Bad Boss

by Brooke Page

  I liked it too much for my own good.

  It didn’t distract me enough from what would be behind those elevator doors.

  “Ready?” He asked when the elevator dinged from reaching the top floor.

  “Nope,” I choked, fidgeting beside him.

  He winked, then faced the doorway.

  My heart raced, preparing for what would lie on the other side. I’d convinced myself a naked man would greet us.

  Finally, the doors slid open, and a mix of laughter, loud voices, and rustling of people filled my ears. Opening my eyes, I was baffled by what I saw.

  Craft nudged me with his elbow. His smile was mischievous, knowing I’d imagined something completely different than what was really happening. “Welcome to Fantasy Night.”

  Cody greeted us. “Did you take the scenic route?” He teased, slapping Craft on the back when he stepped off the elevator.

  He let go of my hand to shake Cody’s. I crossed my arms, taking in the twenty some men of all different ages inside the apartment with tall ceilings and only primer paint on the walls. Some sat at a table with papers and booklets, while others were on couches. Some were standing by a keg in the half constructed kitchen. White boards with grids and numbers covered one wall.

  Suddenly, the noise stopped, and everyone was staring at me.

  “Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding,” the guy serving beer said, overflowing the red cup in his hand. The man waiting for the beer jumped when it overflowed onto his shoes.

  “Damn it, Sean, watch what you’re doing! Act like you’ve never seen a woman before!”

  “He hasn’t,” a voice sang from the coach on the other side of the room. Laughter erupted, and the man pouring beer scowled.

  “Haven’t seen you with a woman lately Scooter,” he shouted back, shoving the beer into the chest of the man waiting.

  “That’s because I don’t want to waste my time or money on one,” he looked at me with a cheeky grin, “No offense, sweetie.”

  “None taken.”

  “Ignore him. He suffers from being turned down repeatedly,” Cody said. “I’m glad you’re here so we can finally get started.”

  “Yeah, asshole, what the fuck took you so long?” The man who was pouring beer into another cup asked.

  “I had some business I needed to attend to,” Craft responded. “You knew it was going to be late.”

  “You’re going down in the pick list.”

  “I’ll remember that come game season,” Craft said, pointing his finger in the man's direction. The cocky smile he was supporting earlier faltered.

  “You know I’m good for trades!”

  Craft set his hand on my lower back, leading me into the unfinished space. It was clearly going through a remodel, along with the rest of the building. The architecture with different angles in the ceilings and archways were beautiful. The flooring was a light bamboo, and I wanted it for my tiny space.

  “Not what you expected?” He asked once the men started to chatter amongst themselves. We walked through an archway into a massive room with only a mattress and plastic on the floor. The trim was taped off, indicating a paint job was in the near future.

  “No, not at all,” I confessed, holding my arms for warmth. The entry way to the wide open living room, dining room, and kitchen was warm from all of the bodies. This room was freezing.

  Craft stepped closer to me. “Fantasy Night is for our fantasy baseball league.”

  I clenched my jaw in confusion.

  Craft laughed. “We get together and choose players from the entire league to make our own teams, then follow the stats throughout the season. Winner takes home a big chunk of change, and gets to go with me to the playoff game of their choice.”

  I let out a huge breath of relief. “Sounds like fun.”

  Crafts brows knitted together. “What did you think it was?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, embarrassed to tell him what I really thought.

  “Ms. Neely,” he said with his deep sexy voice. “I asked you a question, I expect you to answer.”

  My tongue caught in my throat. He was being authoritative, and normally it pissed me off when he was demanding. This time was different though, it turned me on. It was his dominant voice, one he had used on me only a few times. Each time ending in earth shattering orgasms.

  His hand found my hip. “Fantasy- the forming of mental images, especially wondrous or strange fancies; imaginative conceptualizing,” his other hand found my cheek. “What were you imagining when I said fantasy?”

  I took a sharp inhale, basking in the way his hand felt meshed with my skin. I’d shifted from cold to hot in the matter of seconds.

  “Mack, we’re going to start round one!” Cody shouted from the other room. There were murmurs followed my laughter. No doubt they thought we were creating some of our own fantasies.

  “We’ll continue this conversation later,” he promised, removing his fingers from my face and grabbing my hand.

  A few of the men clapped when we re-entered the big space. Craft, waved to them, then lead me to an open chair in the living room area. Scooter and the few other men on either side of him had their noses in a magazine, while another was sitting on the ground with a pad of paper, scribbling names onto their papers.

  Craft came back with his own magazine and a drink. He handed me the cup, then sat down on the floor, leaning into the sofa chair.

  My eyes nearly bugged out. I’d never seen him sit on the floor, or would I expect him to give up a seat for me. He did it without hesitation.

  “Alright assholes, since Mack has graced us with his presence, it's time for the annual baseball fantasy selection to begin!” Cody announced. Clapping and a few hollers followed, and Cody began to ramble off rules, holding a dry erase marker to the board.

  I giggled to myself, realizing how foolish my brain was in thinking I was going to walk into a gay orgy.

