by Claire Adams
“There we go, ordered and paid for,” Asher chimed. “Our little girl's first set of drums will be here tomorrow.”
“You do realize the house is gonna get a lot noisier.”
“I'll build her a soundproof studio.”
“Good thinking, build the two-year-old a music studio. That’s not spoiling her,” I gave him a look.
“What? Eddie can use it, too,” he defended himself.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, about next month . . .”
“Our wedding anniversary,” he said with a sly grin as he pushed up next to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I know, and I've been thinking about it. I'm really leaning more towards the Seychelles for our trip. How do you feel about that?”
“The Seychelles sounds just perfect, my love. White sand beaches, snorkeling, and boating on a turquoise ocean. That sounds like heaven right now.”
“I know. I can't wait! I'll go ahead and get everything booked.”
“How are things at the agency?” I asked him.
I'd stopped working there the day I'd almost lost Hope—the day we finally dropped our walls and started our life together. But that didn't mean I'd lost my ambition or my drive. We just realized that it would be better for us if we weren't working together. So, after I'd given birth, I'd started my own consulting company, taking my experience and talent to the highest bidders—unless that bidder was Brendan Savage—and doing it from the comfort of home.
Despite the money, the success, the house, and the cars, the most valuable things in my life weren't those that money could buy. They were my adoring husband Asher and my beautiful daughter Hope, the light of both our lives. I didn't know what I'd do without either of them. Hope was napping on the sofa, looking too cute for words. I had to take a picture of her to send Eddie, so I stretched and stood in the Sunday morning sunlight beaming through the wall of windows as I took out my phone and got the camera ready.
“She looks absolutely adorable, doesn't she?” Asher said as he gazed lovingly at our daughter.
“She has your eyes,” I said.
“And your smile,” he replied.
I crept up to her as she slept, doing my best to keep quiet and not rouse her from her slumber. She stirred, and I froze momentarily, but then she smiled in her sleep and burbled softly. I aimed the camera at her cherub-like face and snapped a shot. The lighting was just perfect. I uploaded the picture to Facebook, with a suitable amount of hearts and smiley faces.
The first “like” came from Asher, of course. I looked up at him with a grin.
“Mr. Sinclair, are you stalking me on Facebook?” I whispered.
“Why, I'd never do such a thing Mrs. Sinclair. You’re a married woman,” he said in a tone of mock shock.
We both laughed, and I eased over to him and jumped into his arms. He caught me with a laugh, swung me around in a circle and then planted a deep, sensuous kiss on my lips, which got my heart racing and my cheeks flushed with heat. Even after marriage and a child, he was still able to turn me on with a mere glance, or a touch.
Still in his arms, I disengaged from the kiss as the phone in my hand buzzed. It was a notification from Facebook.
“Eddie likes the photo,” I said. “And he just sent a message saying hi to both of us.”
“Say hi back. He and I need to have a beer when his band gets back from touring.”
“I'll tell him.”
“Oh, and Meg wants to come over early before dinner. Shall I tell her we're free now?”
He kissed me before answering, and again electricity rippled across my skin.
“Not just yet,” he said. “You and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”
“Oh we do?” I asked with a cheeky grin.
“Yeah. In the bedroom. Around . . . now, I think.”
“I'll tell her to come over in an hour then.”
He kissed me passionately, and we were both panting when he disengaged.
“Make it two hours,” he whispered. “Make it two . . .”
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THE BOSS
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
THE BOSS #1
Chapter One
ARIA
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the heartfelt and endlessly awkward confession of romantic allegiance that one of my customers was currently delivering. Would he notice if I stealthily put my headphones on?
On a normal day, I let men down easy. An 8-hour shift at the bank immediately following 48 hours of no sleep and two very difficult midterms does not constitute a normal day. I squinted at the gentleman in front of me, who seemed mesmerized by the palms of his hands based on the way he was staring at them. Mitch? Mark?
“And, you know, I come here, like, every day at the same time because, you know, like, that’s when your shift is,” he was mumbling, eyes firmly on his palm. “Sometimes I, like, just come and deposit some cash only to withdraw it the very next day for no other reason than to see you.”
Really? I could have never guessed. It’s pretty normal for people around here to make daily deposits and withdrawals of exactly $200 without fail for a whole month. Moron.
“Listen,” I said finally. He looked up and made eye contact just for a split second—long enough for me to notice the droplets on his horn-rimmed glasses. Sweat? Oh God. “I am really flattered but-”
“But girls like you don’t go out with guys like me.” I could almost hear the whimper in his voice now. “I get it.”
Shit.
“No, no, no, no! I’m engaged,” I blurted without thinking. “To – to…” Surveying the room frantically, I pointed at the only logical direction, cringing with fear and embarrassment at the thought that this interaction might have an audience. “To him. My boss. He is very possessive, so you should be careful. He owns the bank and he is well-connected. If he learns of this, he has the power to ruin your credit, and believe me, he will do it. You should find a different branch to go to from now on to be safe – switch banks if you have to! It’s in your best interest.”
