The Boss Vol. 2 (The Boss #2) (3 page)

I said nothing. Because I had damn well known, once. And I’d lapsed. I’d forgotten this morning with Grace, and then I’d done a shoddy job of covering my tracks.

Sounded like I’d been lucky to even cover that well, however. Twenty-four security cam monitoring had been something I’d pushed for. We’d had it before this new system had been installed, but this was supposed to be an upgrade. Before, only vital sectors of the company had been under surveillance. Now, thanks to Romtex’s cutting edge equipment, the entire company was under watch at all times.

That I had been the first one to test out its use was a fine irony.

“It’s a new system,” I began, before shaking my head. There was nothing more to say.

What I’d done had been reprehensible on several levels. Not the least of which was that I had helped to cause the coldness in Violet’s tone when she spoke to Grace. She was suspicious of her now, simply because she was protective of me.

And that was insane. Who suspected Little Red Riding Hood’s virtue without acknowledging the lack of the Big Bad Wolf’s?

“That’s not even the worst of it. When I viewed our tapes, I discovered something shocking.”

Somehow I managed not to roll my eyes. Violet definitely had a flair for the dramatic. Probably why she enjoyed Jack’s buffoonery so much.

“Someone attempted—poorly—to hide their ill-timed behavior, thereby altering sensitive company materials. That footage is to be left intact, Blake. No matter what.”

“My company,” I said lightly. “My materials.”

She moved forward and leaned across my desk, planting her hands on my blotter. “You hired me to protect both.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t hamstring me now because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

I didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. Just held her stare. “I think you know how to see yourself out.”

“As you wish.” She’d made it halfway to the door when I spoke again, my tone low.

“Think what you prefer about me. But Grace will have your respect.”

Violet hesitated, then nodded. She walked out of the room without glancing back.

She aimed straight for Jack and Grace, who were still talking quietly as they opened dishes and dug out cutlery. I couldn’t hear what was said between them, but Violet shook her head and headed for the elevator without touching the food.

So I’d offended her. Par for the course for the day, I supposed.

When Jack came in, aromatic food in hand, I exhaled and sat back in my chair. Clearly, the idea of accomplishing anything was a joke. “Don’t say it,” I said as he opened his mouth.

“What?” he asked, all innocence. He dropped into a chair and used a pair of chopsticks to shovel noodles into his mouth.

More chopsticks. It seemed the world was adept at them.

“Just that Violet seemed awfully pissed after your private pow-wow,” he continued while I fought to ignore that blinking cursor on my screen that I hadn’t noticed until now.

Grace had IM’d me, probably while I was being grilled by my head of security. She’d likely offer something innocuous like, “your nutty chicken is getting cold,” and I just might sweep my whole damn computer off the desk like a petulant child having a tantrum.

Or I could look at Jack, at how his tie was never quite straight, and how he sprawled in any chair he sat in, whether at a desk or in front of a TV, and laugh. Just fucking laugh at the ridiculousness of this whole entire mess.

I held out a hand. “Give me some of that.”

He lifted a brow. “You never eat off my plate.”

“Yeah, well, today I do.” Today I couldn’t face Grace’s wounded eyes as she passed me my nutty chicken. Violet’s dismissive behavior had registered with her, and I felt to blame.

For so goddamn much.

“Take it,” Jack said, shoving the carton at me. Obviously, he realized the situation must be dire if I wanted to share his chopsticks and noodles.

I opened another drawer and removed a fork—there were desperate times, and then there were levels to which one should never descend—then reached for the carton.

It was Jack’s turn to laugh. Hard.

“Sure you wouldn’t rather go eat with Grace?”

“Positive,” I said darkly, shoveling in noodles.

Now that I’d been reminded yet again that we were being observed at all times, the very last thing I wanted to do was to spend time with my assistant.

F
or more than a week
, I avoided Grace. We spoke mostly through instant messages and voicemails, along with the occasional clipped directive as I passed by her desk on the way to the bathroom. She usually responded with snark or that prim little “yes, sir” that set my blood to boil.

While we rarely talked, I hadn’t stopped watching her from behind my safety zone of glass.

She always dressed conservatively, with the kind of flair that pegged her as an artist. A hint of purple shoes peeking out from an otherwise sedate outfit, the sparkle of unusual jewelry at her ears and throat. One day she’d worn an off-the-shoulder sweater that revealed her collarbone and all that creamy skin.

