Page 91 of A Ticking Time Boss

NINETEEN

Carter is sitting on my bed. He didn’t need to come up, but he’d insisted, and now he’s being decidedly unhelpful while I search for an appropriate outfit.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“You said that about the last dress.”

“The clothes change, but the woman stays the same,” he says with a grin. “And she’s the one I’m complimenting.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling too. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood when he’s around. “Not helpful, but thank you.”

“I’ve liked every outfit.”

I turn back to my closet. Everything’s either practical or office wear, down to my sensible black pumps. “You’re in a suit,” I say. “What about the others? Will it be fancy?”

I don’t have to see him to know he’s shrugging. He looks comfortable in a suit with no tie, gray Italian fabric and a white shirt beneath. I wish I’d had an option as easy.

“Go with the prom dress,” he says. “The one you wore to the ball.”

I pull it out of the closet. It’s too long, for one, but the memory makes me smile. “I still can’t believe I spoke to Dean Allen.”

“It was a great night.”

“You drove me home,” I say, running my hand over the fabric.

“So I did,” he says. “You were still on the fence about me then.”

“I wasn’t on the fence.”

“But you didn’t trust me fully.”

I smile at him. “No, perhaps not. But it never stopped me from enjoying your company.”

He joins me by my closet. True to his word, he hasn’t said a word about the lock still uninstalled next to my door, or the little bowl of rat poison in the hallway outside. He hasn’t even commented on the relentless EDM music my student neighbor is blasting across the hall.

He puts a hand on my bare waist and kisses my temple. “Yours was the best date-crashing I’ve ever done,” he says softly. “You’ll look good in anything, but I liked the red.”

“Oh.” I reach for the blouse, the fabric silky against my skin. I’ll wear it with a skirt and nice shoes. “Good choice.”

“Don’t worry about meeting my business partners or their girlfriends,” he says.

I kiss him on the cheek, but my nerves don’t disappear. How could they? These are people who buy and transform—or bankrupt—entire companies. It’s exhilarating and absolutely frightening.

We leave my apartment and Carter gives my door one last irritated glance when he thinks I can’t see him. I hide my smile. His concern over my apartment is sweet, but it’s a great place for my budget, and Pierce is a hands-off landlord.

The car smells of the same leather as always, and I say hello to Michael the driver. I’ve learned that Carter employs a service, and two drivers alternate. Michael and Tom.

We really live in different worlds.

“I read your article today,” Carter says.

“You did? I only sent it to you around lunch.”

“I made time.”

“It’s pretty long,” I say apologetically. “I think Booker might cut at least half if she decides to run it.”

Carter surprises me by shaking his head. His eyes are serious on mine. “It’s a great piece. You connect it to construction in the city, faulty policies protecting tenants, and a business practice that’s legally gray at best. It’s local, investigative journalism.”

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