Beauty and the Boss (Modern Fairytales)

by Diane Alberts

  He held a hand up, his jaw flexing. “You can stop that sentence right now, because I already told you I don’t regret a damn thing. Go home. Start getting ready.”

  “You’re being stubborn.”

  “And you’re procrastinating by trying to pick a fight.” He straightened her computer, and folded her reading glasses on top of it. He hated when things were out of order—she’d learned that about him, too. “It won’t work, because you’re too adorable to annoy me.”

  She smiled for the first time that day. She couldn’t help it. “Benji.”

  “Not even that annoying nickname will work tonight.” Lowering his head, he straightened her pens in color-coded order.

  Licking her lips, she watched as his long fingers moved over her stuff. Her breath quickened, and her pulse sped up. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  He snorted. “The hell I can’t.”

  Not answering, she stared at those fingers with a thirst that wouldn’t be quenched, and more than anything, she wanted them on her—not her pens. The more time she spent with him, the stronger the thirst became.

  “Now go—” When he lifted his head again, he froze. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  She tilted her head. “Like what?”

  He leaned in even closer, and her heart picked up even more speed. His eyes sparked, igniting a primal urge inside of her, and he whispered for her ears only, “Like you want to get me naked, and once and for all stop this ‘just friends’ bullshit we’re both suffering through.”

  She grasped the edge of her desk so hard it hurt. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, you are. I—” He glanced over his shoulder and stiffened, because everyone was watching them. Big shocker there. “Just go home and get ready. I’ll pick you up in two hours, and you’ll look gorgeous.”

  “But—”

  He pointed to the door. “Go.”

  “Fine.” Frowning, she picked up her jacket and purse, her legs trembling. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He didn’t reply, just scowled at her like the beast that people assumed he was. She huffed one last time and left, his stare burning into her back. As soon as she was in the elevator, she pulled out her phone. On my way home.

  Becca texted back quickly. I just left the office, too, and picked up some new makeup with that card. Meet you there.

  How was work?

  Again, her phone buzzed with Becca’s response. Boring. Some asshole wasn’t sure what he wanted for his campaign, and I spent hours discussing the merits of billboard advertising versus online.

  Maggie winced. Sounds fun.

  Oh yeah. So much. The little bubble with three dots appeared. I can’t wait to go out with Patrick later. I need a distraction.

  Still seeing him?

  For now. I’m not bored yet. Still avoiding admitting you want your billionaire?

  The elevator doors opened. Yep. Okay, I have to go. See you there.

  By the time she actually got to their apartment twenty minutes later, Becca waited for her outside their door. She had a brown bag in one hand, and a makeup kit in the other. Her long red hair blew in the breeze. When she saw Maggie, she straightened and held up the hand with the brown bag. “I brought vodka to go with the makeup.”

  “Good. I need it. Why are you outside? You live here, too.”

  “I was enjoying the sun. It’s been a while since we had a nice day, and after being in the office all day…” Becca shrugged. “It felt good.”

  She looked up at the blue sky. The sun shone through the skyscrapers and clouds, right onto them. “It is really nice out.”

  “Yeah.” Her best friend pushed off the wall and unlocked the door. “And you were too busy panicking to notice. Why are you so nervous, anyway? It’s just a stupid party.”

  “It’s not just a party. It’s the first test—we have to sell this whole thing tonight.”

  Becca shrugged. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like they’ll be giving you a lie detector to see if your relationship is legit. All you have to do is drink free booze, hold his hand, and act like you’re in love with a guy you haven’t stopped blabbering on about all week long. It shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”

  “No, it’s not, and that’s exactly why I don’t want to go.”

  Becca blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Benjamin and I are only friends, and I really need it to stay that way, no matter what my stupid ovaries want. But we haven’t even kissed in four days—which is why I need the drink,” she said, snatching the bottle from her friend’s hand and heading into the kitchen. “Because, God, I want him, Becca. I want him bad.”