  Craft held the booklet up to me, opened to a page that was titled pitchers. It was filled with stats, numbers, and names I didn’t know. “Pick one,” he said smoothly.

  “What? Why?”

  “Just pick one. It’s my turn next.”

  I was baffled. “No! I have no idea who’s good and who’s not. You’ll lose if I pick for you!”

  Scooter laughed from the couch. “He loses every year.”

  My brows furrowed. The word lose wasn’t in Craft’s vocabulary.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “See. Maybe I need a change of tactic. I always look at the numbers when I should go with my gut. Pick a player.”

  I bit my lip and took the magazine. “Are there photos?” Craft frowned, and I shrugged my shoulders. “Just asking.”

  “Hah! She wanted to pick based on their jersey color!” Scooter joked.

  The few men laughed, and my blood began to boil. “Actually, I wanted to check the bulge size in their pants.”

  The men stopped laughing. They weren’t expecting that. Craft squeezed my ankle and shot me a glare.

  I raised a brow, daring him to say something. His glare turned into a smirk.

  “Mack Daddy, it’s your turn big guy,” Cody informed.

  Craft nodded for me to choose.

  “Um… him,” I squeaked, pointing to a name on the long list. Craft looked at the name, then glanced back at me. “You sure?”

  “I’ve got a good feeling about him.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll take Stellenos.”

  The room roared with laughter. “Wow, you really do want to lose!” Scooter chuckled.

  My face flushed. “You really shouldn’t let me do this.”

  Craft ran his hand up my calf. “Don’t worry, he just needs someone to have a little faith in him.”

  “More like he needs a miracle. All Sports Center has talked about is how he’s ten pitches away from throwing his arm out,” Sean yelled from the keg.

  Cody glared at Sean. “Wasn’t your first pick Jakowaski last year? You
know, the guy who busted his ankle in spring training?”

  Sean’s smirk fell flat. “Happened after Fantasy Night.”

  “Whatever,” Cody waved him off, then moved to the next person.

  “How many players do you pick?” I asked with a yawn. It was almost one in the morning. Pair drinking my fair share of alcohol and my typical ten o’clock bedtime, I was ready to cash out.

  “Eighteen.”

  My eyes widened. “Really? There’s over twenty people here. That will take all night.”

  “Why do you think I showed you where the bedroom was? If you’re tired, go ahead and lay down.”

  My nerves went on high alert when I searched the room. Men were everywhere. What would happen if they kept drinking and they got frisky? I wasn’t into gangbangs, and I sure as shit didn’t trust anyone besides Craft.

  “Hey, get rid of the scared kitten face. I’ve got you.” His voice was assertive, yet the gentle caress of his hand counteracted his asshole tone.

  I sucked in a big cleansing breath. “I know. Maybe I’ll make some coffee. I don’t want to miss out on ‘Fantasy Night’” I smirked, waving my cup.

  He stood and took it from me, then leaned in so his lips brushed my ear. “You still haven’t told me what your fantasy was.”

  A tingle crept across my skin, and I couldn’t hide the grin from spreading across my lips. I grabbed a hold of his shirt. “You didn’t ask me what my fantasy was, you only asked what I thought I was getting into. They’re completely different.”

  He propped a hand on the sofa chair, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he stared at me. “I plan to know both.” I tilted my head to meet his lips, but he stood too quickly, giving me a wink as he backpeddled with my cup.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My first Red Bull was kicking in, and I was on my third pick. Craft gave me a list of first basemen.

  “How many are there?” I asked, flipping through the booklet.

  “A lot,” he teased. “I’d pick one from the third page.”

  I raised a brow. “You have a name in mind?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever one you think is best.”

  I sighed, flipping through the magazine. This guy had high numbers. “How about, Derek Outerman?”

  Cody bobbed his head to the side. “Not a bad choice.”

  I gave him a wide smile.

  Craft stood up from the floor and held his hand out to me once Cody went on to the next pick. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

  I looked around the room and all of the men had their noses in their booklets of players. Taking his hand, he pulled me from the seat and back toward the bedroom.

  I resisted when we reached the archway. “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”

  His brows pinched together, then he searched the ceiling. “I told you I wanted to show you something.”

  I glanced down at his jeans. “I’ve already seen it.”

  He shook his head, biting his lip to hold in his laughter. “Come on, dirty mind. I want to show you why I bought this place.”

  “It’s yours?”

  He nodded, snatching my hand in his and tugging me down the hallway.

  “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

  “Because it’s not completely mine. Cody and I share the profit. He’s re-modeling while I’m managing tenants. We’re both still arguing who gets to keep this place.”

  “Don’t you live in the Pinnacle building? On West Lake Ave?”

  He opened a door off another room that lead to a tiny porch with a spiral stairwell outside. The lively city sounds of alarms and honking cars was below us. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Are you stalking me?”

  I frowned at him. “I order your dry cleaning every Friday.”

  His thumb stroked his chin. “That’s right.”

  I looked down, realizing we were higher up than I thought.

  “What’s wrong, afraid of heights?”

  I shook my head and bypassed him, climbing the narrow stairway with easy. He followed me.

  “Stop staring at my ass,” I warned playfully.

