Bad Boss (Unprofessional Bad Boys Book 2)

by Clarissa Wild

  “Home,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him.

  “Home?” I repeat as he drags me through the doors and into a hallway without stopping to say hi or bye to anyone. “That’s way too far. I’m still covered, my clothes will be ruined, and everyone will see the stains.”

  “I didn’t mean your home,” he adds, opening an escape door and pulling me through.

  “What? But this isn’t—”

  “I know where I’m going,” he says, dragging me down the stairwell. “This is the quickest route.”

  “To where?” I ask, partially out of breath.

  “My place.”

  Holy shit.

  I’ve never been to his place.

  Does that mean we’re suddenly more than just … Fuck.

  “But what about work?” I ask, hoping this isn’t what I think it is.

  Because if a boy brings you to his home … that means serious business.

  “Work can wait. We don’t want anyone to notice what we did, right?”

  “But what about the dogs?” I ask.

  “They’re at the doggy daycare, remember?” he says, and I do remember. “They’ll be taken care of.”

  “Right,” I reply, still not thinking straight.

  “You can get cleaned up at my place.”

  “How? I don’t have any spare clothes on me.”

  “You can borrow some of mine. Now c’mon,” he says.

  All of a sudden, we’re out on the street. Right around the back of the building in some small alley. Like a secret route no one knows about. Except him.

  I giggle.

  “Why are you laughing?” he asks.

  “Oh, nothing. It just reminds me of college.”

  “What?”

  “Sneaking out like this.”

  He smiles. “You did that often?”

  “Oh yeah … my best friend, Hailey, and I would sometimes skip classes and sneak out to the back, hoping no one would find us. We’d smoke and discuss boys and stuff.”

  “You smoked?” He snorts. “Lesley Fischer, smoking?”

  I shove him a little. “Shut up; I’m not some stuck-up ditz everybody thinks I am.”

  “No, you’re one of the coolest girls I’ve known.”

  I hear the words, but they don’t really register. Did he actually just say that?

  I don’t know how to respond. I feel flattered. No one just says that to you. Unless they mean it, of course.

  “Thanks,” I reply after an awkward silence passed.

  “Don’t mention it.” He clears his throat.

  Is this a moment? Like the ones everyone talks about when they first meet the person they plan to spend the rest of their life with?

  Or is my imagination running wild again? It probably is. Even though for a second there, I swear I thought about kissing him again.

  He looks down at me and says, “Tell me more.”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “Anything.”

  “Oh …” Now I’m starting to blush again. “Well, back when I was still in college, we used to go to this ice-cream shop too, like all the time. It’s Hailey’s favorite food.”

  “But not yours?”

  “I like ice cream,” I say. “But macaroons are to die for.”

  He laughs, and the sound is so damn sexy, it makes me grin stupidly. “Macaroons? Like the French stuff?”

  “Yeah.” He laughs again, so I ask, “What?”

  “Oh, I just never pegged you to be that kind of girl.”

  “What kind of girl?” I narrow my eyes.

  He bites his lip. “You know … someone who likes all that fancy-shmancy food.”

  “Fancy? Macaroons aren’t just fancy. They’re godly.”

  He snickers. “I’ll remember that.”

  I grin. “Why?”

  “No reason.” He shrugs coyly. “We should go,” he says. “People could see us here.”

  “Yeah.” There goes the moment again. Ruined by broad daylight and a dirty top. “How far is it?” I ask, looking at all the people walking down the street.

  “Not far. Follow me,” he says, and we cross the street.

  He’s right, though. We’ve only walked for about ten minutes before he stops in front of a building and goes through the doors. For some reason, it feels familiar, but I ignore the feeling because I don’t wanna lose sight of TJ, so I follow him inside. It’s a luxurious hallway with a security guard overseeing the elevator in the back.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Morrows,” the guard says.

  “Just going up for a quick change,” TJ says.

  “Of course.” The guard smiles as TJ grabs my hand again and pulls me into the elevator, pressing the button to go up all the way to the top.

  But for some reason, I’m not bothered by any of the expensive looking furniture and design in this building. I can only focus on the fact that his warm hand wraps firmly around mine, sending tingles up my spine.

  “So this is where you live, huh?” I muse, trying to break the ice because it’s so damn quiet. That, and for some reason, this all feels so strange. Like something’s not quite right.

  “Yup,” he mumbles, smiling softly when I glance at him.

  However, the longer I stare, the less I can take my eyes off him.

  He’s just so damn sexy … and … sweet too.

  And before I know it, he grabs my face, shoves me against the elevator wall, and kisses me hard.

  His kiss is passionate. As in an “I can’t get enough of you” way. Like he wants to kiss me forever … and I wouldn’t even mind.

  Fuck. I’m really starting to fall hard.

  I love the way he nibbles on my lip so gently between kisses, savoring each one of them with a tempting, boyish smile. It’s one of those grins that makes your heart flutter and your body numb.

  I can feel the desire bubble up again as his lips roam my skin, pressing kisses against my neck and below my ear. I wrap my arms around his neck with the tulip still firmly clenched between my fingers, wishing he wouldn’t ever stop.

