The Boss's New Plaything

by Layla Valentine

  Never in my life have I been faced with such a vision of beauty. There’s something about the slight contempt that she regards me with that only serves to make me want her more. Miss Law is hiding something beneath the surface, and I will make it my mission to find out what that is.

  I know it’s hardly professional, and I would be better served spending my time focused on work, but there’s something intoxicating about the green-eyed woman. It’s as if I’m drugged by her disdainful stare, captured by her casual disregard.

  Dragged from my thoughts by the vibrations of my ringing phone, I slip my hand into my pocket and pull it free. The familiar number of one of my business associates flashes across the screen, and I swipe it to swiftly answer. Though I’m not particularly thrilled by the idea of discussing work for the time being, I know it would be foolish to ignore my duties for the sake of a brief infatuation.

  “This is Dillon Bradshaw,” I answer, keeping my tone measured.

  “I fired Chad,” Mark announces, though he sounds none-too-pleased by the situation.

  I inhale a weary breath, slinking towards my office chair and sinking into the plush upholstery. I allow my head to sag against the headrest, humming my acknowledgement of the man on the other line.

  “I just couldn’t stand it, you know? He seemed to think he had a better idea of what’s good for the company than me,” he continues.

  I nod before realizing he can’t see me. Truth be told, Chad likely has more business knowledge than Mark, but I’m not about to tell him as much. He’s made his decision, and I would be foolish to scorn him for it.

  “Are you calling me for a vote of confidence?” I inquire, leaning back in my chair.

  Mark hems and haws for a moment before muttering in response.

  “I’d just like to know I haven’t screwed everything up,” he admits, and I chuckle under my breath.

  “What happens regarding your business is your decision, Mark. I have my opinions on the matter, certainly, but you need to be confident in your own choices. If you’ve made a mistake, you’ll have to learn to live with the consequences,” I drawl, listening to the sound of shuffling outside my door.

  I realize that Miss Law must be cleaning the nearby area, and it’s all I can do not to hang up on Mark and dart out the door. Call me a fool, but I’m addicted to her presence.

  “I guess you’re right. You don’t think I’ve screwed up too bad though, right?” Mark implores.

  I rise to my feet, the sound of shuffling outside my door growing louder. Humming noncommittally in response to the other man’s question, I try to come up with a reason to hang up. Deciding that it’s not worth one of my better excuses, I decide to come out with the truth of the matter.

  “Chad was an invaluable asset to your company. I can’t lead you in the right direction, in this instance. It’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own. We can discuss this further tomorrow, Mark. I need to go,” I tell him blandly.

  He sputters and whimpers for a moment, but I press the button to end the call before he can get another word out. I creep closer to the door, pressing my ear to the wood in an attempt to hear what Charlotte is doing. Hearing her muttering under her breath, I realize that the doorknob is jiggling slightly.

  Smirking, I push the door open. My newly hired maid is obviously startled, nearly knocked off her feet by the door as I step out. I quickly step forward, gathering her in my arms before she can hit the floor. She jolts out of my grip, managing a nervous smile.

  “Sorry, Mr. Bradshaw. I was cleaning the door handle, and didn’t expect you to come out so suddenly,” she breathes, sounding faintly short of breath.

  I take no small pleasure in the pink tinge of her cheeks, relishing how she had felt in my arms. Realizing I’m getting too caught up in my fantasy, I cast a glance over the immediate area. The apartment seems immaculate, cleaned down to the tiniest detail. My lips curl in a smile, and my green-eyed beauty’s cheeks only redden further.

  “Please, just call me Dillon. You’ve done a wonderful job here today, Charlotte. I knew I was making the right choice in hiring you,” I say warmly. She looks somewhat embarrassed, but pleased with herself. “The place looks wonderful. I think we can both agree you’re finished for the night,” I say reluctantly, since I would like nothing more than for her to stay.

  “Oh. I’m glad you’re pleased with the work, Mr.—” She pauses for a moment. “Dillon,” she corrects herself, seeming a bit put off by how familiar we’re being with each other.

  Unable to help a soft chuckle, I reach out to grip her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She flinches beneath my grasp, but doesn’t tear her eyes away from my own.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Charlotte,” I say warmly, allowing my hand to slip down her arm before drawing away.

  She considers me critically for a moment before nodding her head slowly.

  “Tomorrow it is, then. Good night, Dillon,” she murmurs, turning her back on me and slipping towards the door.

  I watch her go, focused on the slight sway of her hips as she walks. If she realizes I’m watching her, she gives no indication. She doesn’t even linger at the door, stepping out quickly and slamming it shut behind her. She seems intent on playing hard to get, and that’s something I’m not particularly familiar with.

  For some reason, however, it’s not unwelcome.

  Chapter Five

  Charlotte

  I’ve been watching him. I realize how creepy that sounds, but there is a method to the madness. Most days, he’s at work. I’ve made it a habit to arrive before he leaves his apartment for the day, and though he seems quite happy that I’m doing so, I assure you that it’s certainly not for his benefit.

