The Boss Vol. 1: a Billionaire Serial

by Quinn, Cari

  And now this. I tipped back my head, praying that the tears wouldn’t flow so hard they brought the running nose and sniffling with them. Too many people had seen me cry now.

  “Ms. Copeland?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.” I took the envelope he was holding out.

  “Do you understand the information I’ve given you?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” I snapped.

  He straightened his shoulders. “Yes, well, I have to make sure. The realtor will be here with a lock box for the front door on Friday morning.”

  “I understand.”

  He patted down his stubborn cowlick again. “I’ll be going now.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  He waved at me awkwardly and backed down the lane, gravel popping under his tires. When I was certain he couldn’t see me anymore, I sprinted for the hill and down to the beach.

  The sand was packed from the rains and the tide rolling in, but I needed the ocean. I needed the sea spray on my face. What was I going to do without it? How was I supposed to just pick up and go?

  How would I survive?

  I dropped to the sand heedless of my skirt, sat cross-legged, and stared at the lacy fingers of the tide until the moon rose over the water. I didn’t feel the cold, didn’t feel anything really. Sometime between dark and light, I stumbled into my workroom and found oblivion on the mattress I kept in the corner.

  I woke when my alarm told me to wake and washed on auto-pilot. The idea of drying my hair required far too much energy. I sprayed in some gel and left it to wave where it wanted. I simply didn’t care.

  It was late enough that the sky was starting to lighten. I still had to use my torch app on my phone to climb the stairs to my room. I found a navy skirt that was long enough so I could wear my brown boots without tights. I unearthed a heather-gray sweater set at the back of my closet. I brought it all back downstairs to my studio so I had enough light to get ready.

  I looked like death. Pale and drawn from lack of sleep and sadness. A sudden need to make sure Blake didn’t know he’d defeated me finally put some color in my cheeks. I shook out my hair and stared into the mirror.

  He had no clue who I was, but I simply couldn’t look weak. Not if I wanted to finally talk to him about the house. I had to find some way to buy it back from him.

  Renewed with purpose, I grabbed my liner and highlighted my eyes. It was a little heavier than I usually wore for daytime, but it suited my wild hair. It was time to take on Blake Carson and find a way out of this mess.

  Ten

  “Morning, Blondie.”

  I waved to Violet on my way in. Thankfully, she was more interested in her daytime guard, Angie, than having a conversation this morning. Having an executive parking spot had netted me an extra fifteen minutes before I was due. I wanted to be up at my desk and ready to go before Mr. Carson left his icy gray cage of an office.

  He could watch me all he wanted today.

  I slapped my badge against the sensor, and the elevator rose to the top floor. I scanned his kingdom. The extended atrium-like vestibule that showed off the cool beauty of the glass. The huge lobby with its tonal seats that made it feel grand and rich.

  More proof of how well he was doing. Everything shone, everything showcased what his special glass could do. All of it had bought my grandmother’s house.

  I hated it.

  My first day had been wonder. Today, I only saw everything I didn’t have. Everything his money was taking from me.

  When the doors opened, I stalked out of the elevator. I set up at my desk and tried not to stare at the opaque door to his office. I put my headset on and started burning through bottles of soda and my email list.

  Blake’s checklist was eternal, but I kept up with him. When I opened my folder—now dubbed The Pit of Despair—and thought I was almost done, there would be more there. Four bottles into my Pepsi Max brigade, I finally cried uncle and took a walk around the executive floor. I found a vending machine and took a much needed bathroom break.

  “Blondie.”

  I turned toward Jack’s voice and backed up to his doorway. “Hey there.”

  “You’ve been a damn machine today. Are you trying to outdo Blake?”

  “Maybe.”

  He laughed and laced his fingers behind his head as he swayed in his chair. “It’ll never happen. I don’t want to see you burn out.”

  “I can take whatever he dishes out.”

  “Man, don’t say that out loud to him.”

