Best of Penny Wylder: Boss Romance

by Wylder, Penny

He laughs. And then he sweeps one arm under my legs and scoops me up into his arms. Thank fuck, because I’m not sure if I could have stood or walked quite yet. My legs feel like jelly, wobbly beneath me. But he carries me like I weigh nothing at all, straight into the only closed off room in this enormous apartment.

  His bedroom.

  He kicks the door open with one foot, and I catch a glimpse of a big king size bed, immaculately made sheets, and more minimalist decor. Then he sweeps me into the bathroom and deposits me at the edge of the big walk in shower, with the rain shower head and all. He flicks on the water, and it comes straight out warm and all encompassing.

  Then he pulls me under it, while I’m laughing, and bends down to kiss me again, hot water coursing over both our naked bodies.

  We wind up staying up all damn night. And I have no regrets.

  3

  Cassidy

  At least, not until the next morning.

  I wake up to the sound of an alarm clock going off, and I groan at the bright assault of sunlight pouring through the enormous windows. For a moment, I’m disoriented, confused. My tiny little apartment on a dingy block in the ass end of nowhere doesn’t get this much sunlight in the living room, let alone my closet of a bedroom. My single narrow window faces a dirty fire escape, shaded overhead by my upstairs neighbor’s huge illegal balcony.

  Then the previous night flashes through my mind, and I understand all the various aches and pains I’m feeling. Especially my pussy, throbbing and deliciously sore. And still naked.

  I sit up, startled to realize I fell asleep nude. Normally I never do that. I never feel comfortable enough to. In the moment is one thing, but letting guys see me in broad daylight the next day is another.

  When I roll over, though, Lark’s shutting off his alarm clock, also completely naked, and I have to say, it’s worth risking him seeing me like this, as long as I get to stare at him in return.

  His eyes slide over me, devouring me hungrily, and I flush, a full-body blush that travels all the way from my cheeks to my toes. “What?” I ask, and he reaches across the sheets to drag me toward him.

  “Just remembering how much I already want you, all over again,” he says. But just as our lips are about to meet—and just as I notice the bulge standing straight up in the sheets between us already, his cock hard and ready for me all over again—there’s another sharp buzzing sound.

  I jump, startled, expecting it to be the alarm again. But Lark rolls away from me, cursing, and it goes off again, and I realize that must be the door buzzer.

  I squint at the alarm clock. 10am. Shit. My meeting isn’t until the afternoon, but I’d counted on having a little bit more time in the morning to fully prep myself.

  With a groan, I sit up and start to fish around under the bed, before I remember that all of my clothes are in the living room. Lark left the door behind him open a crack, so I edge around the bed and pull it open, padding outside to grab my dress first, from where it’s lying near the kitchen counter.

  That’s when I hear the voice over the intercom. A woman’s voice.

  “We agreed we’d talk it over first, hon,” she’s saying, and my stomach sinks all the way down through the floorboards.

  Hon.

  Oh no. Oh fuck no.

  Lark has his back to the bedroom, so he hasn’t noticed me yet, standing stark naked in the middle of his apartment. He sighs and presses the button to respond. “Now’s really not a good time. I’ll meet you at the house, all right?”

  The house? As in, their house? My heart beats so loud it’s like thunder in my eardrums. I yank my dress over my head, then snatch up the bra and panties from the floor, my head spinning too badly to concentrate and actually put them on. All I want to do is get the hell out of here.

  I duck into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, heart hammering. In the living room, I can hear Lark’s conversation continue for a few more sentences, muffled through the door. I don’t listen. I can’t. I’m too busy smacking the back of my head against the door in frustration.

  I’m such an idiot. I should have known that a guy like him wouldn’t be who he said he was. But I’ve got to admit, I didn’t think he’d be a full-blown cheater. Maybe just a stupidly hot, impossibly sexy guy on the rebound, but this?

