Page 101 of Boss Me

“How’s the smoothie?” Marlee asked, tossing the coffee-soaked paper towels into the compost bin.

“Delicious. Thank you.” She’d be all right. I’d ensure she and Ben had jobs after this, even if there was no longer a Synergy to employ them. Ben. “Did you, ah—?”

“I invited him to lunch. We’re going to eat in the cafeteria downstairs, so you’ll be able to find us. You do know where the employee cafeteria is?” She arched an eyebrow.

“I do. I just don’t eat there. Our employees have a shockingly poor idea of nutrition. But I’ll see you there. After.”

“Come on. I’ll walk you to the door.” Jay crooked an elbow.

I eyed it with distaste.

He winked, a habit he’d picked up last year in Texas. “Too soon?”

“It will always be too soon for that, asshole.”

He grinned. “There’s my Cooper Fallon. But seriously, walk with me.”

He led the way out of the break room, and we walked side by side toward the boardroom, for possibly the last time. The boardroom was slightly more opulent than the other conference rooms, with our cushiest chairs and best videoconference gear. I knew for a fact our cleaning crew toiled after every meeting to wipe the fingerprints off the sleek glass table. Weston had chosen it, I suspected because he wanted to be able to scrutinize every part of a person’s body, from their sweaty hands clasped under the table to their nervously tapping toes.

At the door, I straightened my spine. Jay flicked a phantom fiber of lint off the shoulder of my jacket. “Go get ’em.”

He didn’t need to say anything more. I knew from the stiffness in his posture, the tightness in his voice, that what happened in the boardroom mattered to him. And I wasn’t about to let down my friend.

I nodded and walked through the door. The other board members were already inside. Some sat at the table, scanning the papers Julie had set at each place. Others stood at the credenza, filling their plates with pastries or topping up their coffees. Weston sat alone at the head of the table. He caught my gaze and smiled. Before, I’d have said his smile was self-assured. Confidence-inspiring. Since that fiasco in his office, when he’d thrown all my demons in my face, his smile looked secretive. Smug.

I turned back for one more reassuring glance at Jackson, but that wasn’t who stood at the door. The man was bulky. And familiar-looking. How did I know him? The way the too-small Synergy security shirt bulged at the buttons reminded me of another ill-fitting uniform. I sucked in a breath. The housekeeper in my bungalow. I knew it for certain when he turned and limped away.

What the fuck was he doing in my building? I strode through the door. I’d confront him. Get his ID. “Jay, grab—”

My voice evaporated in my suddenly dry throat. The last person I ever wanted to see again stood in the hallway. I swore under my breath, and my heart hammered.

Unlike the other man’s, his Synergy-logo button-down fit his lean, muscular frame. But his dark pants, lacking a belt, sagged at the waist. And his black shoes were scuffed and worn at the toes.

“Going somewhere, son?” My father crossed his arms.

Jackson was heading toward his office, but at the sound of my father’s voice, he whirled to face him. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Security.” Mick Fallon sucked his teeth.

My hand curled into a fist, but Jackson stepped between us. “You’re going to need fucking security up here when I—”

“Is there a problem?” Weston glided out of the conference room, a smirk on his face.

“What the hell, Weston?” Jackson burst out. “You can’t bring him here.”

My father bristled, and I flinched. I was as tall as he was, and heavier, but a dozen years of being his punching bag had trained me too well.

His smile broadening, Weston leaned in the doorway. “I think I can.”

“Leave it, Jay,” I muttered.

“But—”

“It’s fine.” It was anything but fine, and Jackson knew it. Weston had brought my father here again to fuck with my head. As a threat, too. He’d out me as the son of an abusive drunk, a poor one, so different from most of the wealthy board members. I winced. Would the board members we’d swayed to our side change their minds when they knew I wasn’t one of them? If they knew that if it weren’t for my mother’s encouragement and a hell of a lot of scholarship money, I could’ve ended up as their gardener or their driver?

The scents of sour sweat and whiskey flooded my nose. I tossed my plastic smoothie cup in the trash. “It’s fine,” I said more to myself than anyone else.

“I think it’s time for you to go back to work, Jones.” Weston put his hands on his hips.

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