  “I did.” I leaned against the doorjamb. “Yesterday, when he took me to the showroom.”

  He tsked me. “Not good.”

  “We’re getting into a rhythm.” I hated to own up to it, but I was starting to anticipate what he wanted. Some of the things on his checklist I’d already performed before he asked for them.

  He didn’t bother me, and I didn’t bother him.

  I could almost think of this as just a job. Not a little fib that had snowballed into a much bigger lie that included a damn benefits package.

  “What did you actually do before here?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know exactly how much I should say. It wasn’t like I could hide what I was. A background check would show exactly how I’d spent the last seven years since graduating high school. I got a fine arts degree and minored in some business courses. Other than that, stained glass and the history of New England artistry was my life.

  And I liked that life until nearly three weeks ago. I looked at my scuffed toes. “I was an artist.”

  “And you’re not now?”

  I shrugged again. “Circumstances have changed, and I need to do some juggling.”

  Jack sat forward in his chair and rested his forearms on his desk. “Like what? Painting and shit?”

  I grinned at him. “I do a little painting, but my medium is glass.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Do you go over to Marblehead at all?”

  “I’m more Nantucket because of the clientele, but I’ve been over there.”

  “My biggest piece is the Italian restaurant on the coast. A little place called LoBrocco’s. I did rehab on some old stained glass from a little church and expanded on it.”

  “Wow.”

  “I do a lot of historical stuff with glass, rehabs, and, of course, my own art.”

  “And now you’re here?” Jack shook his head. “That’s a shame.” He lifted a brow. “Or maybe not.”

  I laughed at him. Jack would flirt with a paper bag if it talked back to him. “Well, I better get back before Mr. Carson figures out I’m gone.”

  “Look at all that work ethic. You both make me sick.”

  I huffed out a laugh because he was expecting it. “See you later, Jack.”

  I tore back the wrapper on the breakfast bar as I headed back to the main part of the office where my desk was. It tasted like peanut-flavored sawdust, but it was supposed to be chock full of protein to give me energy. I needed all I could get. When I came around the corner, Blake was waiting in front of my desk.

  I blocked my mouth with the back of my hand and swallowed. “Can I help you?”

  “Where have you been?” His dark brows snapped low over his eyes. They were even darker today. Shadows bruised under his eyes, and his scruff had gone to a light beard. He’d gone home at least.

  And right now I wished he hadn’t.

  The traditional gray suit was distracting enough. This?

  No.

  I didn’t have any reserves to handle the navy vest, tie, and pants that were created for his body. The lines were perfect, and his tanned skin glowed against the crisp white dress shirt. I swallowed and dropped my gaze.

  “I asked you a question.”

  I lifted my gaze to his again, focusing on his face and the beard. Not helping.

  He pressed his palms to the shiny surface of my desk. “I need the reports for the Lewis account. I can’t figure out your system. If you would just foll
ow the same folders as I’ve already—”

  “Mr. Carson, I have used your folders. Please look again.”

  “Did you sync up to the network?”

  I blinked. “Of course I did.”

  I sat down at my terminal and flicked the system awake, typing in my password. And…no, I hadn’t synced them up. Dammit.

  “I take that as a ‘no’.”

  Evidently, I’d said that aloud. Great.

  “I’m very sorry.” I stared at my keyboard. Stupid mistake. Normally, I had it set up to automatically do it for me, but we’d been working so fast that the files were overlapping. I unfroze the network and watched as the little clouds slowly loaded. “We were working faster than the network was updating, and the files were conflicting.” I held up my hand. “They’re there now.”

  He was still looming over my desk. I forced myself to meet his gaze. It was direct and intense as always. I swallowed against the sawdust and saliva that had disappeared. I tapped at the half-empty wrapper. “I was getting a little punchy so I went to get a snack.”