I’d nearly leaned across the desk for a taste, until sense had kicked in—hard.

So instead I watched her make conversation with everyone who passed, chatting easily and pleasantly while never missing a task. She outpaced me sometimes, basing priority lists on what we’d done the day before. Already she was reading my mind more than I felt comfortable with.

Because if she knew what else was in there, she probably wouldn’t wear off-the-shoulder tops ever again.

Except she did. The next time, she wore a suede fringed top over a snug black skirt and pencil heels, the kind she shouldn’t have been able to walk in. She definitely shouldn’t have been able to sashay into my office bracing a couple of packages in one hand and the nearly empty box of invitations from the Light Up The Night event in the other.

“Almost all gone,” she announced, setting everything on my desk. She bent far enough forward that her top dipped, revealing a slice of her purple bra.

She loved fucking purple.

“I sent them to everyone you noted in the company, and we received RSVPs of attendance from all but six. I wasn’t invited, but I’m going to go. I figure the more people, the better—Sir?”

“Yes.” I dragged my attention to her face and for a second, she smirked. Was she teasing me on purpose?

If so, she would soon learn that wasn’t a wise idea.

“As for you not being invited, I expected you would take one of them for yourself. I indicated who to invite, but that didn’t mean you weren’t to take some initiative.”

“Oh, I take plenty of initiative. In fact, you might be surprised what I could initiate.” She turned and headed for the door, her long fall of blond hair swinging. It was uncharacteristically loose, and even that caused an odd quickening in my chest.

And much farther south.

“Jack ordered lunch again. I’ll let you know when it’s here,” she called, letting the door snick shut behind her.

I’d been so fixated on her ass in that tight skirt that she could’ve said “Jack was between my legs under my desk” and I might not have realized.

So that was a lie. I’d have realized—and acted—on that in a heartbeat.

Before I could think better of it, I pulled up an IM and typed.

B
C
:
What’s on the menu for today? Not in the mood for nutty chicken.

I
t annoyed
me I’d begun thinking of it that way in my mind. So much prickled me these days.

Most of all? That I wasn’t to touch her again. That I couldn’t. A momentary lapse was one thing. More than once made it a problem.

An addiction.

Even if Violet and her all-seeing camera wasn’t still watching, there was still the little matter of boss and employee and all the lines of impropriety that would breech. I’d be damned if history repeated on my watch.

Repeated again.

There was also the fact that Grace’s employment was all part of some greater plan she’d hatched. One I didn’t understand yet, but found myself wondering about more than was sensible.

How could a woman like her think she could tangle with a man like me—and win? Unless winning wasn’t even her aim.

That she would try to run a scheme on me didn’t irritate as it should have. It intrigued me. Turned me on. Made my curiosity toward her verge on madness.

G
C
:
Jack ordered from a deli. I’m not sure what he got you. Something about corned beef on rye, extra pickles.

S
ay
what I would about Jack—and I said plenty—he knew what my stomach liked. I could eat pickles by the case.

B
C
:
What did you get?

S
he didn’t answer
for so long that I assumed she was working on something else. One of her many spreadsheets, perhaps.

But when I glanced out at her desk, she had her finger caught between her teeth and she stared at her computer. Her other hand was in her lap.

Did she not want to answer me? Why? What was the big deal about lunch?

I frowned. Maybe she was on a diet. Women always seemed to be. The last few socialite types that I’d dated had always seemed to be on one. But Grace wasn’t like them. And by God, her figure was perfect. My hands had itched to touch those curves again since the moment they’d left them.

Or maybe it was something else. Perhaps she didn’t have money for a meal. Eating out could get expensive for someone on a budget. We paid her well, but she still received an entry level assistant’s salary.

I hated the idea of her scrambling for money for food—or anything else. She shouldn’t have to pinch pennies.

B
C
:
Ms. Copeland? Have your fingers ceased to work?

M
y jab caused
her gaze to fly to my office. She knew I was watching. I’d revealed my hand intentionally.

I would rather have her annoyed at me than worried for even a moment.

I also wanted the truth and would use any means to extract it.

B
C
:
Come in my office, Ms. Copeland.