  I wait until the voices outside have died down, and then I speed out of the bathroom, grabbing my purse and stuffing the rest of my clothes into it as I beeline for the elevator.

  “Oh, Cassidy. Morning,” Lark says, from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

  I don’t look at him. I can’t. If I actually meet his eyes—those sensitive, soulful eyes that I fell so hard for last night—I will lose my shit. Either start to scream or curse him out or just cry. Either way, regardless, I’m not giving him the pleasure.

  “I was going to make breakfast,” he’s saying, but I’m already slamming on the button to call the elevator.

  “Sorry,” I say, my voice tight. “I’ve got to run. Overslept.”

  “Oh… okay.” I can hear the disappointment in Lark’s voice even with my back turned. He pads across the carpet, heading toward me. “Well, can I get your number, at least? I’d love to see you again.”

  “I…” Shit. He’s really going to make me do this, he’s going to make me call him out right now. Just then, the elevator reaches our floor and dings open, sparing me. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” I step inside and hit the first floor button as fast as I can.

  I don’t know what I expect. For him to leap in after and stop me? But when I finally turn around, he’s just standing a couple paces from the elevator doors, watching me with a sad, confused look on his face.

  “Cassidy,” he says. Or he tries to, anyway. The doors shut after half of my name, and then I’m sinking down, down, back into the real world.

  * * *

  I spend the rest of the morning forgetting last night. You let your guard down and made a mistake, I tell myself. It happens. But I fixed it. And now I never have to see that cheating asshole again.

  That cheating asshole, who knew exactly where and how to touch you in ways no man has ever touched you before. Who knew just how to make you scream and lose all control…

  Fuck.

  A long, freezing cold shower later, though, followed by a coffee with a double shot of espresso, and I’m finally ready to face the real world once more. And especially ready to nail my presentation with the investors.

  This is it. My big shot. My chance to finally get to share my makeup with more people than just my friends, family members, and the friends-of-friends who have become loyal customers. I started my business out of my own garage with little more than the savings I scraped together from my old job waiting tables. It’s time to take it to the next level.

  Worst comes to worst, I remind myself, you can always fall back on waitressing.

  But going back to the service industry is, quite frankly, the last thing in the world I want to do. I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of building my own company, something in the fashion industry I’ve always loved. When I discovered I had a knack for chemistry, and combined that with making unique color palettes of eyeshadows and lipsticks, all using eco-friendly ingredients that wouldn’t bother sensitive skin like mine, I finally felt like I was doing the right thing. Like I’d found my path, the one I’m meant to walk.

  But, like any startup, money is standing in my way. More specifically, my complete lack of it.

  Which is why I need to bring my A-game to this meeting.

  I’ve dressed to the nines, in the suit I saved up to buy before I finally gave notice at my waitressing gig. I knew I’d need it for occasions like this, and I’ve kept it pressed and ready. Before I head out, I don my best powerhouse red lipstick, paired with a light, natural eye shade. My nails, thankfully, are still looking good, but I still give myself about five once-overs en route to the fancy high rise office building downtown where I’ll be meeting with the potential investors.

&n
bsp; The one thing about trying to sell a makeup brand is that you really need to look like perfection yourself, as the first ambassador for your brand.

  At the office building, a secretary greets me by name and leads me to a board room. “The partners will be right with you,” she assures me as she leaves.

  My phone pings when the doors shut behind her, and I risk a peek at it. Becky.

  So last night was a success??? She adds about a million winking and kissing faces afterward. I steal a quick look at what I texted her and stifle a smile. I must have sent it from the bathroom of the bar where we wound up after the incident.

  Won’t be making it home tonight, I told her, but in a good way.

  My stomach tenses, reading that now. I remember how excited I felt when I messaged Becky. Like Lark might actually be someone I could see for a while. Not relationship material exactly, but… he interested me. Intrigued me. I can’t even remember the last time a guy did that.