  Truthfully, it had been on something of a whim when I first arrived early to my new job. Now, I find that I’ve had some benefit from the early arrival. Keeping track of Dillon’s schedule was not something I anticipated, but, it seems to be finally paying off.

  Watching him as he leaves for work every morning has made two things abundantly clear. One: Dillon carries a special set of keys with him to work every day. Two: he keeps these keys in a jacket that I’ve never seen him leave home without.

  That is, until today. Trying to keep my excitement on the down low is a more difficult task than I might have anticipated, and I struggle to swallow a whoop of victory as I see said jacket hanging on the hook near the door. It’s most likely that he’ll realize it’s missing in about five minutes and come back for it.

  Sneaking to the window, I glance outside towards the parking lot. I’ve also memorized which car he drives and where he prefers to park it. It’s bordering on obsessive, but I hate to think I’ve taken on this job for no reason. I don’t plan to just dilly dally around and waste the entire day cleaning. Sure, it’s what I’m being paid for, but it’s not why I’m here.

  A red sports car that I identify as Dillon’s pulls out of the parking garage, making a turn out onto the street. I allow myself a little victory dance, now that I’m truly alone in Dillon Bradshaw’s apartment, even though I know I’m getting ahead of myself.

  The keys are usually kept in the jacket pocket, granted, but it seems unlikely that he’d forget something as obvious as the keys to his private home office. It also seems far too good to be true. Still, I can’t deny the lingering feeling of hope that rises inside of me as I creep back into the living room and carefully remove the jacket from its hook.

  Gathering my wits about me, I slip my hand into the jacket pocket and fumble around inside for a moment. My fingers brush something metallic, and I slip my index finger through what is unmistakably a key ring.

  I can’t swallow the wicked laugh that burbles past my lips as I withdraw the keys. It’s the perfect crime. Dillon is more foolish than I’d given him credit for. If he holds anything incriminating in his home, his private office would be the most obvious place to find it. Then again, he has no reason to suspect his sweet, innocent housekeeper.


  As far as he’s aware, anyway.

  I begin to creep back towards the office, but then I realize the sneaking around is entirely unnecessary. I’m alone in this penthouse, and the only other person with a key will be at work for the next ten hours. I have all the time in the world, but moreover, all the privacy in the world.

  The true test of my abilities will be when I’m actually in the office. To locate the incriminating evidence, whatever it may be, I’ll have to do a fair bit of rummaging. However, I’ll also have to be sure that everything is returned to its proper place.

  Sounds a bit difficult, but I’m known to have a delicate touch. Not one dust bunny will go disturbed as I explore the new venue that has been opened for me. I dare not even breathe too deeply, for fear that the shift in air will be too obvious.

  It’s like I was made for this role, as if I’m the perfect spy. It occurs to me that the perfect spy likely wouldn’t be wearing flowery perfume which is entirely out of place. Well, I’ll just leave the door open to air out until he’s around thirty minutes away.

  Truly, Dillon will have no means of knowing I’ve even disturbed the keys in his pocket. By the time he comes home, the jacket will be in the exact place he left it, looking altogether undisturbed. The keys will be in his pocket, and any evidence that I can use against him will be firmly tucked into my supply bag. It’s just a matter of finding it.

  If I plan to do that, I have to swallow my hesitation and at the very least peek into the office. An initial glance, just to scope out the layout of the room. Bracing myself, I stand in front of the door before fumbling with the keyring for a moment. If I’m remembering correctly, the key to this door is the smallest on the ring, a pale shade of gold in color. If that seems overly specific, forgive me. I’ve been waiting for this very opportunity for what feels like an eternity now, and preparations get a bit boring.

  Slipping the key into the lock, I gently turn it, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as the lock clicks. Gripping the knob lightly, I muse that I should have put on a pair of latex gloves beforehand; while it’s unlikely that he checks his door knobs for fingerprints on a regular basis, I’d nevertheless feel more confident with a protective barrier between myself and the private items I’m going to be rummaging through.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes at how paranoid I’m being, turning the knob and pushing into the room. The door swings open, making a slight bang against the wall from the force with which I’d opened it.

  Thoughts of being discreet going out the window, I quickly shuffle into the room and make sure that the door hadn’t knocked anything out of place. Everything seems to be in order, but then again, I hadn’t exactly had the chance to look before I came barging in.

  If I’m going to be caught, I’ll be caught either way.

  All the same, I carefully navigate through the room just to make sure everything at least looks to be in order. Everything in the private office is immaculately placed, and Dillon’s eye for detail is quite obvious. However, no one has the eagle eyes that I consider myself blessed with. A clock on the wall seems to be just a degree off-kilter, and I step towards it with baited breath. I slowly move to edge it back into place. Stepping back and considering it, I breathe a sigh of satisfaction.

  Turning my back to the clock, a shock goes through my body as I hear something crash to the floor. I whip around to see that the clock I’d meticulously adjusted is now face down on the hardwood floor. Biting my lip, I approach it once more. It has to be broken. There’s no way the stupid thing survived a fall like that. Maybe if I can stage it to appear that it just fell from the wall…naturally…

  Stupid. It wasn’t like I could lie and say an earthquake swept through. He’s literally just down the street. I continue berating myself mentally as I grab the clock, turning it over to study the glass face. Remarkably, there seems to be very little damage. There are no cracks, no chips—hell, there’s barely even a scratch.

