The Boss #2 (The Boss #2)

by Claire Adams

  “He’s dating your friend. I hardly have anything to worry about there.”

  “And you hardly have anything to worry about here either. You heard the whole conversation!”

  “I saw how he was looking at you. I know that look… it’s the same one I give you all the time.” I tried to keep my voice from sounding betrayed and pathetic, but I suspected I wasn’t doing a superb job of it.

  “Rick is the very last guy on Earth I would ever get involved with, I promise you.”

  That name sounded familiar. After our first night she had said something about a Dick… I was half passed out from cumming, but I had heard her say something about something about a guy named Dick… Rick. And then it hit me.

  Holding on very tightly to my stress ball, I said, “Your ex.”

  “Yes, my ex,” she snapped. “Ex. Meaning in the past. I don’t know if you were paying attention, but that guy hurt me quite a lot. He cheated on me on our anniversary and it took me forever to get over it. I spent the majority of the year hating him.”

  “Oh really? How often do you go out for coffee with someone you hate,” I challenged, my fingernails digging through the palm of my hands. The pain was oddly soothing.

  “Not very often. But you know what? Before you came along, I would never ever have agreed to be friends with him. Because in some part of me, I still cared. Now I don’t. Because I care about you. And I have no reason to hate him. He almost did me a favor. In some ways, I am grateful… if he hadn’t cheated on me, you and I would have never…”

  She stopped, perhaps realizing that she had said more than she intended.

  “You can’t talk to him anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are not allowed to go anywhere near that guy.”

  She flared her nostrils. “You can’t tell me who I can or cannot talk to. You think you own me?”

  “Actually I kind of do,” I spat. “In this regard anyway. It’s in the contract. Section 9. You’re not allowed to engage in any sort of relationship – platonic or otherwise – with a man I disapprove of. And I assure you, I disapprove of this guy.”

  She opened her mouth in anger and closed it again. Tears were now freely streaming down her face, her mascara running down her cheeks. I didn’t want her to cry. But more importantly, I didn’t want her talking to that guy.

  She looked like she wanted to say something a few times but changed her mind. After standing there in silence for a few minutes, she stormed out of the office.

  People had definitely witnessed the production, and I worried about being insulted by my own employees. I did not need this kind of attention. Why did I care who she spoke to anyway? She was just some girl I had contracted to win a challenge in my own head, yet this whole ordeal made me feel extremely vulnerable. So much so that I had ended up creating a scene at work; something that had never, ever happened, in my entire career.

  Aria Roberts was turning out to be more trouble than I needed in my life. Yet I knew just then that I would not be able to rest peacefully until I knew for sure that no one else shared her attention. She was to be – for whatever duration she had signed up for – completely and utterly mine.

  I didn’t care how that made me seem. I wanted what I wanted, and I always got what I wanted. If she didn’t stop talking to him, I’d have him shipped off the state in no time. Money talks.

  She would then hate me if she found out. I felt an uncomfortable knot in my chest. I didn’t want her to hate me. I would have to find a better tactic. What happened today could not be repeated. If I wanted to enjoy the remainder of these few months, it was in my best interest to learn to keep my emotions in check.

  The trouble was, I had never before had trouble keeping my emotions in check, and I really did not know how.

  Chapter 7

  Aria

  “Not now Stace!” I yelled from my room after Stacey’s fourteenth attempt to knock on my door.

  “I come bearing cookies. With huge chocolate chunks. Don’t tell me your mouth isn’t watering smelling all the freshly baked goods.”

  I sighed. She was right; Stacey knew me too well. The aroma of the cookies baking had definitely attracted my attention, but if I knew one thing about myself, it was to not allow binging on sugar while I was upset. It usually started with one cookie or just a spoonful of ice-cream, and next thing I knew I would be laying amidst a mountain of wrappers and empty tubs of ice-cream. I was such a freaking stereotype sometimes. Since I literally had no time for the gym in my schedule between work and classes, this always ended up being a horrible idea.

