The Big Boss

by Wylder, Penny

  The Big Boss

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  More Books by Penny Wylder

  1. Justine

  2. Justine

  3. Keenan

  4. Justine

  5. Keenan

  6. Justine

  7. Justine

  8. Keenan

  9. Justine

  10. Keenan

  11. Justine

  12. Justine

  13. Keenan

  14. Justine

  Epilogue

  More Books by Penny Wylder

  Click here to read more of my sure-to-please romance books!

  1

  Justine

  This has been a shitty day.

  I know that there are people who are definitely having a worse day than I am, but the black cloud hovering over my head shows no sign of clearing.

  Of course the day I decide to do this favor is the day that I get caught in a freak rainstorm without an umbrella. My clothes are soaked and the air conditioning in this building is in overdrive thanks to the summer heat.

  My shirt is way too thin for this, and my bra is completely visible. But in my defense, there was nothing in the weather forecast that called for rain today. Which is rare for Portland, and I was looking forward to enjoying it.

  Next on the list of things that have darkened my mood, I was ogled in the elevator of this swanky office building by a tech bro in a suit who was yelling so loudly into his cellphone that his voice was echoing in the small space.

  He looked like he’d never done a day’s work in his life, and the way his gaze travelled over me made me colder than the air conditioning. Asshole. Just because you’re wearing a Rolex doesn’t give you the right to look at me like I’m on display for your benefit.

  And finally, now I’m standing in front of a set of double doors to a ridiculously ostentatious office because the secretary for Lila’s client wouldn’t take the damn flowers from me and told me to deliver them myself—all while looking at me like I’m a total street rat.

  Even though I’m sure I do look like one. That much I’ll give her. But seriously. They’re flowers. Is it really that hard to get up and walk the extra fifty feet? I already brought them all the way here.

  Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm down. I’m doing this for Lila. It’s not her fault that she got sick, and it’s not her fault that this guy—Keenan Silverman—is one of her biggest clients. In fact, he’s basically the reason her store is still afloat at all. And he’s exacting. To a T. He’s the kind of guy that wouldn’t have any qualms about taking his business elsewhere if a delivery was delayed or missed—even if the proprietor was sick.

  I would do anything for my friends. Especially Lila. Even brave the evils of corporate America to deliver weekly flowers to this snob of a businessman. And I loathe snobs. I really do. I prefer men who work for a living with their own hands and don’t have a problem getting a little dirty.

  Knocking on the door, I hear a muffled word to come in, and I’m faced with a man that is going to make me eat all my words. When Lila talked about Keenan Silverman, she described him as a Type A nightmare who wants everything done to perfection. He’s a ruthless businessman at the top of his game. I didn’t expect him to be barely over thirty years old.

  The man in front of me could change the way I think about suits. Even sitting behind the massive desk with the phone to his ear, you can see that his suit is tailored for his body, and it’s one hell of hell of a body. Everything about him drips wealth. His shoes alone probably cost more than my college degree. The one I’m still paying off one small payment at a time.

  And if that isn’t enough, he’s gorgeous. Seriously fucking hot like he stepped off of some beach in Greece. Perfectly and lightly tanned even though we live in the Pacific Northwest, a jaw that could book him magazine ads with no trouble, and dark blue eyes that are mesmerizing even from across the room.

  I realize that I’m standing half-way in the door, and he raises an eyebrow with a little smirk and gestures me into the room. There was a moment there when I opened the door that I was seriously regretting being a rain-soaked mess, but that smirk undoes all of that. Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he isn’t everything that Lila said he is. It’s just in a beautiful package.

  Fuck. Why are all the awful ones always gorgeous? I straighten my shoulders and march over to the desk and place the flowers down as he speaks into the phone. There. Job done. Lila will be happy. Her business is safe, and now I need to get myself some kind of endorphins. A cookie will do.

  I turn to go and I hear the phone land in the cradle. “Where are you going?”

  I freeze, realizing that he’s talking to me. “I’m sorry?”

  “I asked where you’re going.”

  Turning back to him, I meet his eyes and ignore the thrill that runs down my spine. Down girl, he’s not that hot. Except for the fact that he totally is. “I delivered your flowers, and now I’m going.”

  He smirks again. “My flower deliveries also come with consultations on the arrangement for the next day.”

  “As in tomorrow?” For some reason I was under the impression that Lila delivered to this guy once a week. If he gets fresh flowers every day, not only do I understand why she didn’t want to lose his business, but why the secretary didn’t want to bring them back. The arrangement I placed on his desk is not cheap. One more tick against him.

  I love Lila, but these flowers aren’t something he buys to enjoy. They’re a power move. The fact that he can have flowers delivered fresh every day is a statement about his wealth, and I’m sure it’s gotten around this building.

  “Yes,” he says coolly, “as in tomorrow. Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not,” I say. “Just unexpected.”

  He tilts his head, looking at me. The way he’s taking me in makes me pause, like he’s trying to figure me out like a puzzle. “How so?”