  But then the elevator makes a sound and the doors open … and he pulls away from me just like that. Like he wasn’t ever touching me in the first place. As if I made it all up, he clears his throat and walks out.

  While I stand there, completely zoned out, he glances over his shoulder and says, “Coming?”

  Oh, yes. I am.

  Jesus, why can’t I stop this?

  This is like a train wreck waiting to happen, yet I don’t wanna jump off either.

  There is only one door on this level, so I guess it’s his apartment. I know for sure the moment he unlocks it and opens the door to reveal what looks like the perfect sky-high penthouse. My jaw drops slowly as I follow him in, looking at the glass walls at the other end of the house with the most amazing view of the city.

  “Wow,” I mutter. “You live here?”

  “Yep, ha-ha,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. He seems rather uneasy, and I don’t know why. Maybe he doesn’t like showing off his wealth. Because damn … this sure is one expensive penthouse.

  Slick, black walls with a cutout piece so you can see the dining area. Soft leather couches and chairs near a fireplace. A fake fur tapis on the floor and a smooth coffee table on top. The gold clock hanging from one wall and a still life painting hanging on another. Turning my head, I look up and see the second floor, where his bedroom is, along with a beautiful chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

  This is like my dream house. Only, it’s not mine.

  “Damn …” I mutter.

  “You like it?” he asks.

  “Do I like it?” I snort. “This is amazing.”

  “Thanks,” he says, smiling. “I didn’t actually do the interior myself, but I do like it a lot too.”

  “So you got an interior designer too?” I shake my head. “Like it’s no big deal.”

  “It was my pop’s idea,” he says. But then he frowns and sucks in a breath, slamm
ing his lips shut like he just said something he didn’t wanna say.

  “Anyway, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, nodding. “C’mon, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

  I’m still in complete awe as I follow him around and up the stairs of the penthouse. The bed is right in front of me; Nothing walls it off from the rest of the house, just a bannister. And boy, is it large. More than three people could fit on there and still sleep comfy. I’d almost beg him to let me stay a night. Almost.

  When we get to the bathroom, I still can’t stop looking. A huge rain shower is in one corner, and a tub that could fit two people is in the other.

  “Holy f—” I whisper, my eyes almost bulging out of my skull.

  “Feel free to use anything you’d like to clean up. There are towels and cloths in the cabinet. If you wanna shower, that’s fine too.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” I say, almost feeling ashamed for accepting any of this.

  It’s like checking into a five-star hotel after winning the lotto and finding a chocolate on your pillow with a thank-you note for your stay. I’d feel guilty as fuck. Like I don’t belong there and need to apologize for intruding on their little slice of heaven.

  “Clothes are in the bedroom. You can get there through the bathroom. They’re in the first closet. Second drawer.”

  “You sure I can just walk right in there?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He smiles awkwardly. “Anyway … I’ll go make some coffee downstairs. Two?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Got it.” He winks. “If you need any help, all you need to do is call my name.”

  “I will.” I shut the door and look at myself in the mirror, still holding the tulip. I bring it to my nose and smell it again, the scent bringing back exciting memories. Things I don’t want to forget. Things that make me smile.

  After a few seconds, I set the tulip down on the bathroom counter and throw off my clothes, bunching them up in the corner. Then I thoroughly wipe myself down with a wet cloth and dry myself off.

  When I’m done, I quickly check to see if the bedroom is clear before I hop in. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before … but it just feels weird. He only ever saw me when we were having sex. Or maybe I’m still a little bit in denial about the whole sex thing, and I like to pretend nothing ever happened, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  But I have no time to think about that because I’m still too busy admiring the lavish bed, wondering if I could take a quick nap without him noticing. But I don’t wanna overstep and have him catch me floundering in his bed.

  He mentioned something about a drawer, though, but I can’t remember which one, so I go to the closet and pull open the first one. It’s obviously not the right one because it’s filled to the brim with boxer shorts, ties, and socks. The second drawer it is then. Shirts and shorts. Got it. I pick one out that fits me the best, even though it’s still way too large. Guess I’ll go out looking like a dude today. Who knows, maybe it’ll become a new trend.

  As I put it on, my eyes keep traveling up and down the closet, and I’m so damn tempted to go through his stuff. I know it’s wrong, but who doesn’t like knowing what’s inside someone’s drawers? Everyone wants to do it, and everybody lies about it. But we’re too curious to say no to ourselves.

  Guilty as charged.

  I glance behind me to make sure he isn’t there before I open the third drawer and find all his suits and pants. Very slick. And then the drawer below that … I’m guessing gels or shoes?

  However, when I open it, I almost choke on my own breath.

  Panties.

  A whole … drawer … full.

  Of women’s panties.

  I hold them up. One by one. The craziest colors and designs. None of them look remotely wearable. How the fuck did he get all these? Does he steal them? Is this like some kind of prize he keeps from each of his conquests?

  It all sounds so revolting.