  “Make sure you take a lunch and recharge, Ms. Copeland. It’s going to be a late night.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He straightened and tugged his vest down as he turned away. His back seemed even more broad today with the vest to follow the lines of his frame. And that ass?

  I was not checking out the enemy’s ass, dammit.

  I slumped back in my chair. Evidently, I was working very late tonight.

  Awesome.

  Eleven

  Lost in the haze of files and spreadsheets, the sun came and went. I didn’t remember how long ago Jack came by to say goodnight. I’d given up on my desk chair.

  As ergonomic as it was—and it was lovely—I’d always been one who did my best work huddled up in a corner. Once everyone in the office had taken off, I’d taken the mini laptop with me and spread out with all my files in the reception area.

  I had a carpet picnic going with grapes, cheese, and my large bottle of water. If I had another soda today, my heart would explode out of my chest. Blake was locked in his office with overseas calls, and I’d had to transcribe them for the notes.

  Listening to Blake’s voice for two hours straight had ruined me for the day. I could hear him stalking around the room as he talked. His voice was clipped and professional. No extraneous words—ever.

  But his voice was so smooth and deep.

  And that was the problem. Far too deep to be listening to via headset. Hence my carpet picnic. I had to get away from my desk and my constant awareness of him in that office. The fact that he could see me but I couldn’t see in was driving me batty. I never knew if he was watching me, or if he was completely oblivious.

  Not sure why it mattered so much, but it did.

  I lifted my bottle and downed more than half of the contents before setting it on the coffee table I was using. I unzipped my boots and kicked them away, then pulled my feet in cross-legged under my skirt.

  I leaned forward to stretch out my back. Everything hurt, but the tightness and buzzing that lived under my skin was slowly driving me mad. I had maybe an hour left of spreadsheets to work through, and then I could finally go home.

  What home? I knew I was avoiding the things I had to do, which is probably why I didn’t balk at working so late.

  I reached my fingers out, palms flat to the floor and touched my forehead to the carpet. I groaned out a soft breath as the rubber bands formerly known as my muscles eased. The sound of a clearing throat had me popping up straight.

  Mr. Carson stood at the edge of the carpeted area, the stem of his glasses tucked between his teeth. His tie was loosened, but that was the only outward clue to the hours spent in the office.

  Unlike me. Since I hadn’t straightened my hair today, I could feel it increasing in size exponentially each hour that passed. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing, Ms. Copeland?”

  “Working.” I twisted away and tapped on a few keys of my laptop set up beside me on the floor. “I just sent you the transcripts for your London and Paris calls. I’m working on the projections right now. Your spreadsheets are pretty genius actually.” I looked up at him when he didn’t reply. “What?”

  “You’re on the carpet.”

  I glanced down at my skirt to make sure it covered my legs. “I am. I needed a break from the desk.”

  “That chair is perfectly ergonomic. If you need additional supplies—”

  “I’m fine. I don’t care how ergonomic a chair is, seventeen hours requires a change of scenery.”

  “Right.” The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed. “I didn’t see you at your desk. I thought you’d gone home.”

  “Nope. I refuse to take work home. If I work late, it’ll be here.” I folded my knees to the side and tucked my long skirt over my gray knee socks.

  “I’m sorry to keep you here so late. It won’t happen all the time.”

  I grinned up at him. I had the strangest urge to get up into the chair behind me, but didn’t want him to know just how uncomfortable I was. “But I’m sure it’ll happen often.”

  “Being my assistant is…difficult.”

  My lips twitched. “I’m just about done.”

  He nodded, his gaze dropping to my feet then back to my face.

  I curled my toes and tugged my skirt down farther. “Did you need me to do something?”

  “No. I’ll be ready to leave as well.”

  “Good. I’ll just finish up then.”

  “Right.” He turned on his heel, and I heard the soft hiss of his door close.

  Yeah, this ridiculous effect he had on me had to end. I peeled off my cardigan and balled it up, pitching it into the chair behind me. I grabbed my water and finished it off. And now I had to pee.

