Bad Boss: A Steamy Romantic Comedy

by Liv Lane

  He stills, pinning me as my pussy continues to grip and flutter, clinging to the last throes of my climax. His groan-growl of pleasure sends me spinning again.

  I’m too tired to peel open my eyelids in the aftermath, everything is pulsing and throbbing, but I’m on an endorphin high so it all registers from a distance.

  “Fuck,” he mutters.

  The note of disbelief brings a smile to my lips. I think if he lets go of me, I’m going to collapse into a heap on the floor.

  I haven’t paid much attention to the flooring of this room, but I’m barely conscious, and I’m sure I’ll find it better than a feather bed in my present state. I’ve no point of reference to compare with, the man is a sexual god and I’d be happy to pray at his feet.

  “Stay there,” he says, but this time it’s a gentle request and not a growled demand.

  I shiver as he pulls out. I feel empty, and I miss the connection. He pulls my panties up and smooths a hand over my ass before easing my skirt down.

  “I need to get rid of this.”

  Blinking slowly, I hear him putting himself away before moving off.

  Standing gingerly, I straighten my clothing out. If only I could straighten my heart out as easily as my clothes. His office door is left open, and beyond I can see another room with a light on that looks like a private bathroom.

  What the hell am I doing?

  My eyes alight on the table as I playback everything that happened.

  His sister? I put my head in my hands. I’ve made a big deal about something that was nothing.

  I’ve screwed up. I can’t believe how much of a mess I’ve made of this.

  I can’t be here right now. I can’t face him—I have no idea what to say.

  So although I know I should stay and deal with this disaster of my own making, I bolt out the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SCREWING A WOMAN face down over the board table is cold and yet dirty hot. I purposely used her roughly, and sweet little Emma was dripping wet and panting like she was in heat.

  Or having an asthma attack. I was worried at one point, but then her pussy gripped my cock, and she came on a scream.

  Thank fuck Joe from legal had left because there’s no way he wouldn’t have heard her before I got my hand over her mouth. And damn, if me doing it hadn’t made her pussy spasm twice as hard.

  I smirk. It’s hard not to gloat.

  I’ve never fucked someone angry before, but it’s addictive, and I might have found a new vice.

  Then she bolted.

  Which wasn’t ideal, but I’m on to her now, and tomorrow she’s going to find out I play dirty in more ways than one. Next time, I’m definitely going to spank her ass; that’s the second time she’s run off before we’ve had a chance to talk.

  I wasn’t joking about her being addictive, and I have a queue of filthy ideas that I need to work through.

  But I’m not going to be doing any of that tonight. I’m at Kat’s apartment because her asshole ex-husband crawled out from under his rock today, saying she’s an unfit mother and how he was coerced into signing his parental rights away. He was coerced, I waved crisp bills, and his eyes lit up like a jackpot on a Vegas slot machine.

  I’m not stupid, I know he’s after another payout.

  I also know that giving him another payout is a slippery road to hell. I’ve got some people digging, and from their preliminary assessment, it looks like the asshole is broke.

  There are a few other gems of information that are coming to light, which are giving me greater cause for concern. If I find out any of the rumors about Kyle dealing are correct, then the bastard will be going down.

  So, I’m not giving him another dime, but that means we’re in for some bullshit ahead as the lawyers deal with it. Kat is understandably stressed, her kids are her life. Sure, there are times when she wants to kill them—there are times when they test my patience, and my exposure is limited by comparison. But the thought, unlikely as it may be, of Kyle’s threat to take them, is terrifying Kat.

  She’s such a strong woman, I don’t think she appreciates how strong she is, but the image of her sitting on her couch crying with fear and anger is ripping me apart.

  I press a glass of whiskey into her shaking hand. She takes it and takes a gulp while shooting me a glare.

  “Are you trying to prove him right?” she asks, waving the glass in my direction.

