Page 2 of Hard on the Boss

“So?” I growl.

Alexandria sighs. “Be good.” She hangs up.

The beauty stands as I approach.

“Mr. Biel.” She holds out her hand. I take it in mine, bracing myself for the impact of physical contact with this girl. Just as I feared, an electric pulse beats into my palm and burns a path straight to my heart the moment we touch for the first time.

On my dying breath, it won’t be the last.

“Evening, sweetie. Call me William.”

“William,” she says, stiffening. “I’m Marin.” She pulls her hand away. “Eighty-six the ‘sweetie’.”

I swallow a comeback, knowing immediately it won’t win me any favors with this woman. She is a sweetie, I see it in the way a smile plays on her lips even as she rebukes me. She’s beyond pretty though, all soft hair and shimmering eyes, lush curves, big tits, legs for days.

Once again I prefer my word over Alexandria’s. And my word for this delectable creature is simply gorgeous.

“Marin,” I repeat her name, taking my seat across from her. “Give me the worst, Marin.” Fuck I can’t stop saying her name. “What are you going to do to me?”

“William…” She giggles. She actually fucking giggles and I think it’s because she thinks I am a giant idiot but I don’t fucking care. It’s cute as shit and makes those pretty titties of hers jiggle a little beneath her cami. “…You ever heard of small talk?”

“Yeah. I hate it.” I mimic Marin putting a napkin in her lap. She notices me noticing. Her grin ticks up a little bit higher on one side. Is she impressed? The smile quickly falls off her face though when the server approaches and I order, “Crown and Coke.”

Marin slides me a look as she leans into the table, spilling those magnificent tits all over my field of vision. I force my eyes back up to her eyes which isn’t hard to latch onto those deep, deep ocean-blues.

“It’s a seafood restaurant,” she says in a low voice, so the server can’t hear. Yeah, because that’s likely. “Might I suggest a chardonnay, or a Riesling if you’d prefer something sweeter?”

“Is that your kindergarten teacher voice?”

“I’m not a kindergarten teacher,” she banters back.

“I’m not a kindergartener,” I say.

“One Crown and Coke for the gentleman…” the server gallantly cuts in. “And for the lady?”

Marin breathes out a deep, resigned sigh, smoothing her features into an expression I can’t quite read. Doesn’t take long, though, for that grin of hers to crack through her façade once again. She says to him, with a shake of her head, “Same.”

That was quick.

“I’ll have that right out.”

This is going to be too easy.

Breaking her.

While we wait for drinks we engage in Marin’s infernal fucking small talk for about forty-five seconds—the fall weather is nice, the pendant lighting inside the restaurant is nice—before I can’t take any more.

I ask about the scope of her work again. She says she can help me converse with people, be social, be normal. I’m not particularly interested in all of that but she can also assist with my keynote, and that is something I would very much like.

“This fish is extraordinary,” I say after eating half the filet and having enjoyed the silence that has swept in since we were served our dinners, mixing exquisitely with the flavors and the view.

“Mine, too.” Marin smiles, a real one this time, big and unrestrained, her eyes glossy after her second drink. “So, you’re a writer.”

“You’re very astute.” I point my fork at her.

She exhales into a smile. “What inspires you to write?”

“Nothing inspires me to write.” I tip back my drink, draining the contents of my third Crown and Coke. “Writing inspires me to live,” I say unabashed.

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