Page 11 of Big Boss
I lift the cup and sip, and immediately choke on it. “What is this? Goddamn it,” I mutter, trying to wipe my dribbles away with my sleeve while holding onto both cups.
Her laughter draws my attention, and I frown at her. “It’s your pumpkin spice mocha-chocolate-yaya. Isn’t that what you were talking about wanting yesterday?”
Her voice is so saccharine that it makes my teeth hurt. Either that or the disgusting thing she just tricked me into drinking is already destroying me from the inside out.
“I’m so mad at you right now.” I mean, it’s funny, but also don’t mess with my coffee.
She looks up again and shakes her head. “Bet you don’t make any more assumptions about my choice in coffee again.”
I shrug. Then I lift the other coffee cup to my lips and take a long, slow drink of her triple shot Americano. “I probably will. Some people seem to think I’m a bit of a jerk, if you haven’t noticed.”
She snorts. “I’m definitely aware of that. You’re not necessarily all that bad though, at least in my personal experience. It’s more like you’re going out of your way to be the worst but on purpose.”
Her words sound sharp, but her tone definitely isn’t. It almost sounds like an endearment when she says I’m the worst. And I mean, I kind of am doing all of it on purpose. No argument there.
And I’ve certainly felt like the worst for years now.
“Thanks,” I tell her when she hands me the mess of papers. It’s going to take me forever to reorder these and figure out what each one of these means.
“I’ll help you organize it once you let us in. Just give me back the coffee and nobody will get hurt.”
A wicked grin kicks up along one side of my mouth. “Your coffee? Sure. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to your precious.” I make the growly Gollum voice, and she gives me a look like I’ve finally gone off the deep end.
“What?” I look at her incredulously. “My precious,” I croon out again. “Haven’t you seenThe Hobbit?Lord of the Rings?”
Her brow wrinkles up, and she slowly shakes her head. “I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about, but it sounds kind of gross when you make that weird voice. Now gimme the coffee. Gimme, gimme, gimme.”
“I’m going to institute an all-company retreat to binge watch all those gorgeous movies. I’ll even make popcorn. You are so deprived, Miss Ridley. But I’ll be the man who fixes that for you.”
Her face reddens and too late I realize the lewd undertones to my words. Great. Another day, another episode of casual sexual harassment here at Eating Out Records.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I murmur, pressing the coffee cup back into her hand.
“Sure you didn’t,” she snips. Then she wriggles the coffee cup at me. “Wait a minute. Why is this significantly lighter than when I handed it to you a few moments ago?”
I give her a grin and let my next words slide out in a naughty purr. “I figured you wanted me to be happy. Youdowant me to be happy, don’t you?”
She looks away. “Of course. Whatever you want, boss-hole.”
Well, now that we’ve re-established the pecking order, I figure we can get on with business. I unlock the main door and hold it open for her.
She brushes against me as she passes, and I finally notice the rest of her outfit.
“Miss Ridley.”
She turns to me, coffee dribbling down her chin. Does she have a hole in her lip? “What is it, coffee thief?”
“What exactly are you wearing?”
Her lips pinch at my tone. “It’s called clothing, Mister Tate. It’s a wild notion, I know, but some women keep their apparel on even in your big, bad, daddy-like presence.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Excuse me?”
“Not every woman’s clothing spontaneously incinerates at your mere entry to the room. Some of us continue to retain our ability to resist your sexiness. Shocking, I know.”
“No, no. That’s not what I meant. I meant what on earth did you wear as clothing to your brand new job as my assistant? You look like a piece of candy corn, and yet are also covered in paisleys and tassels.”
Erica shrugs, refusing to acknowledge my distinctly uncivil tone. “I like bright colors and bold patterns. I feel like a walking piece of art in clothes like this.” Her eyes run along my frame. “We can’t all look like we’re going to a funeral every day.”
