Page 19 of Heartless Boss
“That’s bullcrap. You’re being nice—too nice. You let me crash at your crib, and now you want to hang out.” He stares at me like I’ve grown three heads. “Is this your way of trying to screw me?”
Slowly, he stands from the chair and marches up to me, resting both hands on my shoulders. “Rainbow, calm down.”
“You’re not answering my question,” I shoot back.
“I’m not trying to fuck you.” His lustful eyes drink me up from head to toe, and he licks his lips like he wants to devour me. “Not that you’re not fuckable.”
Maybe I’m too suspicious. I just never had a man helping me without something in return.
Gunner isn’t likehim,I tell myself. Not every man is a pig. Not every guy wants to hurt me.
“I’m a straightforward man. If I’m going to fuck you, I’ll tell you. I wouldn’t use Netflix either. I have better game than that.” He removes his hands from my shoulders and rubs the back of his neck. “Are we gonna watch the show? I’ll order you your favorite spaghetti and meatballs from Patsy’s.”
How did he know that was my favorite restaurant? I shake my head; it doesn’t matter.
“Okay.”
Chapter Seven
Gunner
Imeant it when I said I have no intention of fucking her, even though my dick is not in line with it. Once again, my impulsiveness got the best of me with Gia. Something about her being into comedies made my dick hard in my designer pants.
It isn’t that bad sharing my space with her, even though I prefer my cups and plates to be on the top shelf instead of the bottom. She leaves her clothes scattered on the bathroom floor. And I think she’s using my razor to shave her legs because I found fine brown hair on the blades. Oddly, I don’t mind sharing it, and if she wanted to wear my clothes, I would let her.
Jesus, Gunner, what the hell is wrong with you?
And her perfume bottle, hair spray, and lotion clutter my side of the sink. My bathroom went from clean and manly to a hair salon.
Don’t get me started on how she leaves strays of her brown hair in the sink. She replaced a few of my expensive black Egyptian cotton towels with cheap, yellow towels from the dollar store. You have to wipe yourself five million times to get dry. She decorated the entertainment center with pink and purple candles and placed those scent things that look like decoration on the end tables. Now it smells like a Bath and Body Works store.
She’s easy to live with, and she never pries into my personal life either.
Bonus points for Gia for not acting like an overbearing chick who’s only interested in using my cock to milk money out of me.
I click the pause button as I wait for Gia to come back from the kitchen—she’s dumping our empty plates of food from Patsy’s. She eats there three times a week; I know because she’s always saying how sorry she is for using my credit card. And to take it out of her check, even though that’s why I gave it to her, to buy stuff on it for work. Gia is very humble and appreciative, which makes her ten times more beautiful.
I rub my sweaty palms against my basketball shorts. Several moments later, Gia stalks into the living room with double-chocolate-chip cookies and Rice Krispie treats on a silver tray.
“Okay, hit play,” she says, setting the treats on the metal table. The thirteenth episode plays on the screen, and she shoves two cookies into my hands. “Tell me what they taste like.” She stares at me with her doe eyes as I bite into the cookie, and it melts on my tongue like warm honey.
“It’s good,” I say between bites.
“Just good?” Her eyebrows knit together.
“It tastes awesome.”
Rainbow’s face dances with excitement, and she wiggles her shoulders. “I thought I added too much sugar, but I guess it isn’t too sweet.” She leans back on the suede black couch, and I’ve never seen so much passion igniting her face. She looks at me like I went to the sky and handpicked the stars for her.
“You better grab some, or I’ll eat the rest.”
“Go right ahead. I only eat sweets on Saturdays.”
I look at her sideways as her eyes are glued to the TV. “Why only on Saturday?”
“Shh ... we’ll talk about that later. Let’s finish watching the show.”
Is she on one of those weird keto diets? She’s no longer wearing the beige dress that hugs her breasts and hips she wore earlier to work, but a pink cotton T-shirt with matching pajama shorts and purple knee-high socks. Her wardrobe is as bright as a bag of Skittles. Her hair is piled on top of her head, a few strands fall down, and her face is free from makeup. Just fucking beautiful. And she isn’t even aware of how beautiful she is—that when she’s in the room with a bunch of shareholders, they’re staring at her like she’s the most valuable prize.
