Page 13 of Big Boss
He shakes his head. “None. I’m hanging out with zero women. I just have an entire legion of—ahem—devoted fans who think it’s acceptable or fun or something to send me dirty emails and sometimes even dirty underwear.”
“That’s horrible.” I shiver.
“Yup.” He waves a hand at the mess on his desk. “Now are we doing this, or are you all talk and no action, Miss Ridley?”
Well, obviously I can’t let him talk to me like that. Like I’m afraid or something. Because I may be a lot of things, but a coward isn’t one of them.
“Where do you want me to sit to read your…fan mail?” I answer sweetly, putting a little extra honey in my tone because I know it’ll piss him off.
I watch his jaw muscles tighten and then he forces out a smile. “Just pull up a chair and let’s get this done.”
Because we’re playing dirty, I decide to go ahead and start with the nastiest of the emails I printed out for him.
“Dearest Tate,” I roll the words around in my mouth. “I can’t stop touching myself when I watch your video, where you’re rolling around the beach with your shirt off and eating—”
He holds up a hand in a stop gesture worthy of a school crossing guard. “I don’t feel like your reading of this is very sincere. Perhaps you’re not taking your job duties very seriously after all, Miss Ridley.” He clucks his tongue in an exaggerated sign of disapproval.
He unfolds his hands and meets my gaze, then gestures like he’s conducting a symphony orchestra. “Once more. With feeling.”
But eventually the exaggerated moaning noises I decide to use as punctuation grow boring for him and he waves me off.
“Can we skip these and move on to the actual business emails?” He sighs. “You weren’t nearly as embarrassed by that as I was hoping you would be.”
I smile toothily at him. “So sorry to disappoint you, Mister Tate.” I flip through the pages and finally reach one that doesn’t involve masturbation or underwear.
“Jackson Schmitt wrote this morning at about 5:30 in the morning.” I wince. I don’t want to do anything at that unholy hour, let alone anything involving actual work.
Tate nods, giving nothing away on his pretty face. “Go on.”
“He says he’s made a lunch reservation for you today at La Havana.Ooh, is that the darling little Cuban place?”
He flashes another of those megawatt grins at me. “The one with those little guava pastries. Yes.”
I wriggle just hearing the words out loud. “Their coffee is out of this world. I’m so jealous.”
I pause, then put down the paper I’m holding. “Wait. Can I come with you?”
But he’s already shaking his head. “It’s a business lunch today. But we’ll go another time, I promise. Even though I can guarantee you’ll end up with sugar all over your face and your clothing afterward.”
“That’s the entire point, isn’t it? Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being a messy eater. Not when the food is good.”
He laughs at my words, but it doesn’t feel mean so I allow it. Besides, I don’t want to get him all riled up before he takes me to the next restaurant of my dreams.
“If I’ve got a lunch appointment, I’m going to need to make a few phone calls. Make sure you print off all of my emails but you don’t need to read me any of those smutty ones anymore. Unless you want to, I guess.”
I shake my head. “Definitely not, but thanks for the offer. I still can’t believe how many women email you about their panties.” I draw out the last word theatrically, then wave to him and head toward the entryway. “Okay, I’ll just head out to the front and guard your private lair until you’re ready to leave. For lunch. At the Cuban place. Without me, like the meanie you are.”
I put my hand over my heart so he can bear witness to the full extent of my pain then slip out into the foyer.
Where I am promptly ambushed by a half dozen photographers and one very, very pretty woman who is way overdressed for 10:30 in the morning.
She looks like some sort of cartoon princess come to life. Her hair is long and golden and wavy, and she’s wearing a long, ruffled white dress like perhaps she’s an actual angel. An angel wearing sparkly pink cowboy boots though. Huh.
“Can I help you?” I manage to squeeze out, despite everything in me screaming to run and call for building security.
I can’t think of any legitimate reason for any woman to be in our lobby, especially with a bunch of press photographers lurking around and snapping pictures of her.
She gives me a careful, polished-looking smile that sets all of my nerves on high alert. “Well, now, honey, I’m here to meet up with my sweetheart, Tate. We’ve got us a date.”