  “Thank you, but I honestly just need to continue stuffing my head in this pillow and ignoring humanity for a little bit longer.”

  “What if I promise not to make you talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you?” Stacey offered patiently. “Though I assume it’s Zayden related. You can talk to me when you’re ready, but don’t take it out on yummy sugary deliciousness.”

  “How delicious?” I couldn’t help but ask. Stacey was a master baker, so it was a stupid question, in any case.

  “Better than Halloween.”

  I gasped and jumped to open the door. Damn it, Stacey.

  “It can’t be better than Halloween. You had peaked. That’s physically impossible,” I said reaching for one giant cookie, while Stacey made herself comfortable in my bed.

  One large bite and I was ready to collapse, all my troubles temporarily evaporating. The cookie seemed to be ninety percent chocolate and just the right amount of crunchy, with buttery sweetness and the tiniest hint of vanilla. I closed my eyes and ate the rest of the cookie in slow bites, savoring every aspect of the immaculate taste and texture. For a moment I completely forgot why I had myself locked in my room for the last few days.

  “Good?” Stacey was grinning at me, all prideful, when I opened my eyes.

  “Horrible,” I said returning her grin. “Absolutely disgusting.”

  I reached out for another one and devoured it. “Seriously, the worse cookies I’ve ever had.”

  Stacey chuckled. “I’m glad you think so too. Now listen, I know you don’t want to talk about whatever is bothering you, and that’s fine. But you’ve been locked in here for days and that’s not healthy. Let’s do something. Outdoors.”

  “Nah, I’m not feeling it,” I said automatically. “You go ahead though. Leave me the plate of horrible cookies, of course.”

  “Aria. Come on. This isn’t good. You haven’t gone to work and you need the money! And you missed your Stats mid-term, didn’t you?”

  No one was supposed to know about that. This was unusual for me: letting personal matters affect my academic performance. But I was in no mood to run into Zayden or Rick or deal with any of that bullshit.

  “I told my professor I had diarrhea. He was all too glad to let me make it up.”

  She raised her eyebrows suspiciously. “Does not sound like the Stats dude, at all.”

  “You want to see the email?”

  I wasn’t lying. Apparently the professor had recently suffered from food poisoning himself, and preferred staying away from anybody with stomach related issues. My make-up test was next week.

  “Fine. What about your other classes?”

  “I have As in everything. They aren’t going to bust me for missing a class or two. I’m the best they have.”

  “How do you manage to stay so modest?”

  “I don’t have to be. It’s true, you know it’s true. And when have I done this before? Don’t I deserve one tiny break?”

  That made Stacey hug me for some reason. “Never. You have never done anything like this before, Aria. Which is what makes me worry so much. You didn’t even miss a single class when Dick cheated on you. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a break! Of course you do. You work harder than anyone I know.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry for being such a recluse. I just have a lot of things to sort through my head. I’ll tell you all about it eventual
ly. Right now I’m just confused and frustrated and just need a little time to think things over. And the cookies helped. A lot. You’re the bestest friend ever.”

  “You know what else will help? A night out. Just you, me and Nick, goofing around. No boy-talk, no moping, no worrying, just an obscene amount of shots.”

  “I lost my fake I.D. remember? Can’t get in.”

  “Don’t worry. What do you think Nick’s off doing right now? We’re on it.”

  “What do you mean you’re on it?” I laughed. “How did you know I would agree to this? I still haven’t!”

  “Please, I knew I’d convince you the second you opened the door. There is a reason I spent all day baking, I know how to get to you.” She winked.

  “You manipulative genius,” I said with a mock-shocked expression. “I’m not coming.”

  She sniggered. “Then why are you walking towards your closet?”

  “Because, closet police, I’d like to change into some nice clothes. It’s good for the morale. And these pajamas are just about ready to disintegrate from overuse.”

  “Do you want to borrow my red strappy sandals? They’ll go well with the dress you’re holding.”

