Sleeping With My Boss: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (A Dirty Office Romance) (62 page)

Meanwhile, Julian
spent his time running the business end of the company and living the high life
of a man who was trying to attract wealthy donors. As long as Julian didn't
require my father to make more than an appearance at any given function, my
father was happy to let him have the spotlight. They ran the business this way
for two decades, until the industry shifted toward the tech side of things. At
that point, my father began hiring younger people who'd been trained in the new
technology and began resurrecting his AI project.

Julian had
objected because the project wasn't as much of a moneymaker as the biochemical
research they'd been doing. He and my father had had lengthy discussions about
the direction TriCorp was going to take in the twenty-first century, and they
had finally agreed to split the labs into two parts. One that continued to do
the bread and butter biotech research and development, and the other would be
under my father's direction and work on the AI project.

Or at least that's
what my father had told me. Once I left for basic training, he wrote weekly
updates with the regularity and precision of a true military man. The letters
were reports, really. They told of his daily activities and discussed various
things going on in the lab without disclosing much about what he was actually
doing. None of it was particularly personal, and I always felt more like an
audience member than a participant in his life, but at least it was regular
mail. I dutifully replied to every letter, but I got the feeling that he didn't
read these letters or that by the time he wrote again, he'd forgotten what I'd
said in them.

Sometime around my
fifth year, while I was in training to become a SEAL, my father's letters
dropped off. I'd get one a month, if that, and I figured it was because the
research had taken precedent over his need to describe it. I shrugged it off
and focused on my training, and by the time I'd left for my overseas
appointment, his letters had stopped coming. I told myself it was better this
way. I had no expectations that he would contact me, and that meant there were
no expectations that I would have to write to him.
  

The last time I'd
seen my father had been two years before when I'd come home on leave for
Christmas and spent the holiday with him and Eva in the Park Avenue apartment.
He seemed content, and when we went to a Knicks game in Madison Square Garden
he seemed more relaxed that I'd ever seen him. He told me about the strides
they were making with the AI project and offered to let me tour the lab if I
wanted. I had agreed, but we'd never made plans for me to accompany him to the
office. I headed back to my post after the holiday without having seen what my
father was working on.

Since then, our
communication had been sporadic at best. I was sent out on mission after
mission and my father had locked himself in the lab as the project became more
intense. Eva had no idea what was going on, nor did she care, really, and since
I had no siblings to keep me informed as to what was going on, I had no idea
what had happened to my father over the past two years. His letters had been
sporadic at best, and I'd rarely answered them.

As I sat in the
waiting area of Julian's office, it occurred to me that, aside from the basic
stats, I had no idea who my father was. I didn't really know Julian either.
Growing up he'd been akin to wallpaper or the frame of the house, present and
important, but not always someone I noticed. He and my father did the vast
majority of their business at the office per my mother's wishes. It had been
her only real request, that our home be a place separate from work, and my
father had always respected that wish. In doing so, he'd kept Julian at a
distance from me and my mother as well.

"Mr. Powell?
Mr. Baines will see you now," the secretary said as she gestured toward
the double doors behind her desk. When I didn't respond, she stood up and said,
"Mr. Powell?"

"Hmm? Oh,
yes," I said shaking my head to clear the memory of my mother standing at
the kitchen sink washing an apple as she hummed along with the radio.
"Yes, thank you, ma'am."

I smiled at her as
I got up, grabbed my duffle bag and walked toward the doors. I pulled one open
and walked into Julian's office. Inside, Julian stood up and walked around from
behind his desk offering me a hand.

"Ryan, it's
so good to see you again," he said smiling with all the warmth of a
reptile sizing up its prey. I felt a chill go up my spine

"It's good to
see you, too, sir," I said as I dropped my bag at my feet and offered both
my hand and a guarded smile.

"Sir? What is
this, the academy or something?" he grinned. "Call me Julian!"

