Winning the Boss's Heart

by Hayson Manning

  Her phone pinged. She pulled it from her skirt pocket and smiled at Sarah’s text: T-minus two hours to juicy men!

  He scowled. “Got plans?”

  “Yeah, I do. After taking Stanley for his constitutional, I’m going out.” She kept her voice casual and squinted at the light that pierced her retina.

  “Dinner?”

  “Nope.”

  He stood and stepped nearer. She moved behind her desk and shut the laptop.

  “Bingo?”

  She shook her head.

  “Origami?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “No. I’m finished for the day, so you don’t get to ask me anything.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and color flared into his cheeks. “I’ll take Stanley out. Have a good night.”

  “Thanks, I will. There’s a bacon and egg pie cooling on the bench and a five bean salad in the fridge. Your favorite blackberry custard tart is still warm if you want it.”

  He kept his face impassive, but the muscle in his jaw pulsed. “You’re not eating with me?”

  “Ah, no, Trout. I’m not. I’m out on the town tonight.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Trout?”

  At that she smiled. “Must be subliminal. I’m going on a fishing expedition tonight.” At his perplexed expression she forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Man fishing.”

  His eyes darkened to the color of a thunderstorm—darkest, darkest blue. A tic appeared under his left eye, and he looked like he was going to explode.

  “Might even get me a hook-up.” She moved to the door and felt his stare burn through her clothes. She kind of liked the sensation.

  An hour later, she stared at herself in the mirror. Nerves cramped her stomach, and her fingers trembled so much it was a miracle she could get the silver hoop earrings in. Sarah had dropped off a bag earlier with a note attached telling her to wear these. A turquoise top sat over low-rider jeans. The soft chiffon of the top moved when she did, and a deep cut at the front showed she had a chest but didn’t reveal too much. The back was a different matter. The deep V started wide at her shoulders and angled down to a point at the base of her spine. She gave the girls a sit and stay command.

  She’d added silver high-heeled sandals, silver bangles that matched the earrings, a clutch, and a soft angora shawl. She’d kept her makeup to mascara and pink lip gloss, which was about her level of expertise. She’d blown her hair dry, and it hung in waves to her shoulders.

  Still fiddling with her earrings and hoping she could stay in the shoes all night, she walked into the lounge. Mason looked up from where he was hunched over his computer, sitting on the sofa, Stanley at his feet. Nothing moved on his face. Right. She’d given herself a once-over in the mirror and though she wouldn’t be doing any Victoria’s Secret commercials anytime soon, she thought she looked halfway decent. She walked to her dog on unsteady legs and hugged him.

  “Hey, gorgeous boy, be good tonight, okay?” She started to leave and nearly made it to the door when Mason’s deep and unhappy voice startled her.

  “What happened to your top?”

  She turned. His lips were a thin line, his face dark. “What?”

  “What happened to your top? It doesn’t have a back.”

  She smoothed her hands down her hips and frowned at him. “Yeah, it does.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his face got darker.

  A car horn sounded from outside. She blew her dog a kiss. “Don’t wait up, baby boy, and no rounding up hedgehogs. They’re our friends.”

  She ignored the dark expression on Mason’s face, and when she left, she closed the door quietly behind her. How she’d managed to get out of there without falling over was a miracle considering how stupidly nervous she was.

  She slipped into Sarah’s car and smiled at her friend’s squealed compliments.

  An hour later, she was perched on a stool with a totally cute guy standing beside her. He wasn’t hot in the way Mason was, but that was all Heathcliff, broody and of another stratosphere of hotness few men could reach. No, this guy was late twenties, blond, blue-eyed, and had a smile that would melt the polar ice caps. At present it was directed at her, and she felt herself thawing. She swallowed another glass of chilled water, her throat scratchy, then took a tiny sip of wine. She tried to relax, despite the mariachi band banging away in her head, and enjoy the conversation.

