Bossman Read online

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  A minute later, Chase had both of our drinks in one hand and used the other to guide me toward a quiet table in the back. Once settled, he sipped his beer, watching me over the bottle. “Thanks for the invite tonight, by the way.”

  I stopped with my drink mid-way to my lips. “I didn’t even know everyone went out on Thursday nights. I’m the new girl. You could have told me about it.”

  “Tried to. Came by your office, but you were already gone.”

  I’d actually sat at my desk and thought about stopping by Chase’s office to mention everyone was going for drinks. But in my head, it had felt like I would be asking him for more than just joining a group for happy hour.

  “Well…we’re both here now,” I said. “You worked pretty late tonight.”

  “I had dinner plans, actually.”

  His answer made me feel anxious…and maybe a teeny bit jealous. “Oh.”

  I felt him staring at me, yet avoided his eyes as I stirred my drink. When I finally looked up, his eyes searched for something in mine.

  “With my sister, not a date. It’s a regular weekly thing.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “No. You didn’t ask. But you were disappointed when I said I had dinner plans.”

  “I was not.”

  “Looked that way to me.”

  “I think your conceitedness clouds your judgment of what you see sometimes.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “So it wouldn’t stir any feelings inside of you if I told you I was late because I was busy fucking someone?”

  My jaw clenched, but I forced a mask onto my face and shrugged. “Not at all. Why would it bother me? You’re my boss, not my boyfriend.”

  Surprising me, Chase dropped it and changed the subject. “So how do you like it so far at Parker Industries?”

  “I love it, actually. It reminds me a lot of when I first started at Fresh Look. Everyone is so open-minded and in touch with the people who actually use the products. Even though Fresh Look is a smaller company than Parker, it took on investors over the years, and they began to control more and more of how Fresh Look marketed. Eventually, management started to lose sight of who we were marketing to—the board of directors or the women who used the cosmetics.”

  Chase nodded like he understood. “There’s definitely a trade-off when you go outside for money. Control isn’t something I ever want to give up again. It would drive me crazy to have to answer to a bunch of suits who didn’t have a clue about what’s important to the women who buy my products. Is that why you left? Because you lost your ability to market the way you believed it needed to be done?”

  “I wish I could say it was. But I honestly didn’t realize how restrained I’d felt until this week with Josh and his team.”

  Chase stared at me for several seconds. “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re missing until you find it.”

  I knew, by the way my body reacted to watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down, that I was in trouble if I didn’t redirect our conversation. I cleared my throat and blinked to disconnect my eyes from his neck.

  “So…how was dinner with your sister?”

  “She’s very pregnant. All she talked about was hemorrhoids and leaking breasts. I lost my appetite.”

  I laughed. “Is this her first?”

  “Pretty sure she thinks it’s the world’s first baby being born. I could see the pain in her husband’s eyes as she talked tonight.”

  “I’m sure she isn’t that bad.”

  “Over dinner, she yelled at him for breathing too loud. Breathing. He also wasn’t allowed to order sushi at the Japanese restaurant we went to because she can’t have it.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re making that up or not, considering your propensity for telling random stories.”

  “Sadly enough for my brother-in-law, I’m telling the truth.”

  “Does your sister live here in the city?”

  “Upper East Side. Moved from downtown near her husband’s job last year to be closer to her job at the Guggenheim. Now she can walk to the museum in three minutes, and her husband’s commute is three times as long as it was. So of course, she quit her job as soon as she found out she was pregnant.”

  “You’re being hard on her.”

  “She sure as shit makes it easy.” He finished the rest of his beer. “I’m going to grab another one. You ready for a refill?”

  “I probably shouldn’t.”

  He grinned. “One refill coming right up.”

  While he was off getting our drinks, I sat pondering who, exactly, Chase Parker was. I’d never met a man quite like him before. He was someone I couldn’t put my finger on…he didn’t seem to fit into any one box. A businessman who ran a massively successful company—yet he looked more like a rock star with his shaggy hair and frequent five o’clock shadow. Custom-tailored, conservative suits covered a carved body and pierced nipple. He dated buxom blondes and joined strangers for dinner, yet had a standing weekly date with his sister. Even without factoring in what I’d learned tonight from Lindsey, the man was a complex package.

  He returned a few minutes later with drinks in hand. “Miss me?”

  Yes. “Were you gone?”

  “So where is Becker tonight?”

  “Bryant. And I’m not sure. We didn’t have plans. I suppose he’s home.”

  “Tell me about him?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m curious, I guess. I’m wondering what kind of a man you’re interested in.”

  You. “What do you want to know?”

  “What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s in financial services. Manages mutual funds and stuff.”

  “What’s his favorite movie?”

  “I have no idea. We haven’t been seeing each other that long.”

  “Does he snore?” He tried to hide his sneaky grin.

  “Does Bridget?” I countered.

  “I wouldn’t know. She hasn’t been in my bed. Then again, I’m sure I wouldn’t know if you snored even if you were in my bed.”

  “Why is that? You’re a sound sleeper or something?”

  “You wouldn’t be sleeping.”

  I laughed. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

  “You should get rid of Baxter and walk right into my bedroom.”