  “No kidding,” Becca said drily.

  “I’m an idiot.”

  “Yeah.” She pushed her red hair out of her face. “Always have been, when it comes to men.”

  Maggie frowned and pulled out two shot glasses. “Gee, thanks.”

  “You overanalyze everything, and push every interested man out of the picture before they even have a chance to mess up.” Becca hopped up on the counter, swinging her legs. “It’s your MO”

  “That’s because none of them ever make sense,” Maggie argued, pouring two shots. “Why waste my time when they never add up on paper?”

  Her best friend shrugged. “And they never will. Which is why you do it, if you ask me. It gives you an excuse to get rid of them before they get too close and hurt you, like those other jerks did when you first moved here.”

  That hit uncomfortably close to home. “That’s not true. It’s not my fault the men I’ve dated aren’t committed enough to prove me wrong.”

  “You’ve been trying to keep this CEO of yours at a distance, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah.” She tossed back the shot. “And?”

  “And he hasn’t given up yet.” Becca joined her, downing the vodka. “Maybe he’s the guy you’ve been waiting for. The one who will fight for you.”

  But what if he did? What if she let him win? They would sleep together, have a little fun, and when he realized the two of them didn’t make sense together—as he inevitably would—he would move on. She’d be left working for a man who no longer acted as if she existed, and she’d have a front row seat to all the society girls he paraded in front of her.

  Maggie groaned. “You’re not helping matters. I’m supposed to listen to my head, not you, not my ovaries, and certainly not my heart.”

  “If you ask me, you’ve done enough listening to your head. Maybe it’s time to try something new,” she argued, holding her hands up when Maggie scowled at her. “You could do worse than a rich CEO. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “He doesn’t show any emotion. Like, ever.” She set the shot glass down. She refilled the glass and picked it up, glaring down at the ring it left on her counter. “I can never even begin to guess what he’s thinking. It’s infuriating.”

  “So ask him.”

  She snorted. “And when we break up—”

  “You’re not even together yet.” Becca sighed and jumped off the counter. “You need to stop guessing how it’s going to end, and enjoy the ride.”

  “Ugh. You sound like him.”

  “Then he’s a smart man,” she said, picking up the new makeup she’d stopped at the store to get. She steered Maggie toward the bedroom, her hands on her shoulders as she propelled her forward. “Listen to us.”

  “Like you listened to me when I told you Patrick was a bad idea?”

  The other woman shrugged, not meeting Maggie’s eyes. “Yeah, he’s a bad idea. That’s why I picked him.”

  “But—”

  “Uh uh.” She pointed at Maggie. “This is my lecture, not yours. You have a rich hottie who wants to become your friend before getting in your pants, which is practically unheard of in the dating world nowadays, and you’re too busy worrying what other people will think of you to enjoy it.”

  Well, when she said it like that…screw them. Screw everything. Maggie w
as gonna have some fun with Benjamin, and stop stressing so much.

  Maybe it was the booze, or the pep talk, but Becca was right. She had spent her whole life not caring what people thought of her. Why should that change now? What was it about Benjamin, and his witch of a mother, that brought out the worst in her? Whatever it was, she was over it.

  And she was done pushing Benjamin away, too.

  Becca was right. It was time to take a leap of faith, for once in her life, and hope for the best. Maybe it was time to stop thinking so much, and start doing.

  Turning, she hugged her best friend close. “I love you. What would I do without you here to tell me off?”

  “I’m not sure.” Becca kissed the side of her head. “But lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. You ready to kick some rich ass now?”

  “Yep.” Grinning, she snapped her fingers. “Let’s do this. Make me a princess.”

  Chapter Nine

  Benjamin frowned at Maggie’s brownstone, his heart pounding harder than a racehorse’s hooves in the home stretch at the Kentucky Derby. He hadn’t been this nervous since… ever. He’d never been the anxious type, not even when he was younger. If shit needed to get done, he did it. If it was going to be a rough night, he grinned and bullshitted his way through it.