  “Why would I do that?” I asked defensively. “I don’t need to wear nice shoes to hang around the apartment in a pretty dress.”

  ---

  Two hours later we were in The Dive, a small bar a few miles outside the university that Nick had discovered his freshmen year. “It’s a good place to get away from college kids,” he’d said, as though he was a very old man constantly aggravated by the youth.

  My fake I.D. had worked brilliantly, even though it had expired last month. Nick had somehow managed to convince a redheaded senior from his Biometrics class to make me another one for free. I suspected he’d be doing her homework for the rest of the semester, and felt extremely grateful for friends like Nick and Stacey in my life.

  The Dive was, to my great relief, not too packed. A few men in business suits were occupying the bar, but other than that and two tables with giggly couples, it was empty. We sat at the booth to the far right next to the dart board that nobody ever used. A waitress came over to us.

  “Would you guys like anything to drink before you order?”

  “We are here just for drinks, actually,” Nick said politely.

  “Actually, can I just look at the appetizers?” I said to make her feel better, but then realized I actually could eat something. Aside from Stacey’s cookies, I hadn’t really eaten in two days.

  “I’ll grab the special appetizers menu for you ma’am, be right back,” the waitress said and scurried off.

  “So guys,” Stacey began to say, who had thus far been busy fiddling with her phone. She looked up. “Do you want to play Numbers?”

  Nick and I both chuckled.

  “There is hardly anyone here; women seem to be particularly missing so you guys have a clear advantage.”

  Numbers was a game Stacey and I invented our freshman year. We only ever played it between the three of us and the rules were pretty straightforward: try to get as many numbers as possible. The three of us would usually separate into different corners of a bar or a party and talk to random strangers – appearance, status, and sometimes even gender did not factor into it – and try to get their numbers. In order to avoid cheating, the second part of the game happened the next day. Nick, Stacey and I would exchange the numbers we had managed to get and then call each one on the list. Nick would call the men, us the women. Then we would be like, “Is this Sally?” to make sure that it was the right person and we weren’t just making it up. When the person responded “yes”, we’d just make up a fake last name, apologize for calling the wrong number, then put a check mark next to the person. Whoever had the highest count of verified numbers would then be treated to brunch by the other two, and brunch was usually spent laughing about all the tactics and victims involved in the game.

  It was fun, but Nick was right, this wasn’t the ideal venue to play the game. We would need a bigger crowd.

  “Well, it shouldn’t be a problem anymore,” Stacey said, pointing towards the door. A large crowd that appeared to be celebrating a birthday party walked in. There were at least forty men and women who seemed to be in their early twenties, wearing goofy hats. The birthday girl was easily identifiable by her glistening tiara and a pink sachet that said “Happy Birthday, Brianna!”

  “And I’ll make you a deal, Nick,” Stacey said. “Double points for Brianna’s number.”

  I was starting to get excited in spite of myself. This game was always fun and brunch with the roomies the next morning even more so. I could use some harmless flirting with a bunch of guys.

  And then it hit me: I wasn’t allowed to be harmlessly flirting. Not even for the game. Zayden Sinclair and his crazy contract.

  “Guys, I’m sorry to be a party pooper, but I can’t,” I said, frowning at the menu the waitress had brought me.

  “Don’t be silly, Aria, of course you can,” Nick said, eyeing Brianna as though mentally weighing how difficult it would be to get her number.

  “No, I can’t,” I shook my head. “Not in a dramatic, crappy mood kind of a way. Not like I don’t want to. I really, truly, legally can’t.”

  Stacey squinted her eyes. “What do you mean?” When I didn’t respond for a while, she said more sternly, “Aria? What do you mean legally?”

  “Can we please talk about it tomorrow? I just… I am glad to be out here with you guys and want to try and enjoy my evening. I’ll tell you all about it, I promise,” I said, looking at Stacey, then Nick coughed. “You too, Nick. Brunch tomorrow. I’ll tell you everything. For now though, three shots of tequila?”