  The heaviness that was wrapped firmly around her heart lessened a fraction, and she forgot about the past twenty-four hours with Mason. She refused to give in to the burn in her lungs when she’d looked up to find Mason’s gaze on her, an unfathomable and distant look on his face. Instead she relaxed, crossed her legs, and smiled up at Troy, who looked at her with obvious interest. Maybe she’d practice her come hither smile on him.

  Yeah, tonight she was going to have some fun.

  Maybe Mason was right. She hadn’t lived. Maybe just kicking back and living a little was exactly what she needed to do.

  Starting now.

  An hour later, the hair on the back of her neck rose. She turned, expecting to see baby-blue eyes trained on her, but found nothing but a room filled with people connecting and having fun. Holy hell, she was losing it big time.

  At just after two in the morning, Sarah dropped Billie back at the house. A single light glowed through the lounge window. She slipped her shoes from her aching feet and breathed in the cool night air. She’d had fun tonight. Actual fun, and it wasn’t just about having a seriously hot guy chat her up. It was laughing and relating to people.

  She opened the door and walked inside, trailing her shawl, her shoes dangling in her hand. The chill from the air settled on her skin and she couldn’t get warm.

  “Hey,” she said to Mason. He was sprawled on the sofa, one arm behind his head, the other at his side. His T-shirt had ridden up to show that smooth, tanned stomach she knew so well. She licked suddenly dry lips.

  “See something there you like, Forty-Two?”

  That jolted her back to reality. “Ah, thanks, Finmore but I’m kind of looking for a grown up relationship now. One that comes with those tricky old feelings and emotions.”

  His eyes locked on hers. “If you change your mind, I’m here.”

  She planted her hands on her hips, dropping her shoes and shawl. “Not into hook-ups. Don’t forget the boss-employee boundaries there, Inglebert.” She stared at the tension lines that hugged his eyes, the dark circles, his normally full lips in a thin line. “You’re doing a pretty good job at making me like you even less, if that’s your intention.”

  “Don’t have any intentions here. You know that.”

  “So why are you up at two in the morning watching a movie?” Her eyes flicked to the screen and she smiled. “You’re watching Princess Bride? That’s on par with Truly, Madly, Deeply.”

  His eyes flicked to the screen then back to her. “Couldn’t sleep.” He indicated the screen with the remote. “Saw it on your stack of DVD’s and liked the cast. It’s is kind of hilarious.”

  She leaned her hip against the sofa. “Hear this now. I will always come for you,” she said softly.

  Mason’s eyes locked onto hers.

  She put her hand to her forehead and winced when she went to move.

  “Damn it,” she whispered as pain travelled up her leg. “I’ll take Stanley out before I go to bed.”

  “I’ll take him out. We have dude time before he beds down for the night.” He gave her a sharp nod as she hobbled to her bedroom. Ten minutes later, she stood with her jeans halfway down her thighs, her hands balled into fists, sucking up the pain. Holy hell. The denim had attached to her knee and wouldn’t let go. She stifled a whimper and tried to pull the jeans down, tugging at the skin. The whimper turned into a moan and stole out of her mouth.

  Damn. Fire ants had thrown on razor blade skates and were sailing up and down her legs.

  “Well this is just dandy,” she whispered to the room. She pulled up her jeans and hobbled back to the lounge,
in search of the bottle of pain killers in her desk drawer.

  “Why are you walking funny?” Mason’s eyes cut to hers from where he still lay watching the movie.

  “Charlie Chaplin impersonation.” She tugged open the desk drawer.

  When she straightened, Mason had joined her. His expression was dark and getting darker. “Did you get your knee sorted?”

  “Yep.”

  Without warning, he picked her up and hauled her to his chest. She wriggled to escape but got nowhere, and even as he walked her back to her room, she couldn’t get the best of him and free herself. He placed her on the edge of her bed.

  “Show me your knee.”

  Now that just pickled her blood. “Really? What’s with all the command stuff? You can’t go ordering me around. I’m off the clock. Picking me up at your will. I’d like you to leave. Now.”

  He stared at her for a long beat before he turned and left.