  I smirk because she’s being dramatic, and dramatic is not Kat’s thing. “He’s trying his luck. You know he is. He’s spent all the money, and he wants some more.” I don’t mention the drug dealing, because I don’t know for sure yet. “Can’t blame him for trying. It’s not like he has any other life skills to draw on. Being an asshole is what he does best.”

  “I can’t believe I thought I loved him,” she says, a glum expression on her face. She takes another gulp of whiskey, and grimacing, presents the empty glass to me. “I hate that stuff. Please don’t give me anymore. What is it doing in my home?”

  “Dad left it here last year,” I say, and because I need to pull the bandage off quickly, I add, “I told them.” Her head snaps up. “They’re flying in tomorrow.”

  “No!” Her wail is pure horror. Our parents are overbearing, but she needs someone with her, and I can’t spend every moment here.

  “Yes!” I mock wail back. “They wanted to visit anyway. Roll with it. You know the asshole is in town. It’s our parents or a bodyguard.”

  She rolls her eyes at me because she knows I’m not joking. Also, I already have people watching Kyle, but our mother and Kat clash, so it will provide the perfect distraction.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she says as I put her empty glass in the kitchen.

  “Yeah?” I join her on the couch. I’m tired, and I need to leave soon, but the seat is so damn comfy that there’s a danger I might fall asleep.

  “Trying to distract me?” Her face crumples, and I hate that that deadbeat has this power over her. “I can’t believe I loved him once.”

  “Me neither,” I say seriously.

  Her lips twist in a wry smile. “Fine, I accept that. But I can’t regret Kyle when he gave me Anna and Thomas.”

  “I’m not asking you too. But you can’t do this alone, Kat, and you would be more stupid than you were when you thought you loved him if you refuse my help now.”

  “Fine then,” she says, flopping back against the couch beside me.

  Her words are a relief. I’m not going to let her stubborn ass deal with the asshole alone, but I prefer her to be on board with it. It doesn’t make her weak to accept my help. I have the money and connections, and Kat doesn’t; it’s as simple as that. I’m sure if I wasn’t here, she would find a way to get Kyle off her back, but it might take a lot longer, and both Kat and the kids would suffer. Kat’s an adult, her scars and failures are hers to bear. But I would do anything to save her kids from the kind of destruction Kyle leaves in his wake.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  “Whatever it takes,” I reply, and when I glance at her, I see her smiling for the first time tonight.

  She nudges my shoulder with hers. “That’s the brother I know and love.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I’M NEVER LATE…for anything, but today I’m going to be late for work.

  I wonder if it’s some sort of subconscious desire to avoid Matt, but no, I don’t think my mind is up to that level of self-deception.

  Sleep eluded me last night. Hours of tossing and turning and trying unsuccessfully to erase the events in the boardroom from my mind. I tried watching TV, reading (a thriller because I’m not mentally strong enough to finish the biker romance with Charlotte and Mitch), but nothing could hold my attention.

  I spoke to Betty. Or rather, I texted her the sorry details of what had happened. Seconds later she phoned to demand I repeat it all while she cross-examined me. I swear she missed her calling and should have been a lawyer.

  In
true Betty style, she thought it was hysterically funny, and pointed out that this was why I should have ‘confronted’ Matt Monday morning. She still thinks he’s an asshole for not sending me a message or calling me after the infamous meeting outside the ice cream shop, since in her words, my face was a picture, and the man would have to be blind not to realize I’m in love.

  Yeah, her pep-talk did not help.

  I don’t love him, but I am a little obsessed.

  After Betty made things worse, I lay awake, stuck in a perpetual loop where I’m facedown over the board table being screwed into a coma. My stomach dips with every flashback. There should be laws against men like him, or maybe a flashing warning sign—danger you’re about to spontaneously combust.

  I knew he would ruin me—he has.

  I knew he would be good—he was.

  It’s less than two weeks since I accidentally doused him in coffee. I’ve endured Coffeegate and the subsequent angst because I thought he was married.

  Today can’t be any worse. Can it?

  No, I tell myself. Today will be better…but only after the presentation, which I know in my very soul will be a special kind of hell.

