Page 68 of Bad Boss

She raises an eyebrow. “Necessary?”

“You were born in New York. You lived with your father. He traveled. You went to school in both France and Maine. An exclusive boarding school in both cases,” I add, in case she decides to play the “You’re un-relatable because I am but a poor pauper,” card. “You got top marks nearly every year. You graduated at the top of your class in business management. You spent the majority of your college years working in cafés. You like the color pink.”

God, it’s like reciting a bloody manual. I glance up to see how well I’ve scored on the test of all things Evelyn King. Rather than impressed, she’s expressionless.

So, I decide to take a page from Riley’s playbook. “And,” I add, watching her, “your name is not really Evelyn King. Is it?”

She stiffens, and I regret opening my bloody mouth at all. My hand grasps for her before I can help myself, gripping the fingers she has fisted around a handful of bedsheets. Her eyes drift downward, but she doesn’t pull away.

Damn.Her heat is infectious, leeching a tortuous path through my right arm, straight toward my blasted cock. I barely hear her speak—her voice is so soft.

“My mother was a grifter,” she says. “A hustler. A scammer. Con artist. Whatever term tickles your fancy. We lived with her and my dad until I was seven, and my brother was twelve. By then, my dad decided that our unconventional upbringing of being dragged with her to strip clubs and being groomed on how to look ‘pitiful’ enough to score cash from strangers wasn’t ideal. They shared custody for a while, until one day, my mom showed up at school and decided to take my brother and me on a ‘vacation.’ Something as minor as a court order and charges of kidnapping didn’t faze her back then.”

She tilts her head, frowning at the memories, though, for the first time, her body loses some of that tense, proper posture.

“We spent two months bouncing around Atlantic City. We lived out of a different motel every night. ‘School’ was learning how many different ways to count cards on the rare times she managed to dress me up so that I looked old enough for her to sneak me into the casino. At night when she ‘worked,’ Danny and I would troll the strip and guilt trip people into buying us newspapers and magazines so that we could have our own ‘social studies’ class in the parking lot.”

She shrugs as if the thought of it doesn’t bother her. She blinks. Her breathing hitches and her eyes dart toward our joined hands as if she’s questioning whether to pull away. I can’t suppress an impulse I have to grip her hand tighter the second she tenses up. To my shock, she doesn’t move.

“Whenever I wondered why we couldn’t just go home, she’d claim, ‘we’re on an adventure, Eves.’I don’t know if she just stopped making any money or if it all went up her nose, but one day the money dried up. The motels became shelters. She’d disappear for longer stretches, and I wore the bottoms of my sneakers out, circling every block, looking for her. It got so bad that one time I had to stop Danny from fishing someone’s half-eaten McDonald’s out of the trash. That’s when I broke down, stole a tip jar from a gas station, and spent an hour on the payphone going through information to find my dad.”

She falls silent, her eyes on the ceiling, and I don’t say a damn thing. Not a word.

She wanted me to watch, so I do. I feel the way her fingers clench as if physically grappling for the control she craves. I see the way she bites her lower lip. How her entire body shudders when she inhales raggedly. “My dad came and got us. To say he was furious would be putting it mildly. He’d gone to the police. There was a warrant out on my mom for child endangerment. Kidnapping. Fun fact—we had to change our last name because our faces had been all over the news and missing posters. King was my grandmother’s maiden name, by the way. Luckily Dad had a rich uncle who gave him enough money to put my brother and me in a ‘good’ school. France for two years while he was stationed there. The rest of the time, in the States. I think it was his way of trying to undo whatever our time with her had done to us. Either way, it didn’t work much on Danny. The only thing he ever excelled in was getting himself expelled and following right in my mother’s footsteps—”

She breaks off and looks at me. The expression that crosses her face can only be described as puzzled. Slowly, she pulls her hand away from mine. I barely blink and she’s the composed, unshakeable Evelyn King once more. “What? No rude insinuations or cutting remarks? I’m not used to talking without you interrupting.”

“I’m listening.”

If anything, her frown deepens. I’ve caught her off guard, rattling her stoic mask. She bites her bottom lip before admitting, “Suffice it to say that… I don’t like being taken advantage of. I don’t like being lied to. It’s not that I can’t handle it. It’s that I canalwayssee it coming. Like a freight train in my direction. I prefer it when someone at least pretends…” She glances up at me through her lashes. A simple bloody look. My cock jumps. The reaction is impossible to hide, not that she seems to notice. “Pretends like they just don’t want to screw me over.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” I point out, my throat dry, teeth clenched.

She shoots me a curious look. “Oh really? First, the mysterious Adrian Riley, whom I had never heard of in three years. And then there’s the mysterious brother, Alex. Not to mention the fact that you own a gentleman’s club—”

“Not lies,” I interject. “Merely carefully concealed truths. Had you asked me directly about any of it—do you have a brother? Do you own a gentleman’s club?—I wouldn’t have denied it.” Irritation prickles my chest at the realization that it’s the damn truth. I could never lie to her. “After all, there were a few things in your past that you happened to leave off your resume.”

She flicks a piece of lint from the sheets with her thumb. “Frankly, Mr. Bellamy. You never really seem interested in anyone but yourself. Apart from those you want to exploit or dominate, of course.”

“Is that the next stage of wooing?” She blinks in shock when my knee grazes hers as I shift on my side to face her fully. I expect her to shimmy back, but she holds her ground. Touché, Evelyn.

“What is?”

“Allowing myself to be insulted?”

Her eyes narrow. “Close. How about opening up? You listened to me. I listen to you.”

She makes it sound harmless, like it’s just another game—but I know her. I see the way she sits straighter, fully at attention, her fingers flexing as if aching for that damn pen to jot down every word I say. She’s not eager for secrets to sell, and that’s the worst part. She’s merely curious.

“You mentioned your mother,” I state, gauging her reaction to the topic.

“Yes.” She frowns questioningly. “And as much as you seem irritated by Gloria, your mother isn’t anything like mine.”

Because her mother plunged her into a kidnapping scandal, it seems, and forced her to live under an assumed name. It kills me that Adrian knew that part of her past, and I didn’t. It means, for once, I’m not the one in charge of our dynamic.

I can’t demand her trust. I have to earn it.

“Fathers then.” Before she can interject, I pull myself upright and position myself across from her—but rather than tuck my knees beneath myself, I spread both legs on either side of her, trapping her body between them. “Mine is an American oil tycoon. He met my mother on a trip to Nice—with his first wife. By the time she became pregnant with me, they were in a torrid affair, and her family back in London was scandalized. You see, my grandfather meddled in politics,” I add as an afterthought.

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