast as he listened. He waved a hand for me to continue.

Clearing my throat, I shifted my gaze to my laptop screen. His knee was close to mine—close enough that I could feel the brush of his pant leg against the fabric of my own. Too close. “They’re confident that they can source the seafood we need for the final night of the retreat, but I’m working on a contingency in case that doesn’t happen,” I continued, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“Good,” Cole said. His eyes tracked my every movement as I gulped and fidgeted and tapped on my laptop. The small hairs at the back of my neck stood on end, and I fought to keep my face steady.

He was my boss. Yes, we were on the company jet, and I’d be spending a sun-drenched weekend away from my daughter as I tried to impress him and the rest of the executive team. Maybe, if I did a good enough job, my career wouldn’t be over when Cole found out about my secret. I was here to secure my future. My daughter’s future.

So I absolutely couldnotget carried away thinking about how good he looked when he stretched out in the seat in front of me, or how the sun’s rays hit his cheekbones so perfectly through the oval windows lining the sides of the plane.

I took a deep, cleansing breath and let a mask of professionalism fall down over my features. We finished going over the catering details by the time the plane was taxiing toward the runway, and I secured my laptop when the flight attendant instructed me to.

Suddenly, I had no idea what to do with my hands. This was going to be a long flight—and an even longer trip.

TWENTY

COLE

This was fine.Everything was A-OK. Just me and a colleague, flying to a work event. Total normal and professional.

Once the plane was in the air, Carrie got her laptop back out and started tapping away on the keyboard. When she focused, she got three little wrinkles between her brows. Her lips pursed, and her eyes went from clear gray to stormy. She liked to tap her bottom lip with her index finger when she thought, and she got great satisfaction from putting big, dramatic checkmarks into the boxes she’d drawn on her to-do list.

She was unbearably cute. And hot. And?—

I tore my gaze away from her and went back to the emails on my phone. When my eyes were drawn to those pursed lips and that wrinkled brow for the hundredth time, I said, “When did you move to the city?”

She looked up from her screen. “I didn’t,” she said. “I live in Newark with my cousin. You remember Hailey? The bride?”

“Never met her, but I remember liking her choice of bridesmaid’s dress.”

Red bloomed high on Carrie’s cheeks, and I cursed myself. I shouldn’t have said that, but all Carrie replied was, “I’ve lived with Hailey for nearly seven years. She and her husband Seth were hugely helpful when…” She cleared her throat. “They really helped me out when I needed it.”

“After your breakup?”

Her eyes met mine, and it might’ve been my imagination, but I thought she hesitated before saying, “Yeah. After the breakup. I was, um, well… Things just got kind of complicated.”

“I see,” I said, even though I didn’t.

Carrie traced the edge of her laptop with her fingers, a nervous movement that seemed at odds with the fiery, confident woman she always seemed to be. “You seem to have landed on your feet after being so troubled about your career move back then.”

---