The man I was pointing at flashed a crooked smile, his eyes firmly rested on his computer, and I felt my chest fall. Don’t be silly Aria, there is no way he can hear you. He was at least 50 feet across the hall, inside his office,
behind a solid glass door. He would have to have superhuman hearing abilities to be able to hear this conversation. Although, it would hardly surprise me if he did possess such a skill; almost everything about Zayden Sinclair was a notch above the average human.
At 32, he was the owner and CEO of the Southern National Bank empire, but you didn’t need to know about his economic stature to feel the power that he exuded through sheer physical presence. He had the tendency to command the attention of anybody within a 5-mile radius without so much as saying a word. Women of all ages gravitated towards him, and his dashing looks and defined physique were only partially responsible for the effect. In fact, dashing did not begin to accurately describe his rare combination of piercing blue eyes, perfectly chiseled jawline, and dark, wavy hair straight out of a men’s shampoo commercial. Sometimes I could swear I saw his six-pack defined through his shirt, or even his sweater. Maybe my imagination interfered at that point.
And my imagination is where Zayden’s shirtless body should remain. I had seen too many girls fall prey to his charms and had no interest in losing the job that kept me in college just because I couldn’t control the desire to touch whatever was underneath that shirt. This branch went through tellers faster than the days
of the week, and I wasn’t going to become a number in the statistical chart of Zayden’s conquests.
***
Half an hour later, I was thankful for the clock to indicate it was my lunch break. After my admiring customer left holding back tears, there was a sudden stream of traffic in the teller’s booth, and I had to deal with an old woman who accused the bank of stealing from her. It shouldn’t be that difficult to convince somebody that a multimillion-dollar corporation would gain nothing from robbing an old lady of 50 bucks.
I was relieved to find that the pantry in the back end of the bank was empty. Normally, I enjoy some commotion, but today I was just really tired, mentally and physically. And hungry. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I sat down on the first table looking away from the door and removed the box of leftover sushi from my bag. Before I could open it, however, I heard a very familiar voice.
“So, when’s our wedding?”
Shit. I could hear the thudding sound of my chest as though it were adjacent to my ears. It must have been a whole minute before I gathered the courage to slowly turn around, ignoring the chills in my fingers.
“You heard that?” I laughed. Thank you, Acting 101 Gen-Ed requirements. “Spying on your tellers now? The NSA would be so proud.”
Zayden’s lips crooked very slightly. Was that a smile? Was he amused? Angry? Oh God, I really couldn’t tell.
“We keep a microphone at the teller’s booth in every branch for surveillance, in case there is any suspicious activity from a customer. Handling money is serious business.”
I actually knew that. How could I have been so stupid?
“Which is why I made up that little story about us, so that guys like that don’t continue to distract me from my very serious job of handling your money.”
I was quite surprised by the confidence in my own voice.
He laughed. Phew. It was an adorable laugh, and I wouldn’t mind kissing him while he did it. No wonder the other tellers couldn’t keep their hands off of him, with his dashing looks. Men this powerful are hard to turn down.
He was fumbling with a button on his coat and I tried hard not to wish that my nipples were his buttons. I should have been embarrassed; he had heard me claim I was engaged to him, and imply he was connected to the mob. If embarrassment was the socially acceptable reaction to such a situation, then why the hell was I so aroused? He was coming closer and I momentarily forgot how to breathe.
“Let me make you a proposition,” he said as he sat down across from me. “We will never have to speak about of your encounter with that bespectacled guy if you let me take you out to lunch tomorrow.”
“I have to work,” I said automatically.
Was I even breathing? I couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll pay you to take the whole day off. And maybe after lunch we can spend the whole day in my apartment being, you know, ‘married’ for the day.”
He winked. I felt my pulse rising. Right now I couldn’t think of a single reason to turn his offer down, but I had to get ahold of myself. This was what Zayden did, and I was smarter than the women who fell for it.
“Sure, we can meet each other’s parents and raise some children after,” I laughed. It wasn’t convincing laughter. I got up before things could get out of hand. “I’ll eat this later. Have a nice day, Mr. Sinclair,” I said and walked away without looking back.
This must have been what a tornado felt like.
Chapter Two
ZAYDEN
I looked at the girl lying next to me with a mixture of confusion and amusement. I was pretty sure she was faking sleep. Just like last night, she had pretended to be too intoxicated to go home, even when I suggested I would have my chauffeur drive her in one of the limos. Girls like this got on my nerves, and I was starting to regret taking her back to my place.
Not that I wasn’t used to girls clinging on like this; usually, however, after a good fuck I would just tell them that I was “emotionally unavailable.” There would be some crying, but eventually those words would drive women to flee without much egging on my part. I let out an involuntary snort. Women. All I knew was it worked. Anything worked. Everything worked.