  Why was I laughing when he’d just told me to dump the guy I was dating and hop in his bed? This man made me lose all sense of judgment.

  “So…any other siblings, besides your pregnant one?” I asked.

  “If you’re trying to cool me off, that’s one way to do it. Mention Anna.”

  I sipped my drink. “Good to know.”

  “It’s just me and preggo. How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

  “Just one. Owen. He’s a year older. Lives in Connecticut, not too far from my parents.”

  “You two close?”

  “We don’t get to have dinner once a week, but yes, I like to think we’re close. Owen’s deaf, so it’s not as easy as picking up the phone to actually talk, but we text all the time. And we do FaceConnect where we can type and see each other. When we were younger, we were inseparable.”

  “Wow. Do you know sign language or anything?”

  “Not really. Owen lost his hearing at ten from…an injury. He took to reading lips faster than signing. I’m pretty good at reading lips. I used to put in earplugs and pretend to be deaf like him.”

  “Really? What I am saying?”

  Chase mouthed something. I caught it on the first try, but screwed with him a bit. “Hmmm…not sure. Do it again.”

  Again his lips moved. This time, he’d over-accentuated each word, but he’d mouthed You should come home with me clear as day.

  “Sorry. Guess I’m rusty.” I smirked.

  Chase bent his head back in laughter, and his throat vibrated.

  God, that Ad
am’s apple really works for me. The damn thing was taunting me, jumping around, showing off. I needed to get the hell out of the bar before I did something I’d regret for a multitude of reasons.

  Finishing my drink, I stood. “I should get going. It’s late. And I like to get to the office early to make a good impression with the boss.”

  “Pretty sure you’ve already done that.”

  “Goodnight, Chase.”

  “’Night, Buttercup.”

  Chapter 12

  Reese

  Saturday morning, I woke up feeling anxious. Not anxious in a nervous sort of way, it was more like the type of anxious I’d get for a date I was looking forward to. Only it wasn’t a date, I was working. On a Saturday.

  After going for a run to try to shake off my anticipation, I took a cool shower to clear my head. I let the water sluice over my shoulders and closed my eyes as I hummed. While humming had always been something I did to soothe myself, to soothe Owen, when I realized I was humming Kylie Minogue’s Can’t Get You Out of My Head, my eyes sprang open.

  Of course they landed on one of the half-dozen Parker products that now filled my shower and bathroom. I truly could not get the man out of my mind, as he was all around me—in my thoughts, at work, in my shower. The small purple canister of Divine Scrub peeked out from behind my shampoo, catching my eye. I thought it was possible there was some deeper meaning—Divine Scrub, scrub away dead skin, scrub away thoughts of the man.

  I scrubbed my body for nearly fifteen minutes, trying to rid my mind of Chase. The new body scrub supposedly not only scraped away dead skin but also included some chemical compound that regenerated new skin. When I was done and drying off, I was pissed that my skin felt incredibly soft instead of raw and cleansed of what I was trying to get rid of.

  I threw a short, silky robe over my naked body, left it untied, and went to my bedroom for some lotion to rub into my new baby-soft skin. My vibrator was tucked away in the back of my nightstand where I also kept my favorite skin oil. Putting my hand on it, I considered getting myself off. Could I do that? Would it work to get Chase out of my system? Maybe that was exactly what I needed. It had been a long time since I’d been with a man. Probably close to eight months now.

  I was getting myself all worked up over a good-looking man because of my pent-up sexual frustrations. Yeah, that was probably it.

  But why wasn’t I desperate to chase my orgasm with thoughts of Bryant in my head? Bryant was good looking. And sweet. And nice. And wanted me. And isn’t my damn boss. Letting my robe fall open, I slipped my battery-operated man from my drawer and laid back on my bed, shutting my eyes.

  Bryant. Bryant. Think of Bryant.

  A vision of Chase the day I ran into him at the gym popped into my head. God, he is gorgeous.

  No. What are you doing? Bryant. Think of Bryant. Bryant. Bryant. Bryant. Bryant, who bought me flowers last week for no reason other than to make me smile. Bryant, who texts me sweet little messages. Thinking of you. Hope to see you soon. How is your pussy doing? Wait. No. That last one was Chase. Who texts that sentence to a woman, even if he was talking about a cat? And why the hell do I like it when he does?

  Bryant.

  Chase.

  Bryant.

  Chase.

  The soft hum of my vibrator relaxed me as I closed my eyes.

  Bryant.

  Bryant. Think of Bryant.

  Water dripping from Chase’s hard pec.

  That V. That deep, carved V.

  Pierced nipple.

  Stop it. Bryant.

  Chase.

  Bryant.

  Chase.

  Chase.

  Chase.

  Argh. I groaned, frustrated with my mind, as I lowered my hand down my body.

  I needed to stop thinking about the man, rid my system of dirty thoughts of my boss. I’d tried everything else—why not try to coax him from my system? After all, at least this method was more fun.

  ***

  Chase’s building was a three-story brownstone. I had assumed he’d live in a sleek highrise with a doorman, maybe even a penthouse. But when I walked down his beautiful tree-lined street, the neighborhood somehow fit him better. Nothing with that man was what I’d expect.