  “These flowers are beautiful,” I say. “And a lot of work went into arranging them. They won’t be dead by tomorrow, and it seems a little silly to throw something away like that just because it’s a day old.”

  One eyebrow rises in question. “You assume I throw them away? Maybe I take them home.”

  I roll my eyes. “You get a new full bouquet of flowers delivered to your office every day and you take them home? I don’t think so. Whatever penthouse you’ve managed to makeover into your steel and glass bachelor pad would be drowning with flowers.”

  I bite my lips realizing that I’ve probably said far, far too much. I don’t like this man. I don’t like his wealth or what he does for a living. But I’m not here for me, I’m here for Lila. For her, I can keep my mouth shut.

  Mr. Silverman stands and looks around his office with a smile, making his gaze stop on the large glass windows and steel accents. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t bring them home. But they don’t always go to waste. Sometimes my secretary takes them or they’re moved to other places in the building. But I like something different and…stimulating every day. However, if something is particularly beautiful, I take them home.”

  He comes around the desk, eyes dragging down my body when he says that, and suddenly I think that he’s no longer talking about the flowers on his desk. Is he…hitting on me? The very idea is laughable. I still have potting soil on my shirt from tripping in the shop picking up the flowers. There’s a hole in the knee of my jeans, not to mention I’m soaked and my hair is a god-awful mess.

  I don’t usually care how I look or what other people think of me. But people like Keenan Silverman? They care about appearances. Clearly. Or day-old flowers wouldn’t bother him. If someone as gorgeous as him is hitting on me, then something is wrong with that picture. But he’s still l
ooking at me with undisguised interest, and I hate the fact that I have butterflies in my stomach that are rapidly turning to heat. I clear my throat. “Maybe you should mix it up,” I say. “Get a cactus or something.”

  There’s that smirk again. It lodges itself under my skin where I can’t ignore it. “Something prickly to remember you by?”

  “Or to burst your ego,” I mutter under my breath. And then that breath is entirely gone because he’s stepped into my space.

  “I happen to like thorny things. Things with edges are exciting. Interesting. Unique. Much more interesting than a daisy, which seems to be very easily ruined.”

  When his eyes move to the flowers on the desk, I can suddenly catch my breath, and then I follow his gaze to the half-crushed daisy that he’s referring to. Shit. I was so careful. That was one of the things Lila had told me; Mr. Silverman doesn’t like when things are damaged.

  “I apologize for the damage,” I say, utterly resenting how breathless I sound. My body needs to get her shit together.

  His eyes lock on mine again, such a peculiar and beautiful shade of blue. “I’ll survive.” Swiftly he turns back to his desk, and I don’t dare move, because it doesn’t feel like I can. A shuffle of papers and the scribble of a pen. When he turns back there’s an envelope in his hand and that stupid, hot as fuck smirk on his face.

  “What’s this?”

  “Payment.”

  “Oh.” It’s the only thing I can say, trapped by his gaze like I am. I thought that Lila had already been paid, but this is fine. “Thank you.”

  I need to get the fuck out of here. Being close to him is making my head spin and I’m too hot and too tempted for no goddamn reason. I barely get out the words “have a nice day,” before I’m nearly sprinting out of his office and to the elevator. My heart is pounding and I’m out of breath.

  What the fuck was that?

  That was…nothing like I expected. At all. The door to the elevator closes behind me—thankfully I’m alone this time—and I open the envelope. Inside is a fifty-dollar bill and a note in flowing handwriting.

  A tip for a memorable delivery experience. Thank Lila for me. Her business is proving to be a good investment in many ways.

  -K.S.

  Definitely not what I was expecting.

  2

  Justine

  “It’s so ridiculous,” I say under my breath as I pour water into a pan.

  “It’s really not,” Lila counters again from the couch, coughing.

  I roll my eyes while I’m still facing away and she can’t see me. “As a tip that’s like…beyond extravagant. Even for someone as rich as he is. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult. Is it a power move? To show me that he can afford anything? To intimidate me for crushing the damn flower? Still really sorry about that by the way. Is it like…a jab? Like ‘I’m going to be generous and magnanimous to you even though you mouthed off to me’?”

  I stop, and Lila coughs again. “You are seriously overthinking this, J. Maybe he just genuinely wanted to give you a tip. He wants new flowers every day, so he obviously values new experiences. I’ve been delivering to him for months.”

  “Exactly!” I yell, “And he’s never given you a tip like this.”

  It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “He always tips me, J. Not fifty, but he tips.”

  “I just don’t get it.” I keep my eyes on the pot and actually try to make it boil, unlike the saying. “And it’s incredibly not okay that you didn’t tell me how fucking hot he was.”

  “I mentioned it.”

  “Not like that. Not GQ model, please strip down for me now so I can worship your body hot.”

  I can tell by the look on Lila’s face that she’s holding back laughter. “What?”

  She bursts out with it, holding her stomach and dissolving into coughs. “Oh my god, laughing hurts. Make it stop.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you laugh.”