  Even with Norman… I fell for him, after a while. But there wasn’t immediate chemistry right off the bat. I had to work to make myself fall for him—which I was happy to do, because he was everything I knew I should want. He was reliable, dependable, hardworking and trustworthy. The whole real deal.

  Or so I thought. Until he cheated on me.

  Just like that asshole Lark cheated on his wife, I remind myself, thinking of the woman pressing his door buzzer, calling him hon. My stomach churns now, and I imagine what will follow for her. Unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with the process.

  He’ll lie and say it was nothing; she’ll believe him for a while, until she finds a bra somewhere it doesn’t belong, or an earring in the bed. A million tiny things he can’t explain, until finally she’s forced to face the truth. She’s with a liar who’s been taking advantage of her naivety. Using her, and preparing to cast her aside the second he’s finished.

  Unexpected tears sting at the backs of my eyes. Not tears over Norman. I already cried out my heart over him—and just as quickly realized he wasn’t worth any more pain. My only regret was that I wasted as much time with him as I did.

  But these… these are new. These are because I thought I’d finally started to connect again, only to be completely fooled by a total and complete ass, an ass who—

  “Ms. Marks?” The secretary is back, easing the door open to stick her head through. “The partners are here.”

  I stand, smoothing my pencil skirt, adjusting the hem of my blazer. Then I smile, smooth and easy, the way I’ve practiced in my bathroom mirror a thousand times. “Thank you,” I tell her.

  She ducks away, and another woman appears in the entryway, striding toward me with a confident, easy grin, and one hand extended.

  “You must be Ms. Marks,” she’s saying. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sheryl, the lead investor at Anderson.”

  But I can’t respond. I can’t even look at her, because I’m too busy gawking at who just followed her through the door, trailing along on her heels with bags under his eyes, his hair slightly mussed like a hungover puppy dog.

  Lark. Shit.

  His eyes go wide when they meet mine. But he recovers at lot faster than I do. “Cassidy.” He sticks out a hand too. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  I pointedly ignore his hand and shake Sheryl’s hand instead. My smile has gone all tight and forced around the edges. “So nice to meet you, too,” I tell her, trying to kick my brain back into focusing on the task at hand.

  Lark doesn’t matter. He’s irrelevant. Sheryl’s the lead here.

  As for her, she’s glancing from me to Lark and back, her head tilting in polite curiosity. “Oh, do you two know each other?” Sheryl draws out a chair and sits smoothly down. The more she talks, the more it’s dawning on me that I’ve heard her voice before.

  This very morning, in fact. Over the intercom at Lark’s apartment. I mirror her, taking a seat, and pausing only to flick a glare in Lark’s direction. “Hardly.”

  “We met last night when her car broke down,” Lark replies, which makes me want to kick him under the table for all sorts of reasons. “She needed help with a flat tire.”

  Sheryl fires me a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry you got stuck with him, then. Lark’s useless at playing handyman.”

  I laugh aloud, and Lark’s expression sours ever so slightly. “I noticed, believe me. Luckily, I know how to change a tire myself.” We both grin at him then, and Lark’s eyes linger on mine, a torrent of emotion visible in them.

  I don’t care. He’s the one who put me in this situation. Hooking up with me right under the nose of… well.

  I glance between his and Sheryl’s hands, both folded neatly on the tabletop. Neither of them is wearing wedding rings, at least. So maybe he’s not as huge of an asshole as I thought. But there’s clearly still chemistry there, something in the way Sheryl’s constantly glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, mirroring his posture, his motions.

  Whatever this is, it’s messy enough without my getting involved. And I’ve had enough of messy to last me an entire lifetime, thank you very much.

