Like a Boss Box Set: Like a Boss Series Books 1-4

by Serenity Woods

  “Don’t laugh,” I tell her, “but Alex is the only guy I’ve been with.”

  She stares at me. “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-six. But I was only sixteen when I met Alex. I’ve never dated anyone else. I thought he was The One, you know? I thought I was going to be with him for the rest of my life.” I swallow hard. When will I stop feeling as if someone’s stabbing me in the stomach whenever I think about him?

  “In that case,” Colette declares, “you definitely need Harrison Grant to screw you senseless.”

  “Colette!” Just the thought of it makes me feel faint. To let Harrison kiss me, touch me, take off my clothes and see me naked… Mustard seeds, paprika… I blow out a long breath. “I couldn’t! Men like Harrison go out with women who do stuff.”

  “Stuff?” she echoes, amused.

  “You know, sexy stuff. Girls who are Experienced with a capital E, who’ve had multiple partners, who’ve learned how to please a guy a thousand different ways.”

  “It only takes one way,” she says, “but I think I know what you mean.”

  “I’m just not that kind of girl.”

  “You don’t like sex?”

  “I love sex!” I say it a little too loud, and a couple of the marketing assistants look over with a grin. I lower my voice hastily. “It’s like I’ve only ever had vanilla ice cream. Being with Harrison would be like standing in front of a hundred different flavors, with twenty different sauces and fifty toppings. How the hell would I know which ones he’d like?”

  “He’d like all of them,” she advises. “He’s a guy.”

  “Colette…”

  “Alex only liked vanilla?”

  “Well, you know, maybe he’d occasionally like a bit of strawberry or Rocky Road. But when I suggested chocolate sauce, it freaked him out, and as for sprinkles…”

  Colette tries not to laugh. “Sweetie, you’re overthinking it. Normally, guys enjoy showing you what they like. They find it a turn on. It appeals to the Neanderthal inside them. You know—me man, you woman, me show you how to bend over…”

  At the thought of bending over for Harrison, I feel dizzy and flop into the nearest chair.

  “Jesus, you’ve gone as white as a sheet,” Colette says with alarm. “Put your head between your knees.”

  I do so, taking deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I must sound like such an idiot.”

  “Of course not.” She drops to her haunches beside me, and to my relief, her eyes are kind. “I think it’s terribly romantic that you’ve only been with one guy—it just sucks that he turned out to be such a fucking orangutan.”

  I laugh. “That’s an insult to the great apes.”

  “Yeah. What I mean is, it’s not a problem. You really think Harry’s going to say, ‘you’ve only been with one guy—jeez, get away from me’? Of course he isn’t. You tell him that you want him to show you what he likes, and his head will explode.”

  “I’d like to believe you…”

  “Do you like him?” she asks.

  I straighten in the chair. “Yes.”

  “Do you think sleeping with him sounds like something you might enjoy?”

  “Let me think about it while I hyperventilate into a brown paper bag.”

  She laughs. “Why don’t you let me go and see him for you? I’ll set you up on a date. Remember, you don’t have to do anything. If you go for a drink and you decide you can’t go through with it, you just say thanks for a nice evening and go home.”

  “Won’t he be angry if he’s expecting more?”

  “Harry doesn’t do angry. He’s a pussycat. Okay, he’s more like a big cat, a tiger, or a panther, but honestly, he’s one of the good guys. He wouldn’t mind.”

  I chew my lip. Dare I go through with it?

  I think of Alex. I gave him my heart, and he took it, spat on it, then threw it on the floor and stomped on it. I don’t owe him anything.

  I have the chance to have sex with the most gorgeous guy in the office, if not the city, if not the world. He likes me. He wants to sleep with me. Am I really having to think twice about it?

  “All right,” I say cautiously. “Tell me I’m not going to regret it.”

  “Ohhh,” she says with a triumphant smile, “I’d bet every cent I own that regret would not be one of the emotions you’d feel if Harry took you home.”