A
fter a moment
, she rose and tugged down the skirt that crept higher with every moment. It wasn’t indecently short. She never dressed provocatively. Then she strode into my office and hovered on the threshold, still gripping the doorknob.

“Yes?”

“Shut the door.”

Her nerves intoxicated me, the scent of them as pervasive as the light hint of her floral perfume. She closed it, but came no closer, keeping the mile of glass floor and seating between us. She stared down, her gaze on the harbor.

I wanted it on me.

“If you don’t have money for lunch, that isn’t a problem.”

Her chin lifted and her eyes blazed. “I work for my money. I don’t take charity.”

“So it’s charity if I ensure you don’t starve.” I rose and undid the single button on my jacket, well aware of how her gaze dropped before skittering away.

Nice to know I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep from watching.

I walked around my desk and leaned against it, crossing my feet at the ankle. “Starting this week, I will be adding a lunch allowance to your wages. Consider it a stipend of sorts.”

She tilted her head and tightened her fingers around the doorknob she still clutched. “As payment for services rendered?”

My cock stiffened. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. It was like the beat of my heart speeding up at the sound of her voice, or the incline of her chin. It was an involuntary reaction no different than the rush of blood in my veins.

That didn’t mean I had to like it.

I also didn’t alter my stance. If she saw what she’d caused, so be it.

“What services would you like to render, Ms. Copeland?” I asked softly as color rose in her cheeks. She would flush everywhere I knew, beyond the collarbone-bearing top she wore to the curve of her breasts. To the tight little nipples that beaded for me just from the mere question.

“I didn’t buy lunch because I brought my own. I don’t need a stipend.” She glanced again at the harbor beneath us and pressed her lush lips together. I wanted to bite the lower one until it bloomed red like the rest of her. “Besides, you all order out all the time. You must live in the gym to look like…” She waved a hand. “That.”

“I run,” I said simply. “Usually in the mornings, though I’ve skipped a few recently.”

I also didn’t tell her that I’d taken to running at night when I couldn’t sleep. Due to her.

“It’s the holiday season. Time to eat, drink and be merry.” I’d said it to be sarcastic—I didn’t celebrate holidays, and hadn’t since childhood—but the quick flare in her eyes made me grip the edge of the desk. “Do you not celebrate?”

“Celebrate what? Christmas? It’s not Christmas yet. And Thanksgiving—no, I don’t do that anymore either.” Her gaze snapped to mine and I was amazed that sparks didn’t go off between us. She was angry at me again, and I didn’t know why. “I just work, okay? I want this to be about work. No fun lunches, no talk of holidays I can’t celebrate.”

Not don’t celebrate.
Can’t
celebrate. That was a different thing altogether.

Whether the reasons were financial or emotional didn’t much matter. Not if I could try to do something to alleviate even a fraction of that turbulence in her expression.

When I didn’t reply, she pivoted and walked out.

I was getting really tired of her walking away from me. Mostly because I watched her go, every damn time.

I returned to my desk and picked up the phone. For once, I didn’t overanalyze what I was going to do. She had a habit of causing those kinds of reckless actions in me, and I was going to have to put a stop to it.

Eventually.

“Next Friday, I want to hold a company-wide Thanksgiving banquet. Yes, less than two weeks before the holiday. I’m well-aware it’ll be a scheduling nightmare, Jack, but that’s why I called you. You’re the king of your domain, right? You know how to get these things done. Or better yet, know who to contact to do them for you.”

Jack’s sigh almost made me smile. “What about that brand spanking new assistant of yours? Isn’t this more under her purview than mine? Not to mention she can actually tolerate your ass, unlike me.”

For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined the knowing tone of Jack’s voice. Had Violet blabbed what she’d seen to her best buddy?

As soon as I considered the idea, I dismissed it. That woman was a vault, and sticky fingers Hollister didn’t have the combination.

“This isn’t for Grace. She’s involved with other things. Can you make it happen or not?”

“You do realize you’ve held company-wide events that aren’t work-related approximately never, right?”

“I know that. Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, and maybe I’m the Sugar Plum Fairy. Wanna see my tights?”

“I’ll pass,” I said drily. “Make it happen.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Whatever you say, sir. Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

I had to laugh. The guy was such an asshole. This time, he just happened to be right.

“Yes. Make sure Ms. Copeland attends.”

Before he could mull over that statement, I hung up.