  Steep stairs climbed from the street level up to an almost second-story entry. The front door was massive. It had to be at least fifteen feet high with thick, leaded glass and dark mahogany wood. Three buzzers lined up next to each other inside the archway of the door, but only one was labeled—Parker. I took a deep breath, buzzed, and waited.

  After a few minutes, I buzzed a second time. When no one came to the door, I looked at my watch. Three minutes to eleven. I was early, but only by a hair. More time went by, and it became clear no one was home. Retreating a few steps down the stairs, I checked the house number, which was set into the back of the third-from-the-top stair. Three twenty-nine—I was definitely at the right house.

  Maybe I’m hitting the wrong buzzer. I pressed the one to the right of the one marked Parker and waited some more. Still nothing. Pulling my phone from my purse, I scrolled through my emails to find the one Josh’s secretary had sent so I could double-check the address, even though I was positive it was right. I remember thinking it was a pretty big coincidence that Chase’s house number was the same as my apartment number—three twenty-nine.

  Opening the email, I verified I was definitely at the right address…but then I saw the problem. The email read, Dress comfortably, come hungry, and bring only your creativity. See you at 1! Shit. I had looked at it too fast the first time and mistakenly read the one with an exclamation point as an eleven. I was two hours early. No wonder no one was here yet.

  I’d made it halfway back down the stairs when I heard the clank of a lock behind me. Glancing back as the door opened, I froze mid-step at the sight of Chase wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist.

  ***

  “No, really, I can go. I have errands I’ve been avoiding forever, and it was my screw up. I’m two hours early, and I’m sure you have things to do.”

  Chase had insisted I come inside.

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re staying. I’m going to go upstairs and get dressed, and then I’ll make us something to eat.” He motioned to a huge living room off to the left. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be down in a few.”

  I nodded and did my best not to check him out. But he was only in a towel, for God’s sake, and a girl only has so much discipline. Against my better judgment, I did a quick scan of his chest. When I caught sight of a noticeable bulge in that area of his towel, my eyes lingered, and Chase noticed.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like me to stay this way.”

  Embarrassed, I shook my head and walked into the living room to hide my blush. I thought I heard him chuckle as he went up the stairs.

  While he was gone, I took the opportunity to check out the living room. There was a huge fireplace with a mantel above it. A few framed pictures were displayed, and I lifted each one to take a closer look. Chase and what must have been his parents at his college graduation—they beamed proudly, and he wore his signature messy hair and a crooked grin. There were a few other family photos and a photo of him with the mayor. But the picture on the end of the shelf stole my heart. It was a sonogram dated two weeks earlier, bearing the patient’s name Anna Parker-Flynn. He’d complained about his sister to me at happy hour, yet framed her baby-to-be photo.

  Behind the couch was an alcove with the tallest windows I’d ever seen—at least nine feet in height, and they started two or three feet off the ground. The glass had colorful leaded panels, and light streamed in, beaming a kaleidoscope prism of colors across the room. Beneath the windows were built-in bookshelves. I checked out the titles—you can tell a lot about a person by what they read. Steve Jobs: American Genius, Stephen King, David Baldacci, a few classics, and…Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis by Jimmy Carter.

  Huh?

 
Now dressed, Chase came into the room and groaned when his cell phone immediately rang. He apologized, saying he needed to take an overseas call. I really didn’t mind. I’d intruded two hours early, and snooping at glimpses of his private life was fascinating to me. He was barking at someone on the phone from the other room when I picked up an old, beat-up Gibson acoustic guitar that was leaning against the corner of the alcove.

  I strummed lightly, and the sound brought back old memories. Owen and I used to have the same guitar when we were kids. Instinctively, my fingers began to press down on the chords to “Blackbird” as I strummed. It had been years since I played, yet it still flowed from my memory with ease.

  When I was done, I found Chase standing in the archway, watching me. His face, which was usually easy to read, was impassive, stern almost. He just stood there, staring at me. Maybe I’d overstepped my bounds by picking it up.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched it.” I gently placed the guitar back where I’d found it, leaning in the corner.

  “It’s fine.” He turned abruptly and walked out of the room.

  I opened my mouth to call after him, but could find nothing to say.

  When he came back a few minutes later, he smiled, but still wasn’t his usual flirty self. “Come on. I’ll make us a bite to eat.”

  I followed him into the kitchen. The historic architecture of the brownstone had been carefully maintained, yet the entire kitchen was stocked with high-end, modern appliances and granite. Somehow the old and new blended together beautifully.

  “Wow. This is amazing.” I looked up at the soaring ceilings and all the tile-work on the walls. There was an island with copper pots and pans hanging from a rack above it. Chase grabbed a pan and started taking things out of the refrigerator.

  Without looking at me, he spoke. “Paul McCartney or Dave Grohl?”

  He wanted to know what version I’d had in my head as I played “Blackbird.”

  “Paul McCartney. Always.”

  “Big Beatles fan?”

  “No, actually. But my brother is. He knows every word to every song.”

  Chase finally turned around. His face had softened. “Your brother who’s deaf.”