  I pushed my hair out of my face and stood. Cripes. Why was it so hot in here?

  I stepped into my boots, but left them unzipped, and clunked my way to the bathroom. The executive floor bathroom was unisex, but since there was only Jack, his still-honeymooning assistant, me, and Mr. Carson, I was the odd woman out for the most part. I backed into the swinging door as I twisted my insane hair up and tucked it into a messy bun with one of the half dozen rubber bands on my wrist.

  Mr. Carson was leaning over the sink, water dripping from his bearded chin and nose. Our eyes met in the mirror.

  “Sorry.” I dropped my arms and winced. My cute, smudgy eyes from this morning now looked more like a hooker on a bender, and my hair was still wild, even in the bun. I laughed a little. “Too much water.”

  He ripped off a towel from the dispenser and blotted his face. His cuffs were rolled back a little. Just a tease of skin. The sepia tones of the ink were unusual enough. Most people went with black ink, but his was definitely not.

  He crumpled the towel and shook out his sleeves. Again, he hid the design.

  I don’t know why it drove me crazy to know it was under there, but it did. “Is that a sleeve?”

  And seventeen hours at the office meant I lost all control of my manners.

  He paused in the buttoning. “Yes.” He smiled thinly and covered the tattoo completely. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Okay, so it really wasn’t cool to say “Hey, boss—can you roll your sleeves back?”, but dammit. Just…yes? No other details? Not even a little hint? Not even half a story?

  He inclined his head and backed into the door, his golden gaze holding mine for a moment longer before he disappeared.

  I snapped out a towel and wet the corner before dabbing at my raccoon eyes. Defeated when it just made things worse, I threw it out and took care of business. I washed up and left the bathroom.

  My level of intrigue with his ink was unhealthy. Seriously, I knew this and could barely stand myself.

  I went back to my little carpet picnic and cleaned up, then dragged myself back to my desk to finalize the spreadsheet.

  My brain was shot at this point. No use trying to work any more today. I slung
my sweater over the strap of my purse. I’d need it to go outside. I knew my core temperature was a mess because I was tired and cranky.

  Okay, and possibly in heat.

  That was less than helpful in my current situation, but at least it explained my ridiculous—bordering on mad—reaction to Blake Carson. He was intense, smart, and stupidly attractive. It was nice to know that all my female parts were in working order. Damn inconvenient timing though.

  I zipped up my boots and pulled out my keys to lock my drawer. I frowned at the quiet beep coming from my computer. I’d shut it down.

  Blake’s door opened. He had his suit jacket back on, and his laptop case slung over one shoulder.

  “I think I did something to my computer.”

  He frowned and came forward. His brow smoothed when he heard the chime. “That’s just the network warning.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “What’d I do now?”

  His full mouth curved into a rare smile, and a dimple dented his left cheek. “Nothing.”

  My belly flipped. The only time I’d seen him smile since my interview was when Jack was around. Not good for my current state. “Then why is it beeping at me?”

  “I think Violet explained to you that the building locks up at two in the morning?”

  “Is it that late?” I dug my phone out of my bag. “1:51? How?”

  “Let’s get you to your car.”

  “Yes. That sounds like a great idea.” We rushed for the elevator. It opened right away, and we stepped into the glass box. This high up, the steel girders and floor levels showed, but as we got past the fourth floor, the world opened up.

  The lobby was much darker, but a few wall sconces were still lit, giving the room a soft glow. Blake’s scent was more on the citrus side than spice tonight and made my head swim. I played with the strap of my purse and unhooked my sweater, draping it over my arm. I slid my thumb over the buckle of my strap, then I reached to the other side. “Oh, no.”

  “What?”

  I looked up at him. One dark brow was raised in question. No, Grace, no looking at him. I dug into my bag. “Keys.”

  “Please tell me you have your keys.”