  I’ll get through it.

  Somehow.

  At around five AM, I convince myself to get up. I even go so far as to turn my alarm off…which is when I fall asleep.

  So, yes, I’m going to be late.

  I swear I breach zombie speed records showering and throwing on my clothes. I toss my lipstick into my bag along with some clips for my hair, which I don’t have time to wash and is a wild untamable nest. I don’t stop to check myself in the mirror—I don’t have time to deal with the minor detail of how I look.

  I fly down the stairs, nearly breaking my neck when I miss a step. If I make the next train, I will have a small window, enough to ensure the presentation runs in the room, which I failed to do last night.

  There is no margin for error in this plan.

  I nearly collide with Doreen, who is on her way up.

  “Oh, there you are, honey!” She beams at me. Doreen works night shifts one week in every three, which she doesn’t mind because there is little to do, and she gets to relax and read…and gets paid for it. “I wanted to drop off the next book! Mary gave it to me last night as I was leaving, and I’ve been carrying it around in my bag all day.”

  She fishes in her bag and pulls out the book before my sluggish sleep-deprived brain can work. I stammer a protest. Instinctively, I take it from her…and now I don’t know what to do with it.

  A clock is ticking in my head. I love Doreen. She’s a kind heart, but I need to catch the train, and I don’t have time to take the book upstairs to my apartment.

  “I’m really late,” I explain. “Could I drop by later to pick it up?” I hold it out, hoping she will save me and take it back.

  She waves a hand. “I’m off to visit my sister this afternoon, and I’ll be gone for a week.” She urges the book back in my direction. “I know how much you like reading them. And Mary was telling me all about that wicked young man you met who was cheating on his wife! Stick to books, honey. And invest in a good quality toy.” She cements my doom by winking and leaving me, the book still grasped under white knuckles, with a cheery wave.

  I belatedly spare a glance at the book. Freaking hell! Do none of them come with subtle covers? I stuff the damn thing in my bag while sneaking a peek to see if anyone is watching.

  No one is, but then I remember the time.

  There is some unwritten law that says when you’re rushing, the universe conspires against you to further your demise.

  I miss the train.

  I have to wait for ten minutes until the next one arrives, but I’m going to be cutting it super fine, and I won’t have time to prep the room. I shoot a message to Rex, who sends one back, assuring me that he’s got it in hand.

  I breathe easier knowing this, but I still feel guilty.

  Determined to present a professional front despite my tardiness, I check my hair in my tiny mirror, which turns out to be a terrible idea because I literally look like a scarecrow, and somehow I’ve not put enough clips in my bag…or a brush. I finger-comb it, knowing I’m making little headway. In a last attempt to drag back some semblance of order, I pop a dash of cherry lipstick on.

  Now I look like a hooker. Great! I rummage in my bag again, hoping to find a tissue so I can wipe the lipstick off…which is when the train arrives. It’s packed, and there is standing room only, so I’ve no opportunity for further checks. It’s for the best. My appearance is a lost cause, and the less I see, the better.

  I arrive—late. How is it possible to be late when I only missed one train? I don’t have time to stop on our floor and shucking my coat off, I lay it over my bag. The elevator takes forever, but finally, I catch a break, and the door to the boardroom is still ajar.

  The general chatter tells me they haven’t started yet.

  All is not lost.

  And then it is. There are no seats left, except for one next to Matt.

  Matt, who looks so put together in his smart dark suit and crisp white shirt.

  Matt, our company CEO, who is blatantly eye-fucking me up and down.

  A swift nervous search of the other room occupants reveals that they’re all staring at me…and not Matt, which is good because I don’t want anyone to witness his perusal, and bad because I hate to be the center of attention. My mother was and still always is the center of attention—me, I like to blend.

  Meeting my eyes boldly, he raises a brow and mouths the word, “Chicken.”

  Has he been trading tips with Betty?

  I’m standing at the door like an idiot, a late idiot.

