Page 19 of Big Boss
But Tate to the rescue again. He always seems to know what I need, even more than I do. And what am I supposed to do if it turns out he isn’t making fun of me?
He slides his large hands around the edges of my face, tilting my face up almost as if we’re about to kiss. “You are not a punchline to me, Erica. You stood up for me when nobody else would have, and I think we both know who the actual joke is here.” The undercurrent of bitterness in those words makes me pause.
Who on earth would make a man like Tate feel like he’s a joke? He’s successful, arrogant, and sickeningly attractive. Instantly my mind flashes to his former assistant, and I have to force myself not to let the anger show on my face.
How dare she shame this man! For whatever horrible behaviors he may sometimes indulge in, Donovan Tate is a good man. I can already tell by the way he talks to me, comforting me when I get deep in the throes of my anxiety.
And there’s something so compelling about the way his hands feel on my face, his body, so warm and strong, wrapped around mine. The lightning-quick strike of desire rushes through me, and I can only hope he’s too busy in his own thoughts to notice the decidedly naughty turn that mine have taken.
“You’re definitely not a joke, Donovan Tate. Despite all your ridiculousness, you’re actually a good man underneath all that. I can tell. I’ll help you with whatever you need.” The words spill out in a rush because I’m so eager to soothe the pain etched all over his features.
He pulls away and pins me with his gaze. “Then that’s a yes?” His eyes light up, and the sudden change in him every bit as intoxicating as his touch. I need to play this off, though, so he doesn’t know the full extent of what he’s doing to me.
“Yes, okay? I thought you understood that my entire job is to help you, even if that means tagging along to whatever function you’re going to and babysitting you all night long. If I have to babysit you during the day, I can certainly do it after dark too.”
There. That sounded just the right amount of frustrated, possibly even annoyed. It’s easy to dig up those feelings and put them into my voice. Much easier than dealing with the actual emotions I have swirling around inside of me.
His full lips spread out into a slow, devilish smile. “In that case, let’s talk about the dress code.”
I blanch. Now we’re down to the rough part, as if facing down the giant tidal wave of my own past insecurities wasn’t it.
“What about it?” I offer up carefully, measuring my words so I don’t show any fear, any spite.
He gives me another of those mischievous smiles, the type that I can guarantee has gotten him out of trouble more often than not during his lifetime. “It’s white tie, so if you don’t have a gown that will work, just let me know and I’ll send you off shopping.”
I bristle immediately. “I have lots of dresses. Many dresses that are especially colorful and unique.” This is actually a giant lie.
I have exactly five dresses in my wardrobe, and none of them make me feel anything other than awkward when I picture myself standing next to my devastatingly hot older boss, but that’s the entire point, isn’t it? I am awkward. Awkward is the basic essence of who I am, so why should I even bother trying to be anything different?
He ever so casually wraps his fingers around my own, and my traitorous heart thunders at the simple touch. “I know you have plenty of pretty dresses, Erica. But please let me do this for you. You’re doing me a favor, and I hate feeling like I owe you.”
I sniff, feigning offense that I don’t actually feel. “You’re going to owe me anyway. You understand that, don’t you?”
He nods slowly, letting his thumb run along my hand in time with the mesmerizing nodding of his head. “I’ll figure something out. I promise. But I really need for this event to be a success, and you’re the only person I can trust to help me.”
His words warm me almost as much as his touch. I’m suddenly grateful for my obsession with details and my need to schedule everything. Whatever little quirks I may have, they seem to have ingratiated me to Tate, and basking in the warmth of his approval feels so good.
“I won’t let you down.” The words spill from my lips like a prayer. Please let me be good enough to live up to the promises I’m making him.
“I know,” he answers. His free hand slides through my messy hair, then traces along my cheek. “But I want you to have a night that’s really, truly special. I want you to feel how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”
I swallow hard. “You don’t have to buy me things, Tate. Except coffee. We made a deal about that.”
I pull away from his touch, worried that my desire is going to show plainly all over my face. “Go ahead and send me the list of vendors and contacts for the event. I’ll make sure this is the best gala you’ve ever been to.”
“I’m going to do the same for you, Erica. I want this to be one of the very best nights of your life. Thank you for helping.”
I nod at him, moving away until there’s a little more space between us, enough that we don’t have to share warmth and oxygen anymore, and hopefully he won’t notice the frantic way I’m sucking in every breath. “I am going to plan the living hell out of this event, Donovan Tate. Every single I will be dotted, every T will be crossed, and when everything goes off without a hitch, we can both breathe a sigh of relief.”
His grin is everything. “Plus, I don’t have to worry about you publicly embarrassing my date this time.”
I take a shaky breath. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve managed to embarrass myself more often than not.”
And unfortunately, I know that this occasion is more likely than not going to end in disaster, no matter what Tate expects me to wear.
8
Tate