Yes,
si..Julian," I said as he gestured toward a chair and told me to have a
seat.

"Can I get
you something to drink?" he asked. "Soda? Tea? Whiskey?"

"No, I'm
good, thank you, sir...uh, Julian," I said raising my hand and waving him
off. His face was unnaturally tan and his hair was messily styled with what
looked like wax. A tall man with broad shoulders and rather wide frame, he wore
an expensive suit that looked like it had been tailor made to fit him but he'd
ruined the effect by wearing a pair of leather driving moccasins that made him
look like he had forgotten to change into his big boy shoes.

"I'm so sorry
about Alan," Julian began.

"Thank
you," I said not knowing what else to say about a man I hadn't known to a
man I didn't know.

"He was my
closest friend since high school," he said looking away for a moment. I
got the feeling that this was for effect because I saw his eyes light on a
reflection of himself in the window and then raise his hand to smooth down his
hair. "He was my business partner, but first and foremost he was my
friend."

"I know, I'm
sorry for your loss," I said. There was something not quite right about
Julian's behavior, but since I didn't know the whole story between him and my
father, I didn't want to jump to conclusions.

"I'm going to
miss him terribly," he said in a quiet voice that, for a moment, actually
sounded sincere. I simply nodded in response. "He was the backbone of our
research and development team. There's no replacing his talent and his
skill."

"Really? I
thought he'd hired a group of really talented people so that they could take
over for him when he retired," I said as I watched Julian more closely. He
was fidgeting in his chair and I wondered what that was about.

"He did,
indeed," he said. "But Alan was one-of-a-kind. We couldn’t replace
him if we had a hundred outstanding graduates. It's just not possible."

"I see,"
I said uncertain as to where this was leading.

"But you
didn't come here to discuss that, did you?" Julian smiled and again, I shivered.
"You want to talk about the will and his estate."

"Yes,
sir," I said forgetting to call him by his name. "I'm concerned
because my stepmother has been evicted from their home and it seems that my
father has been having trouble paying bills for some time now. Do you know
anything about this?"

"What? With
Alan's personal business?" he asked in a surprised voice. "Oh
goodness, no. I have no idea what he did personally. He was very, very private
about things outside of the office."

"Even though
you two had been best friends for close to forty years?" I asked.

"Ryan, your
father was a very private man," he repeated with a knowing grin.
"Surly you know that about him."

"Yes, I most
certainly do, sir," I said deciding to stick with the more formal way of
addressing him. Calling him by his first name felt somehow wrong. "I know
he was a private man, but you were his best friend."

"C'mon,
son," he said shaking his head. "You're a man, you know that there
are many things that a man doesn't tell even his best friend."

I nodded, thinking
about Opie and how I hadn't spoken to anyone about his death. There were many
other things that I'd never told anyone in my life, but somehow I felt like my
father would have been less guarded with his best friend of forty years.

"Then what
about his will?" I asked. "Do you have any idea what he arranged for
or even who has his will?"

"I have no
idea what your father did with his will, or if he even had one," Julian
said as he looked down at the cell phone buzzing in his hand, flipped it over
and set it face down on the desk. "I assume that his lawyer would have
that document."

"Do you have
any idea who his lawyer is?" I asked. I was rapidly dawning on me that I
literally knew nothing about my father, and that this lack of knowledge was
going to make it very difficult to put his affairs in order.

"I think he
hired Gates, Markham and Weller to represent him," Julian replied before
pulling a pen out of his suit pocket and writing something down on a post it.
"Here's their number, give them a call and find out if your father put
them in charge of things."

"Thank you,
sir," I said tucking the slip of paper in the front pocket of my jeans. I
sat staring at Julian until he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Is there
anything else I can do for you, son?" he asked. I hated the way he called
me son. I sounded like he was trying to step in and substitute for my father.