  His mother had made it perfectly clear he was expected to bring someone proper to the party—and drop his “fiancée” like a hot potato—or he’d pay the price. He’d kindly told her to go to hell, and that he would bring Maggie to the party, and she would deal with it. But now that the moment was here, his palms were sweating, his heart was racing, and he felt as if he’d just finished running ten miles at the gym.

  The second he brought Maggie into his world, she’d be subjected to all the petty snarkiness that was served in heaping portions at these events, alongside the champagne and caviar…which he probably should have thought about earlier, but he’d been too caught up in the plan.

  Too caught up in her. In how she made him feel.

  She had a hold on him that he couldn’t escape or deny, and he’d stopped trying a while ago. He wasn’t going to confess his undying love for her, or anything so dramatic as that. That was still a foreign emotion he wasn’t sure existed. But she was funny, kind, smart, and beautiful in every way. And the more time he spent with her, the more he became susceptible to those qualities. It was like she was slowly weaving a spell over him, dragging him further and further underwater until he ran out of breath and stopped fighting.

  But she wanted to be friends, and he’d been cooling his heels for a week. He was starting to think he might need to be rescued via copter before he died in the damn friend zone she’d cursed him to. But he’d be fine. They would both be fine. If he said that enough times, he might actually believe it.

  Pigs might fly, too. The world was full of surprises.

  His driver opened the door, and Benjamin slid out of the seat, holding the flowers he’d gotten her close to his chest. Tugging at his red bowtie, he walked up her stairs, smoothed his tux, and knocked. Almost immediately, the door opened. He smiled, but it faded when he noticed it was a redhead who answered, not his Maggie.

  After glancing at the number of the brownstone to make sure he was at the right building and knocking on the right door, since they were all the same on this block, he turned back to the woman in the door. “Hello. You must be Maggie’s roommate. I’m—?”

  “Damn.” The redhead looked him up and down. “She didn’t say you were this hot.”

  “Uh…” Yeah. He had nothing to say to that. He held his hand out politely. “I’m Benjamin Gale the third. And you are…?”

  “The third, huh? Wow. So official sounding,” the woman said, laughing lightly and shaking his hand before letting go. She picked up her purse and smiled. “I’m Becca Marigold, the first, and I was just leaving for my own date. Maggie’s in her room finishing up, so she’ll be out in a minute.”

  He bowed and moved out of her way, still holding the flowers to his chest. “It was lovely meeting you, Ms. Marigold.”

  “Likewise,” she said drily. “Good call on the flowers. She hates roses.”

  He glanced down at them. Damn, he’d really screwed up on that first date. Wrong restaurant. Wrong flowers. Wrong everything. It was a miracle she’d agreed to give him a second chance, and it only went to show how incredible she was, and that he didn’t deserve her. “Thanks.”

  After shooting him one last look, the woman let the door close behind her.

  He was alone in Maggie’s living room. Glancing around, he swallowed hard. The whole place, while clean, was best described as organized chaos. Pillows lay askew on the couch, and she had books and magazines strewn all over the place in no semblance of order. There were empty mugs sitting on the coffee table, and a few blankets tossed here and there.

  His fingers twitched. “Maggie? I’m here.”

  “I’ll be out in a second. Make yourself comfortable,” she called out.

  He eyed the sofa and took a deep breath. When the door opened and she came out, he was sitting on the couch with the flowers resting on his thighs. The second he saw her, all thought fled. She walked into the room in a red dress that clung to her every curve. It had beaded lace overlaying the material underneath, and her long brown hair fell around her bare shoulders in soft, gentle waves.

  Her red lips matched her dress, and she clutched a small black purse in front of her. Her white knuckles betrayed her nerves, and he wanted to kiss her so much it hurt him not to do so. Not trusting himself to speak, he examined her and tried to find logical words to say. He failed horribly.