  Chapter Four

  Harrison

  The conference ends at four thirty, and it takes another thirty minutes of discussion before everyone finally leaves the room and heads for the elevators.

  I collapse into a chair, and Seb, Caleb, and Elen, the other directors of Hearktech, do the same.

  “That was a long day,” Elen says, “and it’s only five p.m.”

  “Good though,” Seb replies. “It went well, don’t you think?”

  We chat for another fifteen minutes, glad for the time to relax. While we’re having one last cup of coffee, Colette comes in and tidies up the table, collecting the unused documents and folders, and putting everything else in the trash.

  Eventually, Seb rises, stretches and yawns. “I’ll just nip back to the office and then we’ll head home, shall we?” he asks Colette.

  “Sure.” She smiles, and he kisses her on the cheek, then leaves. Elen gathers her stuff and follows soon after.

  I finish sending an email on my laptop, then close it before realizing with some surprise that Colette’s still in the room, perching on the table.

  “Sorry,” I tell her. “Didn’t realize you were waiting for me.”

  Her blue eyes dance. “I understand you asked Gaby out for a drink.”

  I give her a wry look. “Girl talk? Did she also tell you she turned me down?”

  “Yeah, about that. She’s had second thoughts.”

  I grin, and my spirits lift. “I hoped she might.”

  “Can I tell her you’ll meet her at Atomic at, say, seven thirty?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Okay.” She hesitates. “One more thing. And she doesn’t know I’m about to tell you this.”

  “All right…”

  “She’s a bit nervous.”

  “Aw. Did you tell her I’m a pussycat?”

  “I did, as it happens. But it’s not just that. You know I said she’d just broken up with her boyfriend.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s been going out with him since she was sixteen.”

  “Wow. I didn’t realize people still did that.”

  “Me neither. So you see, the thing is, she’s only been with the one guy.”

  I stare at her. For a girl in her mid-twenties, that’s almost as unusual as being a virgin, in the circles I mix in, anyway.

  “I think you can see what I’m getting at,” Colette says. “It doesn’t sound as if her ex was dynamite in bed, so you’ll have to, you know, show her the ropes.”

  “Hmm.”

  She grins. “I told her the idea would turn you on.”

  “Did you, now?”

  “Just be gentle with her, Harry. If you like her, take it slow, all right? Or she’s likely to run a mile and you won’t see her for dust.”

  “Okay,” I say softly.

  Her teeth tug on her bottom lip, and for a moment I think I see a touch of a blush in her cheeks. Colette Holmes, blushing! I raise my eyebrows.

  “I hope you didn’t mind me saying,” she says. “It’s just… I like Gaby. She’s nice, and she’s had a tough time. She deserves better.” Her eyes twinkle. “But I could only find you, so you’ll have to do.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She laughs and walks to the door. “So, seven thirty?”

  “That’s fine.”

  She nods and walks out.

  I put my feet up on the table, ankles crossed, and think about what she’s just told me. It’s not what I expected. After we both stated that we weren’t looking for anything long-term, I suggested having a drink to Gabriella with the idea that we chat over a glass or two of wine, the
n go back to her place—or my place, I’m not fussy—for some hot sex.

  Most of the girls I meet know their way around the bedroom. It makes for uncomplicated fun, and I know it’s not just me who has a great time then walks away without looking back. Gone are the days when every girl was sitting at home waiting for you to phone her, and I’ve never had a crying female turn up on my doorstep demanding to know why I haven’t returned her calls. I’ve discovered that women like sex as much as men—thank God—and therefore I’m not ashamed to say it’s purely a physical act for me. When girls have tried to turn it into something more, it’s not taken me long to back out of the relationship. I like being free.

