Jules had been standing close, but now she seemed far too close. If I’d been more sober, I would’ve done the smart thing and stepped back, because I could feel the soft pressure of her breasts against my stomach. I also should’ve been far more aware of how easily my employees could’ve looked at us and seen what was going on.
But I wasn’t sober. And Jules wasn’t just tempting to me. She was addictive. She was like a taste of hard drugs to a recovering addict, and I could feel myself in very real danger of slipping down a dark, unforgiving slope with her.
“What sort of messages are you worried about sending?” she whispered.
That I want to fuck my personal assistant, even if it risks destroying everything my partners and I have worked for over the past ten years. I closed my eyes, because it was the only way I could focus. I couldn’t look into her face and say what I needed to say. Some part of me clawed its way through the haze of alcohol and said the right thing. “I think I’ve made a good enough show of having fun. You may want to turn in soon. I need you here bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Jules was still standing too close, so I took a step back, then pursed my lips in something approximating a smile.
I lowered my voice to a bare whisper. “Letting go like this only makes it harder to go back to the way things have to be. Tomorrow, I’ve still got to be Mr. White. I’ve still got to run this company and pursue my goals. And tomorrow, I’ll still need you to just be my personal assistant.”
“We’re both adults,” Jules said. “I can be friendly with my boss and still do my job. And you can speak your mind around me if you want to. If you cross any lines, I’ll tell you. It’s like I said. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself.”
“I know you can. And I respect you for it. Have a good night, Jules. I’ll see you in the morning.”
9
Jules
Mr. White liked buzzing my desk and gruffly demanding to see me in his office. I was convinced of that. I could almost picture him in there with a smug grin on his face as he waited for me to make the walk.
I got up, making a point of taking my sweet time just to be ornery. I also still had a lingering heaviness in my head from the drinking at last night’s party and today’s early start. Mr. White hadn’t been kidding about needing me first thing. He’d sent Harvey again to pick me up and swing by to gather his black coffee and pick up the shirt I’d sprayed yesterday.
Mr. White was relentless when it came to assigning me tasks. Every day was a revolving door of urgent items that needed my attention and a strict focus on detail. I could tell he never quite thought I’d be able to keep up or meet his standards, so I was learning to find great satisfaction in exceeding his expectations.
For once in my life, I had a chance to prove I was capable. Someone was asking me to apply myself and really dig deep, and I felt like I was thriving, even if I was tired as hell.
I noticed a few polite smiles and nods from the people on the publishing floor as I headed to Mr. White’s office. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but it was a slight improvement, I guessed. Maybe they just needed time to make sure I wasn’t some sort of secret enforcer working for Mr. White.
I found him in his office with a white shirt and navy-blue vest. He was standing by the window and giving me a sinful view of his long legs in a pair of navy pants to match his vest. His hair, like usual, was a neat mess of dark, barely controlled waves that swooped away from his tanned face.
“You didn’t knock,” he said.
I folded my arms. “Let me guess. Go back out and try again?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “No. Have a seat.”
I did as he asked but found my curiosity piqued. What had I done to earn such overwhelming graciousness? Maybe he really did value the quality of work I was doing and was going to start downgrading his behavior from apocalyptic bosshole to just plain grumpy. That would be nice.
“You wanted to see me?” I asked.
“Yes. I called you in to tell you to pack your things. We’re leaving in two days for a conference in New Orleans. It won’t be a vacation for you. Come ready to work.”
“I was planning to meet my friend for lunch tomorrow.”
He stared like I’d just said the silliest thing he’d ever heard. “Then you’ll cancel. We’re leaving tonight.”
“What’s in New Orleans?”
“A conference. You’ll finally get to meet my team there. And Miss Adams, I also wanted to tell you that I admire what you’ve done here. You’ve made yourself impossible to fire. You keep up with my demands. You keep getting glowing feedback from clients. You…”
I arched an eyebrow, waiting.
“You have been a worthwhile investment.”
I deflated a little but couldn’t help grinning. In his own stick up the ass kind of way, I was pretty sure Mr. White was trying to be kind for once. I wasn’t going to nitpick if his wording felt stiff. “Thank you,” I said.
He nodded. “You’ll be working hard while we’re in New Orleans, so please make sure you’re ready to really grind once we leave.”
My thoughts flashed back to standing close enough to him at the party that I could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes—that I could’ve counted his eyelashes or closed my eyes and swam in the delectable scent coming off him. Get ready to grind.
“Is something funny, Miss Adams?”
I wiped the grin from my face, shaking my head. “No, I was just thinking if the work so far hasn’t been a grind, I’m looking forward to seeing what your definition of ‘working hard’ is.”
Mr. White’s eyes twinkled. “If anyone is up to the challenge, I believe it may just be you.”
I stared into his eyes, not blinking. He expected so much from his employees. It was written in every smooth, perfectly crafted line of his face. My father was that way, too. Except my father had expected the world from everyone besides me. To him, I’d always been the one who couldn’t do anything right and shouldn’t be expected to. I was the wallflower. The ornamental, pretty little thing he’d marry off as a social maneuver when the time came.