Most of the time, anyway. Very rarely did women deny my advances, and Aria Roberts had been the first in countless years to so casually turn me down. It excited me to maddening degrees; it had gotten far too easy for me to get women and I needed a good challenge. But last night, I was so frustrated that I picked up the first pair of sexy boobs that flashed in my face at the Tavern. Boring personality, if she had one at all, and an even more boring lay. I had half the mind to finish myself off in the middle of it, but felt sorry for the poor soul. Another reason it pissed me off that she was still lying comfortably in my king-sized bed.
“Wake up!” I tapped her shoulders. “Quick! It’s time to go home.”
She opened her eyes slowly and got out of the covers, still naked. She did have nice breasts; maybe it wasn’t the worst pick-up ever after all.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, ruffling her hair. Trying to be cute. Women. “I didn’t realize I overslept. I was…”
Yeah, the breasts were really something. She was rambling on but I didn’t catch a single word, or care to. I felt myself get harder watching her nipples and just threw her back into the bed. She seemed way too excited about it; I’d have to deal with it later, but for now, I just grabbed her and closed my eyes.
I thrust myself deep inside her, picturing Aria Roberts’ tiny body and perfect little ass in my mind. Fuck.
***
“Mrs. Sinclair asked me about your whereabouts this morning,” my driver Ned said.
I grunted. My mother had a way of getting on my nerves.
“Tell her I’m in Bali for the rest of the month.”
“I think she plans to surprise you with a visit,” he said apologetically.
Ned was one of the only people in the world I would trust with my life. He had been with our family for over two decades, and helped me keep it together when my dad passed away, six years ago today. It was the day of my MBA graduation, and I was supposed to leave for a vacation to Spain that night; I had no real plans, no rush to hurry into a career. He had a stroke, and all of a sudden I was left without a father and without my youth, and with the South National Bank empire as compensation for my loss. Every single day of my life since that day six years ago has been dedicated to growing what my dad had built, to honor his legacy, to take his company further than his wildest imagination.
This left no room for friends or any kind of social life outside of what the business demanded, and I couldn’t be happier about it. There would be parties and overseas cruises and models in penthouses, but all for the business, all to convince shareholders and investors that I made them happy and that their money was best suited in my expert hands. The models in penthouses were the only mildly pleasurable part. Generally, though, any social situation was an arena for manipulation and cunning, and just another way to build on my dad’s empire. People tended to hold me back and there was no room in my life for a pause.
Ned was, in some ways, my only friend.
“It’s okay. I’ll take care of it, Ned.” I sighed. “You don’t worry about it.”
When I got to my desk, I was welcomed by a slew of emails. The union in the Nashville branch was organizing a third strike this year and had closed up for business. What a bunch of fucking babies. I was all for fair wages and benefits; so much so that I had been invited to a local TED talk to address the importance of solidarity and understanding between company executives and the lowest level employees. I turned down the invite – only people who don’t practice have time to preach – but was subsequently featured in ZEN magazine for running the only set of banks in the nation that paid even the cleaning staff over twice the minimum wage. The first union strike hadn’t phased me—it would have almost moved me if I were capable of such a thing—and I had raised companywide salary. The second time and onwards it had just started to
look like they were testing how far they could push me. I felt a tremor of anger as I dialed Tom, the Nashville VP.
“Shut it down,” I said sharply.
Tom huffed and puffed some words that faintly resembled coherence, but my attention drifted away from the problem at hand as I saw Aria Roberts walk into the building and towards the teller’s booth. She had a fascinating body. Not stunning in any traditional sense. I had fucked far too many supermodels to be excited by infinite legs and plastic breasts. Aria was what could only be defined as cute. Cute in the sexiest way possible. She had a petite figure and couldn’t be much taller than 5 foot 3, if that, and it suited her heart-shaped face and bright, brown eyes. Her long red hair covered half of her tiny body, ending slightly above her lower back. Her breasts were on the smaller side, but all I needed was a mouthful. There was a mouthful there for sure, and plenty to spare. What really stood out was her perfectly round ass. It was bigger than most of her and I wasn’t sure how she could fit that curve in her small body and still walk with a stride. I was getting hard just looking at her through my glass door.
“Zay? You there?”
I snapped out of it. “What? Uh… I don’t wanna hear it Tom, I don’t wanna hear any of it. Just shut it down, alright?”
My eyes drifted towards Aria again. When would I get the opportunity to throw that little body into the air and fuck her brains out? Would I ever? The fact that I had to ask myself that question surprised me. Never before had it been a question of if but when, with any woman: actresses, models, athletes—they all gave in eventually. But I couldn’t seduce a teller in my own bank! They usually begged me to take them any way I liked, anywhere I liked. Some just gave in right after their first interview here – they never actually made it to work afterwards, though. I didn’t do repeats and I didn’t like the idea of employing girls that would be too distracted fantasizing about me to get their jobs done. I usually sent them to work for a business partner or another shareholder with the highest recommendations, so I wasn’t exactly making them suffer. That would be Aria’s fate too, and perhaps the knowledge of that made her shy away from me.