  And I honestly thought it couldn’t get any worse … until I find one of my own panties right in the middle.

  I pluck it out, staring at the pink see-through panties that have definitely been on my ass.

  For a second, I try to remember if he stole them from my apartment that night we had sex.

  Except … these weren’t the ones I was wearing then, and I can see them lying there in the corner of the drawer.

  So this pink one must be …

  Everything begins to click.

  No wonder the building’s address felt so familiar. TJ Morrows bought my panties.

  Chapter 19

  TJ

  “TJ Morrows!”

  She isn’t just calling out for me.

  Her voice is like spit fire from a dragon, burning my house down.

  I drop everything and rush up the stairs to find her throwing panties out of a drawer I didn’t think she’d be looking through because I never said she could.

  When she rises to her feet, holding a specific pair of pink see-through panties, I freeze.

  Oh, boy.

  “Exactly why do you have my panties in your drawers?”

  She asks the question, but I’m much, much more focused on the fact that she’s still looking at them. Her voice is filled with an underlying hate, yet it’s so calm it sends chills down my spine.

  “I can explain everything …” I say softly, trying to ease the situation before it gets out of hand. “If you let me—”

  “Explain this.” She holds them up by one finger, still not looking at me.

  “I …” I frown, my voice lowering as I realize it’s no use to deny it. “You know exactly how I got those.”

  “You didn’t get them the night we slept together,” she says.

  “No,” I reply.

  “You got them off the internet.”

  I swallow away the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

  Again, it’s quiet for some time. Murderously quiet. And it freaks me the fuck out.

  “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve told you that—”

  “I don’t wanna hear it,” she interrupts. “Just answer my questions.”

  “All right …” I sigh.

  “You bought these from me. You’re pantysniffer3000?”

  God, I knew I should’ve picked a better name. It sounds so wrong when she says it out loud. “Yes.”

  Every time I admit something, it feels like I’m gutting myself, but a weight lifts off my shoulders too. It’s a strange combination that I’m not sure works well.

  “And all these other panties?”

  “I bought them too. I don’t steal.” As if saying I’m not a criminal makes it any better. Fuck, I’m so stupid sometimes.

  She spins on her heels, clutching her panties. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you don’t get to say that.”

  “But I am,” I say. “I never wanted you to find out like this.”

  “Yeah, well, you did a great job of hiding it.” The look of disgust on her face makes me so mad that I lash out.

  “I didn’t expect you to go through my drawers like some raccoon looking for kitty kibbles,” I growl. “Who does that anyway?”

  “Did you just compare me to a raccoon?” She folds her arms, still holding those pink panties I love so much. “And everyone would. You went through my kitchen cabinets too.”

  “So?” I gasp. “That’s different.”

  “No, it’s not,” she retorts.

  “Yes, it is. Closets are sacred. There’s an unwritten rule that no one opens them unless told specifically which drawer.”

  “According to whose rules?” She narrows her eyes. “Yours?”

  My lips part, but I don’t know what to say. Instead, I just frown and blow out some air. “Look, I said I was sorry.”

  “And I should just accept that?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because everything gets solved by saying sorry? Fuck no.” She scowls at me. “You’
re despicable.”

  “Thanks,” I say, closing my eyes. “I needed that.”

  “No, don’t play the victim here.” She points at me, rubbing it in. “You don’t get to do that. You stole my panties.”

  “What? I paid for them fair and square.”

  “Semantics,” she says.

  “That’s what I always say.”

  “So? You don’t own the word.”

  “No, but I do own those.” I point at the panties. “Just like I own the others.”

  “How many girls, TJ?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track.”

  “So you’ve been doing this for a while, huh?” She picks up some of the panties in the drawer and holds them out. “Collecting panties from girls so you can get off?” she sneers.

  “I was going to tell you …”

  “When?” Her voice is so high I swear it could break glass.

  “Soon. Once you’d … softened up to me.”

  “Softened up? Really?” She grimaces. “I’m not your fucking couch, TJ.”

  She throws all the panties at me, and I take it like a man. But fuck, this is humiliating. Still, I ignore the panties scattered all around me and focus on her.

  “That came out wrong. Look, I was going to tell you, I swear. I just needed to know you were okay with it all before I—”

  “No. I see why you were sleeping with me now.” She grabs the other panties that I took from her on the night we first slept together and holds them up along with the pink ones. “This is what you’re doing it for? Sexing me up, so you can get my panties and pretend you don’t have them?”

  I don’t know how to respond, so I shrug. “I can’t lie to you, Lesley.”

  “You were doing it pretty fine all this time!” she yells, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “And I’m sorry for that …” I hold out my arms. “Please, don’t be mad.”

  “Why? Are you afraid?” She grinds her teeth. “Think I’m going to tell someone?”

  “Please don’t,” I beg.

  “Tsk … like you’re in the position to ask me for anything right now.”

  “I’m not, but I’m begging you. Please don’t tell anyone,” I plead with her. I hope she’ll see me because this is not a lie. This is the god’s honest truth. I am terrified. So damn terrified…