To my father, I wasn’t supposed to be truly intelligent or truly capable. I was supposed to be “well trained.” I was “well bred.” I was an acquisition, just like the priceless paintings he’d acquired. I was one more thing to show off to his friends.
For all his faults, Mr. White was different in one critical way. He hadn’t discounted me. He may have been ready to dispose of me the moment I failed to live up to his expectations, but he made me feel like he’d seen some potential—some possibility that I might actually succeed.
Leave it to my father to carve a hole in me wide enough to make me feel drawn to such a screwed-up situation. I shouldn’t have been so desperate for a chance to prove to someone I could be useful, but here I was. All I could think as I looked at the handsome bastard behind the desk was how ready I was to prove I could handle this. I could live up to his high expectations. I could exceed them.
10
Adrian
Part of playing the role of “Adrian White” was pretending I still needed to fly commercial. Forget the private jet I had waiting in hangar and the pilot I still had on my personal payroll. That life had been on hold for nearly a year. As far as anyone knew, Adrian Terranova was simply off enjoying his billions on a private island somewhere, probably drowning in pussy.
If I was being honest, I wasn’t even sure Adrian Terranova really existed anymore. I’d spent ten years taking fake names and pretending to be someone I wasn’t in pursuit of my revenge. Some nights, I wondered who would be there looking back in the mirror when this was all over, and I put Adrian White to rest. Because the old me wasn’t the hardass I’d become. But those were questions to worry about when the time came. I’d come this far, and all I needed to do was hold on a little while longer.
A woman over the intercom let us know first class could board, and I got up quickly. I was meeting my team in New Orleans at the co
nference, so Princess Jules, as I’d begun to think of her, was my only company.
She had on headphones and had been annoyingly bobbing her head to something while she read a crusty old paperback. I heard her scramble to her feet and grab her things when she realized I was leaving her behind.
She caught up, pulling out her earbuds and brushing a stray blonde hair from her forehead. “Not going to lose me that easily.”
“That’s a shame,” I said.
She worked her lips to the side. It was a taunting, flirtatious look. A dangerous look. Something about being outside the office must’ve made her feel like we were on some fast and loose field trip. Like I was the stern teacher she could cut it up with while we weren’t on campus. I needed to put an end to that idea before she got either of us in trouble.
“You know you’d miss me if you left me here,” she said. “You’d have nobody to glare at or boss around on the plane.”
I stopped her in the boarding tunnel before we reached the plane. “When we arrive,” I said, pretending I hadn’t heard her teasing. “I need you on your game. I’m going to a conference for the department heads of Coleton, but the man I’m interested in meeting is Gerald Krause.”
Jules’ already big eyes went a touch wider, and the color drained from her face.
I studied her expression. That was strange. “What? Someone you know?”
She shook her head a little too vigorously. “Never heard of him.”
I stared. Usually uncomfortable silence had a way of launching the truth out of people far better than interrogation.
She patted her stomach after a couple seconds. “I get nervous. Airplanes. My stomach is trying to tell me I shouldn’t have had all those eggs for breakfast.”
I put the back of my hand to her forehead, but she tried to swat it away.
“What are you doing?” she asked, ducking as I tried again to feel her temperature.
“Checking to make sure you’re well. Stay still, dammit.”
“I’m fine,” Jules ducked and weaved like a prize fighter while I tried to get my hand on her forehead to check her temperature. “It’s just nerves.”
I put one hand on the back of her head and pressed my palm to her forehead, locking her in place long enough to make sure she didn’t feel like she was running a fever. “You feel clammy,” I said.
She wriggled free, then gave me a dirty look. “Maybe it’s because my boss is manhandling me.”
I shrugged. “Maybe your boss doesn’t want regurgitated eggs in his lap for two and a half hours.”
“It’s only two hours and twenty minutes.” She held up her phone. “Just checked.”
I started walking toward the plane. “If you have time to check useless information like that, you’re not working hard enough.”
Jules jogged to catch up to me. God, the woman smelled fantastic. I had to fight the urge to lift the hand I’d just had in her hair to my nose to see if the scent of her shampoo was still lingering there. It was like strawberries and sugar.
It had been literal years since I’d allowed myself the distraction of a relationship. Being around Princess Jules was making me realize I should’ve been taking the time to get laid every once in a while. My libido was running on overdrive, and I could hardly look at the woman without imagining the things I would do to her if circumstances were different. Imagining how I’d take a fistful of that thick blonde hair and kiss her rough—or how I’d like to toss her down on my bed and push her legs apart.
All those fantasies needed to stay firmly out of the real world.
Hiring her had been a mistake. It had only been a little over a week and I was already sure of that. The fact that I’d had to lock my office door and fuck my hand while I thought of her yesterday was a damning sign. I could maybe blame that on the alcohol, but I’d never been this way. No woman rattled my determination to do what needed to be done, and yet Jules was already seeping into parts of my brain that were supposed to be completely off limits.
