Ego Trip: A Cocky Boss Romantic Comedy

by Tabatha Kiss

  I exhale hard. Oliver glares at me, his eyes playful, before he flips through the pages again.

  After a moment of skimming, he scoffs.

  “What?” I ask, annoyed.

  “How can you read this?” he asks. “There’s no pictures!”

  “Give it back!”

  “Oh, I’m kidding,” he says. “Please. Allow me a chance to give it a good and fair looksee.”

  I deflate as I settle down, but I’m far from relaxed. Oliver flips it over again, eying the blurb before running his finger down the heavily creased spine.

  “This really is your favorite,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  “How many times have you read this?”

  “More than I can remember.” I shrug, trying not to look too embarrassed about it. “I like to travel with it.”

  “Like a security blanket?”

  “Kind of. It just... makes me smile, I guess.”

  Oliver looks at me again, his eyes targeting my lips for a moment. “Really?”

  I nod. “It’s funny. And sweet. You know, without being too cheesy.”

  He hums in response. Then, he settles back in his seat and opens the book to page one. I wait a moment, cautiously leaning forward as his eyes march back and forth along the page.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m reading,” he says.

  “Uh, no. No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ve still got an hour to kill here and I’m bored.”

  “Well, if you’re bored—” I reach for the book only to have him yank it away again. “Just read something on your phone!”

  “But I want to read this.”

  “Why?” I ask again.

  “Because it’s your favorite book. And if we’re going to be friends, then I want to read it, too.”

  I study him as he focuses on the page again. Relaxed posture. Soft eyes. He doesn’t even acknowledge the flight attendant as he passes by again.

  “Fine,” I say. “But don’t dog-ear any of the pages,” I add, stiff words of warning.

  “I won’t.”

  “And don’t judge it by the man-chest cover. It’s actually very deep.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  I shift in my seat, still unable to relax as he practically holds a piece of my soul in his hands. “And don’t—”

  “Shh,” he whispers as he turns a page with a smirk. “I’m reading.”

  I close my mouth as my smile grows.

  Chapter 12

  Paige

  Toiletries? Check!

  Mirrors? Not a spot. Check!

  Towels...?

  I step up onto the lid to get a better look at the rack above the toilet. Three towels sit perfectly folded with smaller hand towels stacked on top, also perfectly folded.

  Good job, New York housekeepers. Ten random suite checks and not a single tuck out of place.

  I hop down and mark it on my clipboard. Check! Thank the maker for checklists. There’s nothing better than having a list of things to do, things to look for, things to think about other than a thick, dangling—

  “Sinks,” I say to myself as I lower to my knees by the counter. “Sinks, sinks...”

  I open the cabinet doors to peek inside, igniting the little flashlight on my key chain to get a better view. No spills or dust build up in sight, but my eyes instantly zero-in on the tiny puddle gathering beneath the pipe. I shimmy closer, sticking my head underneath as I reach inside. As my fingers hover over it, a fresh drop of water falls from the pipe onto the back of my hand.

  Looks like we’ve got a leak.

  I push up off the floor and head toward the phone in the suite.

  “Maintenance,” they answer. “You’ve got Bill.”

  “Hey, Bill,” I say. “It’s Paige.”

  “Paige! I heard a rumor you were wandering around today...”

  I chuckle. “It’s what I do. We’ve got a leak.”

  “Uh-oh. Where?”

  “Suite 1412,” I say after a quick check of my list to be sure. “It’s not bad, but it definitely needs to be fixed today.”

  “I’ll send someone up right now. I’ve got just the guy right here.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Bill. You’re the best.”

  “Aw, shucks.”

  I hang up, lying the phone cord on the table just right before returning to the bathroom. A quick peek beneath the sink again, and I catch another drop splashing down. It’s a good thing I caught this early. I stand up, more than a little proud of myself, but there’s nothing wrong with celebrating the small wins.

  I draw a circle around sinks before returning to the suite to check the temperature on the minibar fridge.

  A card slides through the door lock. I turn to greet the maintenance person, but pause as Oliver walks in instead.

  No blazer. Sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. He’s been working hard, that’s for sure.

  Gulp.

  “Oh,” I say, taken back. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Oliver smirks as he holds up a wrench. “Is there a problem with your pipes, ma’am?”

  I raise a brow. “Yes, but...”