  She waited until he was gone, washed her face, and with just enough energy, cleaned her teeth and pulled her top off. She’d sleep in her bra and deal with her jeans tomorrow. She just needed to sleep. She crawled under the covers and crashed.

  Sometime during the night, with her throat on fire, her head pounding like a bad techno band, and in desperate need of water, she stumbled into the kitchen.

  “Billie?”

  She turned but couldn’t figure out who had spoken or where they were.

  Wait.

  Why were the walls moving?

  She tripped, and the floor appeared to be getting closer fast.

  She closed her eyes, unable to work out why her legs weren’t moving in a forward direction. She was fairly certain she told them to. Before she could process, she was caught and pressed into a warm chest.

  “Water,” she rasped. “Please.” Her head exploded in a burst of pain that triple-dared her stomach to make an escape out of her mouth. “Bathroom,” she managed. Her hair was smoothed back, and she prayed for a quick ending. Then suddenly a toilet loomed before her. When her stomach settled, she wiped a trembling hand across her mouth and slipped onto the blissfully cold floor. It was the new marble the contractors had just installed. She wondered if they’d install this in her room, too.

  Her body burned and froze at the same time. A glass of water was pressed against her mouth, and she tried to drink. It hurt like she’d swallowed bits of glass that tore at her throat.

  She moaned and went to lie on the cool floor where she hoped to quietly expire, but she was again swept up and soon was sitting upright in a cocoon of blankets.

  “Open your mouth,” a low voice rumbled in her ear.

  She complied, and a bitter tasting pill landed on her tongue.

  “Drink.” She clutched at the glass at her lips and managed to swallow the pill.

  “I’m really cold,” she rasped through chattering teeth. “Please can you make me warm?”

  A cool hand landed on her forehead, and she leaned into it.

  “Christ,” a voice said.

  She was somehow lying on a bed. She jerked when fingers went to her jeans, and she tried to stop the hand.

  “It’s all right. I’m going to take off your jeans.”

  “No,” she moaned, knowing the pain that would follow.

  She must have fallen asleep because she came to with a jerk when the voice said “Jesus,” and it wasn’t in the nice Bible way.

  “Don’t.” She swatted at the hand trying to pull down the denim.

  “I’m going to get you into the shower. The denim is stuck to your knee.”

  Was that Mason? No, it couldn’t be.

  “Where’s Mason?”

  “I’m right here.”

  “No, you’re not Mason. You’re kind and nice and you like me. Mason doesn’t like me. Mason loves his ex-wife. I’m leaving to go live with Sarah. I’m giving him a kidney and plasma.”

  Why was she telling this stranger her life story? She tried to lick her lips, but her tongue was on a day trip to the Sahara.

  She moved her head to the sound of his voice, but it felt like her neck would snap.

  Tired. She was so tired, she couldn’t raise an eyelid.

  The warmth by her side was gone, and from a distance it sounded like it was raining.

  She shivered and was picked up by a wall of muscle.

  “This is going to hurt, beautiful. I’m sorry.” It felt like a soft kiss landed on her forehead. Then she was jerked awake as warm water hit her feet. She was still curled into Mason’s chest, even as he gently lowered her onto the marble shelf. She noted through the haze that her jeans were halfway down her thighs.

  As if she were in another universe, she watched as the jeans got lower towards the target of pain and she screamed when he gently pulled off the Band-Aids that had glued her jeans to her knee. Through the haze of water and pain, she could see the angry, oozing sore on her knee and vaguely heard Mason swear. Water and soap stung, and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

  When he lifted her, she didn’t protest. What little energy reserves she had were now exhausted. She slumped against his chest, and soon she was towel dried and dressed in cool cotton.

  Her head was on the pillow and blankets were heaped on her.

  She slept. When her body was on fire and she couldn’t stand the touch of sheets, her T-shirt came off and a fresh, soft T-shirt slipped over her head. Too tired and weak to fight, she complied with what the voice told her to do. She opened her mouth, she swallowed another bitter pill. She sipped water.