"Well, I'd
like to take a look at his office and see if there are any pictures I could
have," I said. After my father and Eva had gotten married, she had put all
of the pictures of my mother into storage. I knew that the office would be the
only place that my father would have kept pictures of my mother, and if he had
kept them, I wanted those.

"I'll call
down and ask his assistant to gather up the pictures and have them brought to
where you're staying," he said as he picked up the phone and dialed a
number. "Miss...um...Miss Frost, please go into Dr. Powell's office and
collect his personal mementos and box them up. I'll send a service to pick them
up and deliver them to his son."

"I'd prefer
to go up and get them myself," I said as I stood up, grabbed my bag, slung
it over my shoulder and turned toward the door.

"Ryan, I'm
sorry, but that's just not possible," Julian said. "You are not to go
in your father's office. We need to make sure that everything that's in there
now, stays in there, and that none of his papers are disturbed until someone on
the project can go through them."

"I'm sorry,
sir?" I replied. It seemed like such a strange thing to say to someone who
only wanted the personal mementos. "I'm not interested in going through
his work papers, I simply want the photos and his personal effects. I'm not
sure I understand what the problem with that is."

"I'm saying
that I do not want you in your father's office, and that's my final
answer," he repeated in a terse voice. "Are we clear on that?"

"I'm not sure
I understand why you're so against me picking up his things," I said as I
made a mental note of his tone.

"I said I
would have everything delivered to you," Julian said as he narrowed his
eyes and lowered his voice. "You are not to go near that office, young
man."

I'd dealt with
enough people in my career to know when someone was trying to hide something,
and Julian was doing an exceptionally bad job of hiding the fact that he was
hiding something.

"Sure, I
understand," I said as I flashed a non-threatening smile. "No
worries, I just wanted the pictures of me and my mom and dad, but I guess
there's no reason I can't wait to have them delivered. It keeps me from having
to lug them uptown, doesn't it?"

"Indeed,"
he murmured as he studied me. My backing down had raised his suspicion.
"You're staying at with your stepmother, aren't you? I'll have everything
sent over there."

"Yes, I
am," I nodded and then made my way to the door. I turned and looked back
at him and added, "Thank you, sir."

Julian Baines
nodded as he gestured for me to leave the room.

CHAPTER
SIX

Echo

I
was sitting at my desk
going over paperwork and trying not to cry when a man who looked like he'd just
walked out of an advertisement for every branch of the military pushed through
the door and dropped his duffle bag in front of my desk. I looked up at the
tall broad-shouldered man who was sporting several days worth of stubble, but
still managing to look impeccable and wondered what he was doing in my office.

"Can I help
you, sir?" I choked out as I tried, and failed, to stop staring at him. He
was wearing a dark short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans that
looked like they were brand new. Both fit him like a glove. I could see that he
had multiple tattoos on each arm, but I couldn't tell what they were as I
couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were a shade of amber that seemed to
change color as he scanned the room talking it all in. I couldn't look away.

"Can I help
you?" I repeated in a stronger voice this time. "I'm Echo Frost, Dr.
Powell's assistant. And you are?"

The man turned and
stared straight into my eyes for what felt like an incredibly long time before
he held out his hand and said, "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Frost, I'm
Lieutenant Ryan Lucas Powell, Dr. Alan Powell's son."

I inhaled sharply
before taking his hand and pumping it a few times. I had known that Dr. Powell
had a son, but I'd never seen anything but childhood pictures, and Dr. Powell
had never talked about his son in any way that led me to believe he was an
incredibly good looking man.

"It's nice to
meet you, sir," I said in a shaky voice, then remembering where I was and
what was happening, I added, "I'm so sorry about your father. He was a
good man who was very kind to me and I'm going to..." I trailed off as the
lump in my throat threatened to push upward.

"You don't
have to call me sir," he smiled as he pulled his hand back. I blushed when
I realized I'd held on, and then dropped my eyes to my desk as he continued,
"You can just call me Ryan. I'm here to pick up a few things from my
father's office and Mr. Baines said you were the one who held the key. Is that
correct?"

