Page 13 of Bossing My Holiday
“Come up with any guesses?” he asks, humor lifting his voice.
I pant out a nervous laugh. “Nothing that makes any sense or doesn’t terrify me too much to think.”
He takes another sip, his finger continuing to tap, and if he doesn’t stop that, I’m going to snap his finger off.Tap, tap, tap. Is he trying to drive me insane when I’m already strung thin?
“Let me start this off easy.” He swirls his glass in the air. “You mentioned you don’t have any plans over the holiday break. Is that still correct?”
Oh. Maybe he just wants me to work that week when the office is shut down. That makes sense. “You want me to work over the break?”
“Partially, but I need an answer.”
I tilt my head, more than a little confused. I go to answer, then clamp my mouth shut because this feels like a trap. “Are you asking me to spend Christmas with you?”
“I’m getting there. Answer the question first.”
I’m impersonating a goldfish. I’m positive of it. He just intimated he wants to spend the holidays with me, and I can’t think of anything worse than that. I should lie, right?
“Don’t lie,” he cuts in as if reading my mind.
I puff out a breath. “No. I don’t have any plans. I told you that on Monday.”
He smiles, and it’s just as terrifying and gorgeous as the first time he did that. It’s unnerving and makes my stomach flip. Or lurch. I can’t tell which.
“Perfect. Now tell me about your financial trouble. How deep in debt are you, and what will it take to get you out of it?”
I stagger back a step, my hand shooting up to cover my lips. “How did you?—”
“I overheard your conversation with Jennie in the kitchen downstairs before the meeting on Monday. Now answer me.”
I replay that conversation in my head and blush when I think about what she said about him and showing him how to use the vibrator on me. Only my ire at his snooping takes over.
“You son of a bitch,” I hiss. “I can’t believe you. What were you doing eavesdropping on my private?—”
“It’s hardly private if you’re having it in a public kitchen. Answer. Me.”
Panic skitters through me, and I take another step back, anxious to leave. “No.”
I spin around and go for the door when he stops me with, “I’ll double whatever debt you’re paying off for your grandmother, along with all of her care for the duration of her life.”
My heart starts to thrash in my chest, and the bourbon I just drank far too fast is sloshing around my stomach, threatening to come back up. My hand plants into the wood of the door, and I lean my forehead against it, needing the support.
“If you come home to Paris with me and spend the holidays pretending to be my girlfriend for my family, I’ll do all of that,” he continues after a weighty pause. My legs threaten to give out on me, and everything around me grows fuzzy. I hear him move, and suddenly I find myself thrust into a chair at the table, and my head shoved between my legs. “Take a breath, Waverly. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“I beg to differ,” I croak, trying to breathe. “Going to Paris and pretending to be your girlfriend for your parents is as bad as it sounds.” I shove his hand away and sit up, glaring reproachfully up at him. “Why? Why are you asking this of me, and why are you asking me specifically?”
“Why not you?” he says simply as he takes my empty glass and pours me another round. I wave it away. I need a clear head for this. My boss is offering meIndecent Proposalmixed withPretty Womanvibes, and while it has all the taboo elements and forbidden deliciousness of the movies, that’s hardly the reality of it.
“You can get any woman you want.”
“Not you. That’s part of what makes you so perfect for this.”
I shake my head, not understanding that. “You hate me.”
He returns to the corner of his desk, giving me plenty of space, which I appreciate. “I don’t hate you. You hate me. I’m stern with you because you’re smart and capable, and with that, my standards and expectations are high. They are for everyone here. It’s my company that Brax and I built from the ground up,and we work to save lives, but because of that, I expect the most from you.”
“Okay. Let’s say I hate you.” I gesture toward him. I don’t hate him. I know why he’s so rough with me, and I knew it was because of everything he just said, but that doesn’t mean I like him that much either. “Isn’t that reason enough to pick someone else? Someone who actually likes you. I’m sure you’ve met a few of those women in your lifetime.”
He chuckles, and I feel like I’ve lost my mind. I just told my boss that I hate him. I might have also called him a son of a bitch before. I need this job. Like seriously dire straits, homelessness for myself and my grandmother, and starvation are a reality, need this job.
