Page 5 of Boss On Notice
“The stink face.”
Oh…that face.“I don’t have a stink face.”
“Yes, you do. But never mind that. I need a platonic date. Someone who looks at me the way you do. No pressure. We get through the weekend. I’m not alone. All business. And as I said, I’ll pay you very well.”
I should say no and tell him that I’m going to quit. But I can use the extra money. Also, an all-inclusive weekend trip to Las Vegas without being his “real” date isn’t so bad. I could use a mini break, and if anybody owes me one it’s him. I won’t be his obedient, closed-mouth assistant this weekend either. If he sucks, then I’ll tell him he sucks. That’s what I should do before I eventually quit—one whole weekend of telling him the truth, no holding back.
“Okay,” I say, puffing up my chest and folding my arms across it. “I’ll be your whatever for the wedding.” I won’t call myself his date. I will never be his date.
CHAPTER2
Mr. Eleventh Floor
DELILAH O’SHAY
Isuggest he stay while I go to my apartment. It will take no more than half an hour to pack a suitcase and make it back to the office. But Orion insists on driving me to my building where he’ll wait.
“We have one hour, Lila.” He taps the face of his watch. “Time is essential.”
I stop myself from blurting a cynical laugh. Is he serious? The man who is never on time for anything is claiming the essentiality of time? As the British say, bollocks!
It’s pure torture being alone with Orion in his ultra-posh luxury car. I think it’s a Mercedes or a BMW. It could be a Rolls Royce. I don’t know. I have no knowledge of cars whatsoever. But what he drives is very nice. I never thought I’d ride in a car like this in my life. Even though we share the same office space, I don’t think we’ve ever swapped air this close in proximity for such a prolonged period of time, which has been all of one minute. I sit very still, feeling like if I glance in his direction, I’ll break into pieces. I was right to presume that Orion already knows where I live. He’s making all the right turns to get to my building without me directing him.What has he been doing, following me?
“So…” he starts as though he’s about to address an old friend. “Why did you turn your phone off last night?”
I stop myself from saying something like, “What? It was off?” Or, “The power drained from my device.” Instead, I shift uncomfortably in my seat because for once when the pressure is on, I don’t want to retreat. The truth sits on the tip of my tongue and I want to say it. “Because I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
He does a double take of me. “If you had your phone on last night then we wouldn’t have to rush today.”
Say it, Lilly,I urge myself.Say it.Instead, I turn to see the face of the person who just expertly gaslit me. Grinning, he’s so full of himself as he makes the final turn and stops the car in front of the lobby, and just in time for some guy to crane his neck to admire the car.
He catches my gaze on him and then lowers his brows as if my facial expression disturbs him. If only I could see what he sees. My mouth is agape and my lips are quivering. I want to accuse him of gaslighting me yet again. The accusation is stuck on the tip of my tongue. The way I feel is not healthy—he is not healthy.
Finally, he rips his gaze off me, apparently choosing not to ask me whatever he’s thinking, and scowls at his expensive watch. “You have fifteen minutes.”
Every fiber of my being is telling me to flip him the bird and shout, “I change my mind you narcissistic nitwit. Oh, and by the way, I quit!” But instead, I quickly do the math. I live in an expensive city. My rent is very steep and the only reason I get a break on it is because I work for LTI, who pays 30 percent of rent for all of their high-level executives. Of course, I’m just an executive assistant, but Hercules is the one who interviewed me for my job four and a half years ago. He warned me that being his brother’s assistant would be no walk in the park, however, I would be compensated handsomely for my work by receiving an executive-level salary and perks. He then gave me ample opportunity to get up and walk out the door. But I didn’t go. The time got away from us as I told him why I had to stay and deal with his difficult brother. After all, I had a BA in psychology, graduating magna cum laude. I didn’t tell him I was also a trained dancer, who had satisfied the graduating from college aspect of my life merely to please my parents.
However, I told Hercules about my father’s car accident, which five years to the month of my interview had left him paralyzed. Then, one morning my dad woke up and could wiggle his toes. Our family entered him into a very effective but expensive physical rehabilitation program. So, the bills mounted quickly. That’s why I needed the money. That’s why I would figure out how to make it work with his difficult brother. To date, my dad’s treatment has been worth every red cent. He’s able to walk on his own again and soon, Dr. Willis says, he’ll be able to run too. I figure, all I need is to bank at least six months of the amount I pay for my dad’s physical therapy. This weekend will put me over the top, which will allow me to say sayonara to Orion after two weeks from Monday.
I calm myself with that thought as I smile at his overly handsome face. He’s the last man in the world who deserves to be so good-looking.
“Okay,” I sing overenthusiastically. “Fifteen minutes it is.” I can acquiesce to him because I’m leaving him, and soon, he’ll have to do all of his own work or end up in the basement—his choice. He’ll fail. And I wish I could get a front-row view of him languishing in the basement with his new shitty assistant as he continues to be a loser.
* * *
It takes lessthan ten minutes to pack my underwear, two party dresses, one summer dress, my favorite nightshirt, beauty and hygiene essentials, and my electric toothbrush. I grab my laptop too, thinking this weekend will afford me the perfect opportunity to craft a more civil letter of resignation.
“No laptop,” Orion says as he puts my suitcase in his trunk.
My brain scrambles like dice being shaken in a cup as I see the most important task I plan to complete this weekend being ripped away from me. “What?”
“No laptop.”
With my jaw dropped, I can’t stop staring at him, wondering what in the world has gotten into him. The Orion I know wouldn’t care if I brought my laptop or not. And what’s he going to do if I insist on taking it with me? Fire me? I have one and a half feet out the door already. My lips stutter as I’m just about to say those beautiful two words for real this time—“I quit.” For a split second, I visualize myself tugging my suitcase out of the trunk with a resounding, “Go to hell, boss from hell.”But the money…“Fine,” I grumble, and run my laptop back up to my apartment.
On the way down, the elevator stops on the eleventh floor and in walks the man himself, Mr. Eleventh Floor. This guy is so gorgeous. His looks are a mashup of the hot jock next door and a depiction of a sexy brooding vampire. He can’t be that much older than thirty. I only guess that because of the graceful way he carries himself. His face has that eternal youthful quality to it. But I’ve never seen him this way before. He’s flustered and he wears it so sexily.
His eyes immediately widen with recognition. “What a coincidence.”