"Yes, si —
Ryan," I nodded as I opened my top desk drawer and grabbed the keys. I
quickly walked over, stuck the red key in the lock and turned. The door swung
open and I flipped on the lights. It was the first time I'd opened the door
that day and it felt overwhelming as I realized that Dr. Powell would never be
sitting at his desk asking me to bring him the days tech reports or inquiring
whether the labs he'd asked for had arrived. I put my hand over my mouth as if
that would hold back the flood that was threatening to break through my
emotional dam. I sagged against the wall and felt Ryan's hand on my shoulder.

"Are you
okay, Miss Frost?" he asked quietly.

"Echo,"
I said softly. "If I call you Ryan, you call me Echo."

"Are you
okay, Echo?" he said leaving his hand on my shoulder. It was large and
warm, and it felt comforting to know that he was there in case my grief was
going to pull me to the ground.

"I'm...I'm...
I'm fine," I stammered. I felt ridiculous. I was standing here being
comforted by Alan Powell's son. I had no right to be as sad as I was, and yet I
couldn't help it. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay,
you cared about him, I get it," Ryan said.

"But you're
his son!" I cried as the tears began to flow. "I'm just his office
assistant and I have no right to be this sad."

"Sure you
do," he said squeezing my shoulder. "You cared about him, and he
obviously cared about you. It's natural to be sad."

"How do you
know he cared about me?" I said wiping my eyes grateful for the steady
hand holding me up.

"He let you
keep your job," Ryan grinned. That made me laugh, and pretty soon we were
both laughing. Ryan said, "He was not an easy man."

"No, he most
certainly was not," I said shaking my head as I recalled the times during
my first few months on the job that Dr. Powell had handed back papers with
things circled red and told me to fix the errors. I'd quickly learned to triple
check everything I typed for him, but after six years, he would still occasionally
drop a report on my desk saying that it needed a bit of work.

"He was
demanding," Ryan said. "Very demanding."

"But he never
asked me to do anything he wouldn't do himself," I said as I raised my
hands to my face to cover the tears that were again flowing. Ryan moved around
in front of my and wrapped his arms around me so that the backs of my hands
were pressed against his chest as I cried, "I miss him so much
already!"

"I
know," he said as he patted my back and rested his chin on the top of my
head. I could smell a hint of his musky cologne, and it made me feel a little
dizzy as he held me close. I could feel his muscles through the t-shirt when I
pulled my hands away and buried my face in his chest. I clung to him as I cried
harder. He didn't say a word. He simply cradled the back of my head with one
hand and wrapped his arm around my waist as he waited for the storm to pass.

When I finally
felt like I'd cried all the tears I had, I pulled back and looked up at his
face. He held my gaze as I noticed that his amber eyes contained flecks of gold
and green, and I felt like I could get lost in them. Suddenly aware of how
close we were and that my body was starting to respond in a way that was
totally inappropriate, I stepped back, while wiping my eyes and trying to smile
bravely. Ryan returned the smile and dropped his hands, and I felt saddened by
their absence.

"You probably
want to take a look around without someone over your shoulder, don't you?"
I asked as I walked to the desk and grabbed a tissue from the box on the
corner.

"I'd just
like to sit here and think," he replied. "If you don't mind."

"Not at
all," I said as I headed to the door. I wondered if he'd felt anything
when he'd let go of me, then I shook my head to clear the thought and smiled
weakly as I said, "If you need anything, just let me know, okay?"

"Thank you,
Echo," he said as he turned toward the desk and rested his hands, palms
down, on its surface as if he could pick up some kind of vibration. "I'll
let you know if I need anything."

I ducked out of
the room and quietly shut the door behind me as I went back to my desk. I
didn't turn around to see what he was doing, but for the rest of the afternoon,
every nerve ending in my body was on high alert waiting for Ryan to re-enter
the room.