  “So, Cassidy. Why don’t we talk products,” Sheryl asks, and I bend down to reach for my briefcase, grateful for the excuse to think about something, anything, other than Lark’s eyes staring into mine. Or the way his tongue felt last night, lapping its way up my inner thigh, his fingers lingering at my pussy, parting my lower lips, stroking and stroking until I—

  “Yes, let’s.” I place my briefcase on the table and pop it open. “I brought some samples of my most popular collections, although everything you see here comes in at least three other color palettes. Now, these are some of my favorites…”

  I walk them through everything, one item at a time. My only saving grace is the fact that I’ve rehearsed this speech at least a hundred times before. To myself, to my friends, to my bathroom mirror. I’ve practiced so often, I’ve had dreams of giving this presentation.

  So I make it through, despite the fact that every time I so much as glance at Lark, he’s still watching me so overtly, not seeming to notice or care that Sheryl’s noticing his stares, too. More than once, under the table, his leg brushes against mine, in a way that’s far too slow and lingering to be accidental.

  But I force myself to remain steady, to not react. Like I said, I’ve had enough of messy, and this has mess written all over it.

  But my tension only seems to amuse him. At one point, when I ask if they have any questions, Lark leans over to pick up one of the lipsticks, his hand brushing mine ever so slightly on the way past. “As the male investor in the room,” he starts, his gaze jumping from Sheryl to me, “I did have one question.” Those eyes pull me in. Call to me to sink into them. “What does it taste like?” He grins, and Sheryl elbows him discretely.

  My face flushes. But I hold his gaze and raise my jaw. “To be honest,” I reply, “I didn’t give that much consideration. I make my products for the women who use them; not the men who consume them.”

  Sheryl laughs out loud at that, and the two of us exchange faint smiles.

  “Well, we’ll have to put the paperwork together,” she says, shuffling through some sample contracts we’d pored over, “but I think it’s safe to let you know this, at least.” She extends a hand. “We’ll be investing. A significant amount.”

  My stomach does a whole ass backflip. I swear I can feel my heart rising up into my throat as I reach across the table to her and grasp her hand again, tightly. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I start, but she waves a hand, cutting me off.

  “Please. We’re happy to do it. At Anderson Investments, we prefer to invest in quality products. Products that we really think will do well in the market. Between our marketing know-how and your vision for your brand, I think we have a real hit on our hands.” Her eyes sparkle with genuine excitement.

  “Congratulations,” Lark adds, reaching past her to offer me a hand as well.

  I take it, reluctantly, and almost immediately have to s
tifle a gasp. His touch sends shockwaves through me, like static electricity, but deadlier. One touch, and it’s like we’re right back in his bed last night, with him grasping my hands, raising them over my head to pin me down while he stretched along me, his hard, firm body digging into my soft curves, his cock hard as a rock, slipping up between my thighs…

  I clear my throat and let go of his hand as if it’s too hot to touch. In a way, it is. “Thank you,” I reply, not quite meeting his gaze.

  “As I said, we’ll be in touch,” Sheryl calls. Then she beckons Lark with a fingertip, turning to head from the room.

  He follows her, although not before he glances over his shoulder at me. Just before he leaves, he tosses something onto the table. “My card,” he says. His eyes flash with meaning. He knows I left this morning without giving him my number, or taking his in return. “In case there’s any more business you want to discuss.”

  Then he’s gone, closing the office door behind him and Sheryl.

  I slump back into my seat, all the wind going out of me.

  This is what you wanted, I remind myself. What I worked so hard, for so long, to achieve. But now that I’m finally right on the brink of getting the investment I need, what happens?

  I wind up embroiling myself in just the kind of personal drama I want so much to avoid.

  Shit. For a long moment, I sit there, staring at the business card on the table. Part of me wonders if I should walk away. If I could. But I know the money’s too good, the chance too perfect, for me to do something that insane.

  So, after a long, pause, I reach across the table and pick up Lark’s card.

  4

  Cassidy

  I’m halfway out of the building, only barely recovered from the meeting, my head still swimming with possibilities, when the sound of my name stops me halfway down the street.

  “Cassidy.”

  Of course, Lark is still here. He must have waited for me—there’s no sign of Sheryl in sight, but I can’t help checking for her. Can’t help wondering how she must be feeling about all of this.