Page 60 of Bad Boss

My grip loosens on the pitcher, and its base thuds back onto the table’s surface. My fingertips shake. I wish I could say because of rage, but something else surges through my system and leaves me unsteady. Fear. Graeme Bellamy looks not only serious… My god, he seemsearnest.

If I wanted to get really crazy with the adjectives, I might even say that he appears… vulnerable.

My mind goes blank. I can only stand there. Unsure of whether to slap him or run. I think I might do both.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You.” He cocks his head and narrows his eyes as if trying to home in on what exactly about me he’s singling out. “You claim that you know what it takes for a man to successfully ‘woo’ a woman, as you put it. Teach me how. I’ll be willing to pay a retainer.”

My head spins, and I collapse on the nearest chair, bracing one hand against my forehead. “Why? It’s not like your current method keeps you from scoring sex.”

Myself included. The man may have been a cocky son of a bitch, but… withcockybeing the operative word.

“This isn’t about sex.”

“Oh?” My heart picks up speed, though I’m unsure why. Maybe it’s the cold, hard gleam in his eye? I’ve only seen him look that way recently, when one man, in particular, happened to be the subject of the conversation. “Is this about the club?”

“No. That is a private matter I would prefer to discuss only with someone under contract.” He reaches into his breast pocket and withdraws, of all things, a slip of paper—the very contract in question. He unfolds it and slides it across the table toward me, followed quickly by a silver pen. “I trust you find it the typical agreement.”

I take my time scanning the block of text printed on the page. There’s no job description or duties listed within the three paragraphs. Instead, I find a bunch of legal jargon that forms the basis of a confidentiality agreement.

“What’s the job?” I ask, glancing up to find him watching me with a look I can’t decipher. “Or is that the job? Keeping my mouth shut? Particularly around Adrian Riley—”

“How is this amount as your retainer?” He slides a check across the table, and I pinch myself to keep from gaping. Too. Many. Zeros. “That will be per week,” he adds. “I’m open to negotiation if you require a larger sum.”

A larger sum. This, paired with my severance amount, would ensure that I wouldn’t have to work for a very, very long time. I could get a decent apartment in a nicer part of the city—a place with a doorman, even. Not to mention I’d have enough left over to bribe Danny into disappearing again while I attempted to re-piece my life together.

It sounds too damn good to be true.

“Does the offer seem tempting enough to you?” he asks.

Tempting,isn’t a strong enough word to describe it. “I… I—you.” My mouth opens and closes several times while I struggle to find the right words. In the end, I come up with three. “What’s the job?”

The corner of his mouth quirks into a dangerous smile as he leans back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “You teach me how to ‘woo.’”

Sex.He wants me kept on a retainer for sex. My cheeks heat up. My stomach tightens… “You can’t actually be serious—”

“I’m interested in wooing, not fucking, Evelyn,” he says as if reading my mind, heedless of any other patrons around us. “As you yourself pointed out, I don’t need any help in the latter department.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He sits forward, bracing both of his hands, palms down, against the table’s surface. “Wooing. Particularly, charming a clientele of lonely old socialites into doing my bidding.”

His bidding? “Are you running for prom king?”

I expect a laugh or some other snide response. Instead, he shrugs. “Something to that effect.”

Damn it, I’m curious. “I take it this has something to do with the Red Room?”

He frowns and nods toward the contract. “That is classified information, Ms. King.”

Without breaking his gaze, I pick up the damn pen. My hand shakes involuntarily as I bring the nib to the pristine section of paper right above the dotted line. It feels like ages before I gather the nerve to pen a single E. “What would I have to do?”

I hear him sigh, and a fringe of my hair flutters. He must have leaned closer, bracing his weight against the table. “You seem to have a knack for getting yourself out of trouble. Winning people over to your side—”

“Making my way through life without brandishing my checkbook,” I interject.

He chuckles. It’s not a very happy sound. More guttural, and something in my skin quivers. “I keep you on retainer for your advice. When we are in public, you act as though you are enamored by me, as one would be in a genuine relationship. I will pay you when and only when you prove that you take this assignment seriously. In a month, you can go on your merry way, and we never have to associate with one another ever again.”

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