  “I know you weren’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s not funny,” she manages.

  One by one, I start adding the ingredients to the homemade soup I’m preparing for her. It’s one of my specialties. “Glad I can entertain you with my pain.”

  She coughs one more laugh. “Thank you for delivering the flowers. I really owe you one. Did he say what he wanted for tomorrow?”

  “No,” I shake my head.

  “That’s fine. He’ll just email it to me.”

  I don’t tell her about the whole cactus thing. Now I think that if I do, she might laugh at me. But all I feel when I look back on the whole encounter is…unsettled. I’ve never met a man that has so thoroughly managed to knock me off balance in such a short a time. And I can’t even say why he was able to do it.

  “He really got under your skin, didn’t he?” Lila asks.

  “Yeah.”

  She sits up higher on the couch and I can see her better from my place in the kitchen. “I expected part of it, but not this much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She smiles. “I mean, you don’t exactly hide your disdain for the upper class. I mean that you’re a woman who literally earns her living by helping elderly people. I don’t think you even own a fancy dress. You were never going to be comfortable walking into a glossy high rise with people in suits milling around. But I didn’t realize he would twist you up so much.”

  “It’s fine…” I say. “I’m just—I’m not used to people doing that to me.”

  “Me either. You’re Ms. Unshakeable.”

  I stick out my tongue at her. It’s one of her older nicknames for me. Because she always tells me that nothing rattles me. I wish that were true. She doesn’t realize that she’s the rock that keeps me stable. Which is why I would do anything for her. Including delivering flowers to way-too-sexy suit-wearing businessmen.

  “How’s normal work?” Lila asks.

  “Pretty good. Normal. No new clients lately.”

  She smiles. “And your favorite?”

  “She’s great. I get to see her tomorrow.” Rose is my favorite person in the world except for Lila. She’s in her eighties and still has more energy than I do. But she has trouble walking, and that’s why we help her. Rose has an uncanny ability to see through every situation and give advice that you didn’t even know that you needed. I joke with her all the time and tell her that she’s a seer.

  And I’ve noticed that she doesn’t disagree. I don’t believe in all that, but Rose would be the person to change my mind if anyone could. I think it’s more that she’s been around the block and nothing can phase her now. She’s the true Ms. Unshakable.

  The soup starts to simmer, so I clean up the kitchen a little bit.

  “How many clients do you have tomorrow?”

  “Two. Why?”

  She grimaces. “I was wondering if you wanted to earn a bit more on top of that tip. I’ll definitely be in tomorrow, but I could use the help.”

  “Sure. Both of my clients are early in the day so I can be there by mid-morning.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  I laugh. “It’s not a problem. But really Lila, you need to hire someone to help you. I don’t mind doing it—you know I don’t—but sick days happen, and you’ve got enough business that you could use an assistant.” It was lucky that she got sick when she did. She was able to have the weekend off and take off today. One day lost instead of three. Small favors. She brings in someone a couple days a week for a few hours to lessen the load, but it’s just not enough.

  “Yeah,” she sighs. We’ve had this conversation before. “I know. I want to look into it in a few months when I have more cover. If Silverman stays my client, then I will definitely be able to bring someone on. The amount of money he pays is that good.”

  “So he’s pretty important to your future?”

  “Yup.”

  I shake my head. “I’m really glad that you didn’t tell me that before I went today. It probably would have been wo
rse. I might have vomited on his floor.”

  Lila waves a hand. “It’s fine, you’re fine. He can be an exacting client, but he’s still human. And every human makes mistakes.”

  Keenan Silverman doesn’t seem like the kind of man that makes mistakes to me. Or tolerates them. The only reason I think we’re in the clear is because of the note. He wouldn’t have said that her business was a good investment if he was going to fire her tomorrow. That’s good news at the very least.

  Wandering around, I start to tidy. It’s a habit when I’m anxious or my brain won’t slow down. And with Lila’s sickness, there’s plenty to clean. She laughs softly as I attack the pile of magazines she’s been working through. They’re spilled off the coffee table and onto the floor. There’s more than a few that have ads on the back—cologne ads featuring ripped men staring out of the pages trying to entice people.

  Normally, it would work. But right now all I can think about is the fact that none to them hold a candle to Keenan Silverman, and I haven’t even seen his body. I don’t need to. He’s hotter than them, hands down.

  A blush rises up my chest onto my cheeks, and I shove him out of my mind. He shouldn’t be in there at all. He was entitled and snobbish and just…ugh.

  I set the magazines down in a stack a little too hard. Lila’s eyes go wide. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I say, smiling. Just plagued by the memories of the most confusing encounter I’ve ever had. Thankfully when I look at the stove, I see steam rising from the pot. “Soup is boiling.”

  “It smells amazing,” Lila admits.

  “It will be!”

  Moving to check the soup, I shove Keenan out of my mind. He’s just a hot guy. Nothing more. He’s entitled, rich, and selfish. Just because Lila needs him doesn’t mean I do, and I don’t ever want to see him again.