  Praising whatever higher force that seems to be looking out for me, I place the clock back on the wall. I draw my hands away carefully, noting that it seems to fall into the off-kilter position naturally. Great, it appears that I risked the entire operation for no reason.

  Just as well, now I can say that everything seems to be in place. Now, it’s just a matter of displacing everything—at least in his desk—and then placing it back in the right position. I can only hope I’ll be as lucky as I was with the wall clock.

  Shuffling over to the well-built piece of furniture, I take a moment to regard even the desk with disdain. The stupid thing probably cost several months’ worth of rent for my sad little apartment. It’s intricately carved, and inlaid with what looks to be actual marble accents in places. God, this guy really has his head in the clouds.

  Swallowing my bitterness, I move the chair out from under the desk so I can get a good look at the surface. There seems to be nothing obvious out in the open, aside from a small pocket calendar. I grab it up, flipping through the pages to see if there are any nefarious plans outlined within. Of course, there aren’t, because the thought is ridiculous. It’s not like he would schedule his wrong-doings in a simple little booklet.

  Humming softly under my breath, I try to get an idea of where to check next. There are several drawers, which are likely unlocked considering the slight chance there is for anyone to get into this room without Dillon’s consent. I like to consider myself the exception to my fair share of rules, and apparently this seems to be one of many.

  Granted, my boss doesn’t know about it, and if I have my way, he never will. Once I’ve found what I’m looking for, I’ll be out of the room and carrying on with my job as usual.

  In all likelihood, I’ll give it a week or so before I turn in my resignation. Just so as not to make things appear suspicious. Then, another week or two later, I’ll turn what I find in to the local news station and revel in my victory. Maybe I’ll even find something so bad that I will put the bastard out of business altogether, though that would have to be something extreme.

  Breathing a sigh, I lean down to sift through the first desk drawer. I pull it open to find it empty, save for a package of paper clips. Rolling my eyes, I move to the next drawer that seems to be filled with various documents. I take a moment to skim through the first few folders, taking some that look particularly interesting out and setting them aside on the desk. I’m hoping to find something a bit more obvious than the occasional falsified tax write-off, not that I’ve found even one of those yet.

  There has to be something that this pretty boy is hiding!

  Moving on to the final drawer, I realize it’s locked. A grin crosses my face as I realize that whatever is housed in this bottom drawer has to be particularly juicy. I check the keyring, finding a tiny little key that I haven’t noticed before. Taking the key, I shove it in the lock and open the drawer. As I pull it open, my eyes widen in shock.

  Not at what lies inside, however—even if it is a shiny pair of handcuffs.

  No, what stops me in my tracks is the fact that someone has just cleared their throat behind me. I whip around, my mouth falling open in sheer panic. Dillon stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he considers me with a quirked brow.

  That’s it. I’m officially screwed.

  Chapter Six

  Dillon

  While I expected any number of reactions from my pretty maid upon hearing my presence, the contemptuous look she fixes me with was not one of them. She manages to school her expression into something more casual, gently closing the desk drawer which holds one of my most private items.

  It’s not something I want her to see—at least, not in these conditions. I had hoped that I would be able to show her the handcuffs in the proper setting, but that aspiration seems to be drifting out the window. I keep my expression carefully molded into a calm and collected one, though fear races through my veins.

  I know I should be angry that she invaded my private space, but truthfully, I hav
e little to hide. I can’t let this go without any consideration to my privacy, however. As my housekeeper, she should well know what rooms are off-limits.

  “Mind explaining what you’re doing in my private office, Miss Law?” I inquire, trying to keep amusement from slipping into my voice as she shuffles nervously from foot to foot.

  Truth be told, I have no idea what she thinks she may find in my office, but I can only hope she was attempting to learn more about me as a person. I would be oblivious not to notice the disdain she regards me with, though it’s also clear that she thinks she’s hiding it well enough. Any other employer of my caliber wouldn’t allow such insolence. I know I shouldn’t either, but I’ve been letting my less-than-professional admiration cloud my mind.

  Is the pay I’ve been giving her not sufficient? Is she struggling, even now, to make ends meet? I’d not considered that perhaps she needed more than I was providing. The idea of her wanting to steal from me is a startling one, but one I can possibly look past. I wish she’d just come to me.

  Deciding to let her plead her case, I let my previous question hang in the air. Hopefully she’ll come clean, and we can resolve this issue. If she deflects, I’m afraid that’s something I can’t allow. If she’s having personal issues, either with me or at home, I’d like to be privy to that information. Call me a softie if you’d like, but any man would find himself enraptured with those eyes of hers.

  “I was…I just thought I’d clean in here,” she says innocently, though it’s obvious she’s not being truthful.

  I tilt my head, moving my lips into what I can only hope is a soothing smile.

  “If I’d wanted you to clean up office, I’d have let you in before I left for work. What’s the real reason behind all this?” I ask gently.