  The presentation is for an hour—it’s about to be the longest hour of my life.

  She looks hot as all hell as she sashays her ass into the boardroom—late. Her long blonde hair falls in messy waves over her shoulders. It looks like it did after I’d had my fist wrapped in it while I nailed her into this table.

  I rub my jaw to cover my smirk. That wild, just-fucked hair and cherry lipstick are going to be the death of me.

  I’ve been wondering if I imagined the smoking hot sex and the level of abandonment I discovered under her formerly prim facade. But I’m wondering if I got it all wrong—this new style is a bit of a revelation. Maybe she needed someone to unleash her inner sex-goddess?

  Damn. I need those cherry red lips wrapped around my cock. I’ve got a half-hour gap after this presentation. It would be an excellent use of time.

  There are no seats left, except the one next to me, which I saved for Susan…who I know isn’t coming.

  “There’s a seat here, Emma,” I say, making like I’m reading a message on my phone. “Susan isn’t coming.”

  Her face is a picture of horror, but she doesn’t have a choice. Finally, she plasters on a nervous smile and makes her way over.

  As she takes the seat, Rex does what he does best, he stands up and starts talking.

  I wouldn’t usually come to these meetings. I like to empower my managers to make decisions for themselves, but occasionally I attend some of the less strategic ones.

  So, I don’t need to be here, but to be honest, I’m here because Emma is. And because I know me being here will make her uncomfortable. Which makes me a dick, but I can’t seem to help myself where she’s concerned.

  She has a bag on her arm and a coat, which she places neatly beside her chair as she sits. She takes out a note pad and pen…slipping it discretely onto the table so as not to disturb Rex, who is getting into his flow.

  I hear her slow exhale and fight back a smile. Her cheeks are a little pink. Is she recalling what we did here yesterday? I’ve been having flashbacks all night, it only seems fair if she’s been similarly afflicted.

  Her bag, which was propped against her chair between us, chooses that moment to topple over. Our gazes lower.

  I hear her gasp before I can assimilate what it is. It’s upside down
for me.

  Then I notice the text—Wilde Ride Book Four, and the obligatory ripped torso.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  She brings these books to work! When the hell does she read them? On the train? During her lunch break? I struggle to imagine her on the train casually reading about Mitch choking Charlotte on his cock. Fuck knows what else he does in the book, but I’m going to buy a copy! I don’t think I know this girl at all. Am I reading this all wrong? She nearly passed out when I put my hand on her knee in the car the night I took her home and was skittish as a newborn colt when we went back to her apartment.

  I send a speculative glance her way. She has frozen in place, and her face is a shade of beet-red.

  We both reach for the book, but I’m faster, and I snag it first. A brief tugging war ensues. She glares at me. I try not to smile. I’m confident I have a stronger grip than she does, and the prize is going to be mine.

  There’s a pained squeak of distress as I wrest possession of the book. I slip it inside my file on the table…and casually go back to focusing on what Rex has to say.

  Her angst soothes me. Yes, I know that makes me an even bigger dick. I like to be the one in control, but with Emma, I have a battle on my hands. You’re mine now, little deviant. I’m going to be delving deep into the sordid world of your kinky books, and then I’m going to reenact all the filthiest parts.

  She fidgets in the seat beside me. I’m sure she can sense the evil direction of my thoughts. I feel a lot like a teacher that caught a student up to mischief.

  I think she needs some discipline.

  I need to think about something else.

  This hour is going to drag.

  Somehow we both get through the first part of the presentation, and like the time when she came to my office, her nerves disappear the moment she begins to talk. She presents the data thoroughly and concisely.

  I catch an approving nod from Andrew as she wraps up her part and returns to the seat. The way a team performs is a reflection of the manager. Andrew’s hand-picked every member and built the team up from scratch over the last year. He also picked Emma, and I’m sure he’s feeling gratified by her presentation today, given it’s only her second week. Time will be the test, but he’s delighted with her work so far, and I see no reason for that to change.