  And yet now Colette’s telling me that I need to be gentle, and to take it slow with Gaby. I rub at a mark on the table top. Is that what I want? To have to spend time talking her into it, and to ‘show her the ropes’, as Colette put it? I’m not quite sure what she means. Gaby’s obviously not a virgin. Even if her ex was unimaginative, she said they met at high school, so he’s around the same age as her, relatively young. They must have… you know, experimented.

  Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe he just thrust away in missionary, and if she had an orgasm it was more by luck than anything else. I find it difficult to believe there are still men out there like that, but I’ve had enough girls tell me I’m great in bed to convince me that even my meager talents are something worth celebrating.

  I flip my pen through my fingers. I could ring Colette now and tell her to call it off. But the thing is, it doesn’t mean Gaby doesn’t like sex. I saw that heat in her eyes, and I hope that by now I can tell when a girl looks at me as if she’s trying to guess whether the size of my feet correlates to the size of another piece of my anatomy. Gaby might be shy and nervous at being with someone new, and she might need me to take it slow. But she wants me. I can feel it, and anyway, she wouldn’t have agreed to meet me tonight if she wasn’t at least interested in taking it further.

  I think about taking it slow, for once. Teasing her. Watching her eyes light up with surprise and shock as I show her things she’s not done before.

  Hmm. Yeah. Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad after all.

  My lips curve up, and I rise and grab my stuff with the intention of heading for home and getting ready for my date.

  Chapter Five

  Gabriella

  At seven thirty, I walk into Atomic and pause just inside the door.

  I’m shaking like a leaf that’s about to be eaten by a ginormous caterpillar. I can’t believe I let Colette talk me into this. I don’t need a man! Men are outdated. I don’t want to go steady, and I don’t want to get married. If I ever want a child, I’ll visit the local fertility clinic, request the sperm of a rocket scientist, and never have to think about pleasing a guy ever again. And as for sex, I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to fulfil her. I have a vibrator for that.

  So, what am I doing here?

  I glance around the bar, trying not to look like someone on a blind date who might have been stood up. It’s only now that I realize I’m not expecting him to be here. My nerves stem more from the fact that it’s going to be embarrassing turning around and walking out the door alone.

  But, to my surprise, he’s already here.

  He’s leaning on the bar, talking to the barman, but as my gaze falls on him, he sees me too, and he straightens and holds up a hand. Holy Jesus. He turned up. He really wants to have a drink with me.

  I try to recite the list of herbs, but not a single one comes to mind.

  My heart rat-a-tats on my ribs, and I feel queasy as I thread through the tables toward the bar. I should have had something to eat before I came out, but I was too nervous. I’d better not drink too much—it’s going to go straight to my head.

  He watches me walk across the room, smiling. I stop before him and look up into his dark brown eyes. I should have worn heels, not my Converses, because he’s quite a bit taller than me. I’m going to get a crick in my neck.

  “Hello,” I say. My voice comes out a squeak. I’ve only ever seen him in a suit, but he’s changed into jeans and a dark gray T-shirt beneath a black jacket. His hair is all ruffled, and he has a five o’clock shadow. He now looks like a bad boy, exactly the kind my mother warned me against.

  “Hi.” There’s real warmth in his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “You didn’t think I’d come?” I give a short laugh.

  He doesn’t say anything, just continues to smile, and then he gestures at his glass, which holds what looks like Coke. “What can I get you?”

  “Oh, um, a white wine, please?”

  “Chardonnay, Pinot Gris, Sauvignon?” the barman asks. “Or a sparkling?”

  “Sparkling, please.” I watch him walk to the fridge and extract the bottle, conscious that Harrison’s still watching me.

  The full realization hits me then. He came. He wants a drink with me. And, if all goes well, no doubt he’s hoping that it will lead to something more.

  He wants to have sex with me. With me!

  A giggle rises inside me like the bubbles forming in my glass, and I press my fingers to my mouth as his eyebrows lift. “Sorry. It’s nerves.”

  He chuckles. “Are you hungry? I’m starving and I haven’t eaten yet. I thought I might order a bowl of wedges or something.”