We took our seats and she plopped down beside me. It was first class and we were supposed to have all the leg room we needed, but somehow her seat still seemed too close to me. I could smell that strawberry shampoo again.
I lifted my hand to my nose, trying to discreetly block the smell without letting her see I was bothered.
She tried to fit her carry-on under the seat a few times, cursed under her breath when it wouldn’t work, then stood up and started jamming it into the overhead compartment. I sighed in defeat when I looked to the side and saw her white blouse had untucked itself from her tight-fitting skirt and her navel was on display. It was just an innocent sliver of her stomach, but apparently every hormone in my body was on overdrive. Her skin was milky smooth, and I had a sudden overwhelming impulse to put my palm there and push her back into the seats across the aisle. I wanted to take two greedy fistfuls of her ass and press her into me.
I tried to discreetly shift in my seat as the growing pressure between my legs became uncomfortable. This fucking woman. I’d planned to work on my phone for the full flight, but I was starting to wonder if I’d even be able to think about anything except who was sitting next to me.
Thankfully, old habits died hard, and I managed to get myself sucked into the task of going through my emails and attacking the problems they held.
When the plane’s engines fired up for the takeoff procedure, I noticed Jules stopped scrolling on her phone. She was frozen there, apparently trying to look like she was working.
I waited a little while, then looked over to her. “Something wrong?”
“Nope,” she said. “All good.” Except when she lifted her finger to open an email, her hand was shaking.
I sighed. The smart thing to do would be to let her tough it out. The worst that was going to happen would be she’d throw up. She wasn’t going to suffer any actual harm, but... Dammit.
“Look,” I said. “If you’re scared of flying, you’ve got to distract yourself.”
She glanced over towards me, and she was comically tense. Her fingertips had gone white with how tight she was squeezing her phone. “Who said I’m scared of flying?”
I put my hand on her wrist and got her to let go of the phone. She seemed happy to be gripping the arm rests instead. “The fact that you look like you’re sitting on one of those cheap vibrating beds they used to have in motels.”
She gave a fleeting smile. “I’m just cold. That’s all. And those eggs.”
She was full of something, but it wasn’t eggs. “Try imagining all the successful takeoffs that happen every day,” I suggested.
She swallowed, then sank into her seat a little lower. “I just pictured a seagull flying into our engine and us all dying in a huge fireball.”
“Good news. We’re in Asheville and we’re two-hundred and fifty miles from the ocean. I think it’s much more likely to be something like a heron or a hawk flying into the engines.”
“A hawk wouldn’t fly into an engine. They’re too smart.”
“I don’t think any birds try to fly into engines. They’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Jules turned to look at me in disbelief. “Are you trying to help me or convince me that a bird is going to blow our engines up?”
“Okay,” I said. “Just breathe. Let it all out and count to eight. Then breathe in for four seconds. Then hold your breath for four and do it all again.”
Jules let out a shaky, panicky breath that lasted about three seconds.
“Eight,” I said. “Slow it down.” I waited while she got the hang of it and our plane neared the final stage of takeoff. I watched her full lips as she gradually got a handle on her breathing. Once she had it somewhat under control, I tapped the back of her hand. “Relax your grip. Just keep breathing.”
She nodded, then squeezed her eyes shut when the plane rapidly gained speed a moment later. I nearly yanked my hand back when she reached out and gripped my wrist. But I decided it was harmless. She was terrified,
and I needed a functional PA for this trip, not a nervous wreck. That’s all. I wasn’t being kind. I was fixing a malfunctioning piece of machinery I needed to get the job done.
Once we were airborne and the main drama of takeoff was behind us, she seemed to realize she was still holding onto my wrist and let go with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Now that you’re done, you need to take advantage of the time we’re in the air to get caught up on my emails. And be more careful about which messages you sort as “critical.” I don’t need to know about authors who forgot to sign their contracts. Send that to Mike. He does author relations.”
She nodded, but I saw her keep glancing at me over the next few minutes like she was wanting to say something.
It was distracting, so I finally sighed, setting my phone down. “Is there something you want to say?”
“I was just wondering how you knew all that. It was really helpful. The breathing stuff, I mean.”
“My little sister,” I said. “She’s afraid of heights. Spiders. Dogs. A few other things.”
“What’s her name?”
“Jordan. You’ll meet her in New Orleans. She’s part of the team.” For once, nobody on my team was using a false first name. We’d all felt it somehow symbolically important to use our real names for this final job. When Russ Coleton looked around and realized everything he’d worked for had been destroyed, we wanted him to have our real names to blame. We wanted him to know who had fucked him. Besides, this was our last job. We all had enough money to live our lives without another day of work after this, and none of us would need to protect our identity any further when we were done.
“Oh,” Jules said. “It’s kind of funny. I actually have a hard time picturing you with a family. You seem so…”
“I seem so what, Juliette?”
“Jules,” she said quietly, but for some reason her cheeks were staining with red.
The Boss(hole) Page 5