  She was too beautiful for mere words.

  Shifting on her feet, she nibbled on her lip. “Are you going to say something? Anything? Will I pass for your impoverished fiancée?”

  “Yes—” His voice croaked, so he cleared his throat and stood awkwardly, still not able to look away. He’d never seen anyone more stunning than her, and never would. Of that he was sure. “Yes. You…you look exquisite.”

  “Thank you.” She relaxed slightly and her knuckles went a little less white on her clutch. “Are those for me?”

  “Is what for you?”

  Her lips twitched. “The flowers in your hands.”

  “Oh.” Surprised, he glanced down. They’d slipped his mind the second she stepped into the room. What the hell did flowers matter when Maggie was there, smiling at him and looking as if she came straight out of a dream? “Yes, sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, her smile widening. Those freckles of hers danced, making her all the more delectable. She took the bouquet from him and lifted them to her nose. Inhaling deeply, hugged them to her chest. “Snowbells. Good guess—I love these.”

  “I didn’t guess.” He’d never been so jealous of flowers in his life. “You told me you liked them last week.”

  “Oh.” She blinked. “You remembered?”

  “Well, yeah.” He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I told you I’d try to do bett—oof.”

  Before he could finish, she’d tossed the flowers onto the couch and threw herself at him. He stumbled back a step before catching himself and closing his arms around her. He had no clue what he did to get such a reward, but he rested his cheek on her head and enjoyed it anyway. When she hugged him close, something deep within him warmed.

  Something he didn’t recognize…or want to recognize.

  And when she pulled back, ending the hug way too quickly, he was almost relieved because those unfamiliar emotions freaked him out. He tightened his hold on her hips, torn between wanting to pull her back into his arms or to push her away. That had been the first time she’d touched him intimately—because, hell yes, a hug like that was intimate in his book—of her own accord, and not part of their deception.

  “What was that for?”

  She smiled up at him. “The flowers.”

  Ah. The flowers. Not just the act of flowers, since he’d done that before and she couldn�
��t have cared less, but the type he’d gotten. Well, hell, if he got a hug every time he did something thoughtful for her, he’d do it all the damn time.

  He was all about rewards. Especially when it came to Maggie.

  A stray piece of hair fell across her face, so he pushed it away from her cheek gently, staring into her eyes as he did so. It might be cliché, but damned if he couldn’t get lost in those swirling blue-grey depths for hours if she let him. “You’re welcome.”

  Moving out of his arms, she picked the flowers up and walked across the room. Halfway there, she stopped and glanced back at the couch with a frown. “Did you…did you straighten up in here? The pillows…and the coffee mugs…and where are my shoes?”

  Shit.

  She’d noticed.

  “Well…I…” He eyed the neatened couch nervously, and the shoes he’d set by the door. He hadn’t meant to do it, it had just sort of happened. “Uh…you did say to make myself at home.”

  She laughed, the musical sound washing over him. “I did, didn’t I? It’s cool. I don’t care if you need to make my couch pretty to sit on it, Benji.”

  It’s not that he needed to. It’s that for his whole life, he’d had his mother telling him that he had to put on his best face, and never let anyone see him in anything but perfect order. That had stuck with him and made him the man he was today. One that liked order instead of chaos. But he didn’t say any of that.

  Why would he?

  So he just tugged on his bowtie and checked the time. “Once you’re ready, we need to go.”

  “Okay, just give me a second,” she called out from the kitchen. “I’ll be right out.”

  He grabbed her jacket off the chair where she’d thrown it, straightened the pillow, and waited by the door. When she came out, the oxygen disappeared from the room all over again. Something of what he felt must have shown on his face, because she paused mid-step. “What? What is it?”

  “Nothing. It’s just… You look absolutely gorgeous.” He swallowed, but it was harder than it should have been. “You’ll be the prettiest woman there, inside and out.”

  “Thanks. But I’m seriously unqualified to be going to this event.”