  Relieved, I nod, and he orders, pushes my wallet away and pays the barman, and then indicates an empty table over by the window. The sun has set, and there’s a candle on the table, spilling orange light across the surface. There’s also a tiny vase with a couple of pink flowers. It looks oddly romantic, and I wonder whether Harrison is going to baulk at the notion of this being too much like a date.

  But he just smiles and gestures to one of the chairs while he takes the other. I sit, trying to keep my breathing calm, and take a large gulp of my wine, then scold myself. Not too quick!

  “So,” he says, taking a swallow from his Coke. “Why are you nervous?”

  Because you’re gorgeous. Because I don’t know where this is going. Because you might want to have sex with me, and I’ve never had a one-night stand, and I’m terrified.

  “Big game tonight,” I tell him, gesturing at the TV.

  He grins, and we talk for a while about various sports. I confess that I was a champion swimmer at high school. Harrison tells me he was a keen sportsman at school and a great sprinter until he broke his leg in a car accident.

  “So that was that,” he says. He smiles, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “Who was driving?” I ask.

  He studies his glass. “My dad.”

  “Was he…?”

  “Oh, he’s still going strong,” he says flatly. “As far as I know.” He swigs the Coke and looks away, out into the dark night.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “He was drunk.” Harrison looks surprised at his confession. His gaze comes back to me, then returns to his glass. Maybe driving home isn’t the only reason he’s not drinking. “He was always drunk. And violent. Mum finally left him after the accident and took me and my brothers with her. I’ve only seen him twice since then.”

  It’s difficult to know what to say to that. “That must have been hard for you,” I opt for.

  He sits back, an arm hooked over the back of the chair, and tips his head at me. “I don’t tell many people that.” He gives me a curious look.

  “I have that kind of face.”

  “Hmm.” He sips his Coke. “Have you seen the new Bond movie?”

  He wants to change the subject. I’m touched enough that he’s told me something so personal—I’m not going to push it. “I have. Great opening scene, I thought, with the fight on top of the building.”

  We start talking about other action movies, and soon the food arrives. I tell him the chili sauce with the wedges could be hotter, and he agrees. “You like cooking?” he asks.

  I grin. “I love cooking. I
only really discovered it after I left home.”

  “Your mum didn’t cook?”

  “She did, but she’s the sort of person who sticks rigidly to a recipe, and I wasn’t allowed to experiment. I’m not that sort of cook—I make it up as I go along.”

  “Me too,” he admits, surprising me.

  “You cook?”

  “Yeah, all the time. I find it relaxing.”

  Thrilled, I start asking him about his favorite recipes, and I’m delighted to discover that his passion for food is on a similar level to mine. We eat the wedges, and I buy us another drink in spite of his protests, and the more I talk, the more I relax. He’s not at all what I thought he’d be like. He’s not arrogant or patronizing or superior; he’s funny and clever and interesting. And best of all, he makes me feel interesting. That takes some doing, the way I’ve been feeling.

  At one point, we come to the end of a line of conversation, and I sit back in my chair and give him a puzzled look.

  “What?” He dips his last potato wedge into the remains of the sauce before eating it.

  “I’m having a good time,” I tell him.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am.”

  “You didn’t think you would?”

  “I thought…” I don’t know what to say without insulting him, but then decide I might as well be honest. “I thought you’d chat me up and fill the conversation with sexual innuendo, and then tell me you’d booked a motel room or something. You haven’t, have you?”

  “No.” He looks as if he doesn’t know whether to be amused or insulted.

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” I say hastily. “I’ve not done this before, that’s all.”

  His expression softens. “I know. Colette said as much.”

  “She did?” I feel my cheeks burn. Did she tell him I’ve only ever slept with one other guy?

  “I’m flattered,” he says. “That you’re here with me tonight. Whatever happens, I’ve had a good time.” His eyes are honest. He means it.