  “I’ve waited all day to hear those words,” Stacy said, dumping her head onto the table dramatically.

  I ordered some nachos to go with my tequila, and when it arrived, one of the guys from the birthday crowd yelled “woohoo!” and joined us from a distance. It was quite comical since he could barely stand and was trying to take that final shot that would make him pass out. This was obviously not their first party. It sucked that I couldn’t play Numbers; it was bound to be super easy under the circumstances.

  With every passing drink, the reasoning why I couldn’t play the game sounded more and more feeble. So some guy made me sign some dumb contract; it couldn’t be legally binding. That’s not how contracts worked. And even if it was, what’s the worst that could happen?

  Jail, I heard a tiny voice in my head say. I could get sent to prison. So? The drunk Aria fought back. I’d seen Orange is the New Black, I could totally withstand prison. I just had to learn how to smuggle cigarettes in and…

  “Aria.” Stacey was snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Are you okay? You’ve been spaced out for a while now. Do you wanna go home?”

  “Go home?” I laughed loud enough for the people on the other end of the room to hear. “Go home? It’s not even…” I looked at my wrist and was extremely disappointed to see no watch there. “It’s not even time…to go home…you know, like time?”

  Nick was laughing uncontrollably now, and I wondered if he was on the same level as I was. If not – if they were both not – this was going to get really embarrassing tomorrow.

  “Where are our shots?” I surveyed the whole room, as though they would just materialize from a random corner.

  “We haven’t ordered any,” Stacey said, and I could swear she was slurring her words too, making me feel better.

  “Well, we gotta fix that,” I said, then shouted, “SHOTS!”

  Everything after that point was hazy. I was running around the bar talking to anyone and everyone. There were shots and more shots, and at one point I think I did a keg stand – or maybe Stacey did one and I felt uncomfortable just watching her. I was next to the birthday girl, cheering her on…we started taking shots together…I was fiddling with my phone. It felt like I was in a horribly made movie. After one last birthday shot with Brianna, every
thing went completely blank.

  ---

  I woke up feeling the weight of the whole universe in my head. Slowly opening my eyes, afraid of the light, I surveyed the room to make sure it was my own. Phew. And I was alone, fully clothed, thank god. I licked my lips, still flat on my bed, head pounding, feeling extremely dehydrated. Reaching for the glass of water next to my bed was an enormous struggle and when I finally grabbed it, it was gone in seconds. What was going on with me?

  Then I remembered…last night…the bar…the shots…the birthday party. My last hazy memory was dancing with the birthday girl, after which my mind went blank. I had no idea how or when we had gotten home. I pulled out my phone to call Stacey – it felt like too much effort to go over to the other room – and then almost had a mini heart attack.

  There were thirteen texts from Zayden, and one from Brianna (the birthday girl?) saying “New bestieeeee!!!!”

  I shuddered to think of what may have caused her to give me that coveted title. I must have done something crazy…danced on the bar counter? That wasn’t something I was completely innocent of.

  No wonder Zayden’s texts sounded so concerned. Pretty much all of them were some variant of asking me if I was okay. What did I say to him? Shit.

  I scrolled through my sent box to see an embarrassing number of texts to Zayden. Not much was decipherable, but one of them said, “im non ibject.” Even I could translate that to “I’m not an object.” And another one that said “fyk ue contact.” I could only assume that meant “fuck your contract.” Then there was “ehy camt I play mumbs lke evry1 eler huh.” “Why can’t I play numbers like everyone else.” This made me extremely glad that nobody else outside of Nick, me, and Stacey knew what Numbers was.

  To my utter and complete horror, the phone rang, and it was Zayden. I thumbed the green answer button and weakly pressed the phone to my ear.

  “Yes?” I spoke softly.

  “What’s up drunky?” He said. I could feel him grinning through the phone and it made me want to throw something.

  I mumbled “go away” but didn’t hang up the phone.