  At one stage, there was a soft woman’s voice. She felt something wrap around her biceps and her arm felt like it was being inflated. Something was in her ear and it beeped. A swab of cold on her arm followed, and she winced as something pricked her arm. She twisted away when cold stung her knees, but soft hands gently held her, and then the woman’s voice was gone.

  She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering and full body tremors from wracking her body with pain. Then strong arms circled her and she was pressed into a warm body—an oh, so warm body.

  “Relax. I’ve got you.”

  A deep plug of emotion rattled loose, and a sob broke from her throat. “Don’t let me go.”

  “Not letting you go, Billie,” she thought she heard before she was snagged into a wall of warm, then the world went black.

  …

  “Hey,” Mason said, looking down into Billie’s sleepy eyes. Relief pounded through him. She was going to be okay.

  She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out, and she fell back against the pillow. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her up.

  He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and held a glass of water to her lips, which she sucked back.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Funny,” she said in a raspy voice.

  “You hungry?” he asked, noting the deep marks under her eyes, the gaunt cheeks.

  “A little.”

  She tried to swing her legs out of bed, but he stopped her with a frown. “Going somewhere?”

  “Bathroom.”

  He pulled her into his arms and deposited her on the marble shelf of the tub. “I’ll wait out here.”

  “I’m fine. I can make my own way back. Thank you.” She didn’t look at him, but he could tell by the way she bent her body she was already fatigued.

  “I can wait in there with you or out here. We’ve been doing this for a few days. Either way doesn’t worry me.”

  The spark that was all Billie flared in her eyes, and he bit back a smile. She waved her hand indicating for him to go.

  Seeing her so defenseless and sick had hit him hard. The night she’d become ill, he’d been sitting at home unable to bear the thought of her out man hunting. He’d driven to three bars before he found her, sitting at the bar, laughing, eyes shining, and the dude looked like he wanted to devour her. Mason had stayed in the background watching her, hiding like a tool. Every guy in the place had eyes for her or her friend. He kn
ew the look. They were all staking a claim. Technically neither Billie nor Sarah need go home alone. He’d stilled when her eyes swept the room. He had two options, drag her out of the bar or walk away and let her get on with her life. It had taken every bit of his self-control not to throw her over his shoulder caveman style and drag her back to the house.

  He’d stepped away. He had no right to send mixed signals. She deserved to get on with her life. And with a man who wanted all the same things she did.

  Later that night, when he saw her knee and how badly infected it was, he knew it was all his fault. She’d gone to the attic and had gotten hurt because of him. And then he’d worked her so hard, neither of them noticed her knee wasn’t healing. It had been his fault, just as another night, over three years ago. He hadn’t been able to stop Monica from hurting, either. Holding Billie in his arms, it cut straight through. He’d paid a doctor a small fortune to make a house call this far out. The doctor had taken one look at her and said she had an infection, exhaustion, and a virus. She’d shot Billie full of antibiotics for her knee, and Mason had made sure she took the tablets the doctor prescribed. Luckily it had been caught early. She now needed complete bed rest, fluids, and antibiotics. Mason had agreed and promised the doctor he’d look after her.

  When he found Billie burning up and trying to get out of bed, he’d tucked her into his bed, and then changed her sweat-soaked sheets. When she begged him to make her warm, he’d crawled in beside her and held her until the wracking shudders subsided. He’d smoothed her hair back, kissed her neck, and when she pleaded with him not to let her go, he’d held her tight until the shivering stopped and she relaxed into him and they both slept. And it didn’t escape him that with Billie in his arms, he didn’t have nightmares. Only dreams he couldn’t remember in the morning but that he knew hadn’t bled his soul dry.

  He slipped into autopilot, tending to Stanley, who had gone catatonic when he couldn’t find Billie, and dealing with pressure Takahashi was piling on. He’d avoided telling him about the council’s refusal to allow the grounds to be razed, but he was fast running out of time and delaying strategies. The Canadian buyer had walked when Mason had missed two conference calls during Billie’s fever.