  “Is that why you went in front of me? To accuse me of looking?”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Maybe I wanted you to.”

  His lip quirked upward. He was so damn handsome when he smiled at me like that. I had to turn back around and run up the stairs. I couldn’t let his smile affect me so easily.

  He was hot on my heels, just barely beating me to the top step.

  I couldn’t stop myself from snickering. I was acting like a teenager wanting to be pursued by the popular boy.

  Apparently at one point the owner used this space. It had been decorated, and in its prime, it was probably beautiful. But like the outside of the house, it was worn and tattered. A marble decorative fountain was in the center, covered in weeds and unkempt trim. The decorative brick on the ground was bumpy and filled with weeds. I didn’t know so much plant life could live on top of a building.

  The horizon of the city skyline was in our view, lights of all kinds keeping the city alive in the still of the night. We could see everything the city had to offer from up here. I’d never been on a rooftop like this. Heights aren’t my thing.

  Craft called me over to the other side of the rooftop. “This is why I bought the property.”

  Following his voice, I passed an overgrown grouping of planters and came to him. Both his hands were on a railing, looking out to the horizon.

  I stood next to him, careful to keep my distance from the edge. I didn’t trust the rickety railing that once was black but was now half rusted.

  “I’ve got the perfect view.”

  My gaze followed his. “The baseball field?”

  A smile formed on his face. “Yes. I love the A’s. I have season tickets.”

  “If you have season tickets, then why bother buying a place where you can see the games?”

  His eyes fell to the ground, his jaw tensing. The energy in the air thickened between us while he stood there, processing my question. Whatever reason it was, it wasn’t because he hadn’t thought of it. There was more to why he bought this place.

  He dropped his hands from the railing, one finding his pocket and the other rubbed the back of his neck.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” The sight of Craft being vulnerable should have brought me joy, but it made me want to comfort him.

  He met my gaze. “I watched the games with my dad from this rooftop.”

  “So, you lived here when you were younger?”

  He grimaced. “Not exactly. We lived on the other side of town. An older couple lived here.”

  “How did you watch the games then?”

  His eyes lit up. “They went to bed at seven, so we’d sneak up here by the fire escape.”

  I matched his smile. “That’s very bold of you, Mr. Craft.”

  His charming grin turned devious. Taking one long stride toward me, murmured, “You of all people know I like to take risks.”

  My heart pounded faster with his proximity. The last time he looked at me like this, he had my panties pulled to the side.

  My hand found his pec, flexing against the hard muscle. “You only take risks if it’ll make you money.”

  He smirked. “Why yes, that is correct, Ms. Neely.”

  Both his hands found my jaw, tilting my face so he could go in for the kill. I didn’t fight his advancements. I’d already had sex with him, what other shenanigans could we get into? I’d deal with my guilty conscious Sunday night, and probably for the rest of my time at Craft Marketing. For now, I was going to give into my desire. Especially when he wasn’t being an asshole.

  I gripped his hair, tugging on it, turning his head so I could dive my tongue into his mouth. He groaned, letting go of my jaw and wrapping both his arms around my waist.

  “You like to pull hair, don’t you?” He breathed, nipping at my bottom lip.

  I licked the seam of his mouth, grabb
ing another handful. “Maybe.”

  He kissed me harder, his own hand fisting my hair. My lips popped, turning into a moan from the yank of his hand.

  His teeth sparkled. “You like it, too.” Finding my jaw with his mouth, he planted hot, opened mouth kisses down my neck, pulling my tank top strap to the side so he could travel across my bare shoulder. The trail of wet tingled along my skin, the cool night air intensifying the sensitivity.

  Slyly, his hand crept underneath my tank top from the front, lifting it so my waist was exposed. He stopped at the edge of my bra, his thumb brushing above the under wire. My core tingled, eager for his hand to wander higher.

  Removing his mouth from my skin, he straightened, caressing the side of my neck with his other hand. My eyes were closed, anticipating his next move. When I opened them, he was staring down at me, his jaw tense.

  I dropped my hands from the back of his head. “What’s wrong?”

  He searched my face, then shook his head, his mouth finding mine again.

  This time, it wasn’t tender. It was passionate, as if he was starved for me. I stumbled backward from the intensity, but he snatched me back to him with his arm, squeezing me to his chest as he kissed me with reckless abandonment.

  He walked backward, tugging me with him, our mouths still sealed together. He backed into a bench, sitting down and forcing my legs on either side of his lap, straddling him. His cock was strained by his pants, teasing my center now, and I ground my hips downward, loving the friction.

  “Take your tank top off,” he demanded, grasping the hem and pulling it up to my armpits.

  I trembled while he maneuvered it over the top of my head, leaving me in only my jeans, shoes, and bra.

  His tongue traced the outline of my cleavage, both his hands kneading each breast. It felt amazing. How did this man know just the right amount of pressure to apply to my body? His hands were like magic, bringing my entire body to life with the perfect touch.

  “Show me your tits,” he said through heavy breaths. His pupils were dark. He was morphing into the alpha, the man who sat behind the most powerful desk in the marketing world. The vulnerable man talking about his father was no longer here.