  “I was with Bill when you called up.” He waves his tool around. “Point me at the leak.”

  “Bathroom sink.”

  My chest skips twice.

  His hands on my waist.

  His hardness pressed between us.

  So,

  you’ll be dirty…

  but happy.

  I shake the memory away as he bounds in that direction. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask.

  Oliver kneels on the tile and looks beneath the sink. “Yup,” he answers.

  I linger in the doorway, letting my eyes wander down his tight rear. “Are you sure sure?”

  He lays backward, sliding his head and shoulders beneath the sink to target the leak. “Yes, Paige,” he says, amused. “I’m sure.”

  “Because we’re not supposed to fix things ourselves.”

  “You’re telling me Graham never fixed a leaky pipe?” he asks, his head out of sight as he... does something beneath there.

  “Nope,” I say. “We always left it to maintenance.”

  “That was then.” Oliver gives... something a turn. “This is now.”

  “But—”

  “Paige.” Another few taps and twists. “I used to work on the maintenance staff, you know.”

  I bite the edge of my lip. “You did?”

  “Yes. I installed dozens of these things myself in Vegas. Relax.”

  I bite the edge of my lip as I picture it. Oliver in one of their navy blue jumpsuits with the sleeves rolled up and sweat on his young brow…

  Gotta love a handy man.

  “Oh,” I say, letting my shoulders drop a little. “Well, if you’re sure you can fix it...”

  “I am.” Oliver extends a hand. “Got a rag?”

  I bolt forward, quickly grabbing a hand towel off the top of the sink and handing it to him.

  “Thanks,” he says, disappearing again.

  I stand back out of the way to let him work. My eyes drift down his long legs, admiring his shiny shoes before traveling all the way back up again to his...crotch.

  I forcibly twist in another direction. Friends, I remind myself.

  Friends don’t check out each other’s junk.

  “So,” I say, clearing my throat, “how are you liking the book so far?”

  Oliver laughs.

  I stiffen as I wait for a more detailed response.

  “You were right,” he says.

  “I was?”

  “Yeah. It’s funny.”

  My lips twitch. “It is!”

  “I’m at the bit where, uh...” He pauses. “What’s-his-name lights her hair on fire.”

  “Richard!” My smile deepens. “And that actually happened — to the author, I mean. That book is a little autobiographic
al. She met her husband speed-dating.”

  “Oh, that’s cool.”

  “Uh-huh.” I take a calming breath. “So, what’s your favorite book?” I ask.

  The clicks and clacks cease for a moment.

  “Why?”

  “Well... you’re reading my favorite book,” I say. “And I thought that, maybe I should read yours.”

  Oliver slides out from under the sink and sits forward. “Maybe,” he says as he looks up at me. “I’ll think about it.”

  I peek behind him. “All fixed?” I ask.

  He nods. “All fixed.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.” He rises off the floor and stands tall over me with that cocky smirk. “See?” he teases. “I told you I could fix it.”

  I look at the sink at the same time he does. His eyes squint slightly, no doubt flashing back to the same memory as I do at that very moment.

  My legs wrap around his waist.

  His hand balances on the mirror behind me.

  He licks my clean, wet skin.

  Oli,

  please,

  don’t stop—

  I shake it away again.

  Dear god, please get me out of this bathroom.

  The pipe bursts.

  I jolt backward in surprise as cold water coats our shoes.

  Uh… thanks?

  Oliver dives under again, getting completely soaked as I take a step back. I try to think quickly, but I stall in place.

  I have no idea what to do.

  A moment later, Oliver turns a… thing near the pipe and the water slows. Another moment after that, the spurt stops flowing completely.

  He eases out from beneath the sink. I slap my hand over my mouth to hide my growing grin.

  He doesn’t stand up yet. Oliver sits back on his knees with his head down. Water drips from his hair, coating his face and body. His shirt sticks helplessly to his taut chest, completely soaked through.

  I snort behind my hand, unable to stop the laugh building in my throat.

  Oliver looks up at me. His face shows a slight shade of red, but his icy blue eyes remain as cool as always. “So, I think we should call maintenance,” he says.

  I crack up. Thankfully, Oliver does, too, as he runs a damp hand through his dripping hair. I grab the nearest towel off the rack and lower to my knees, still laughing as I touch the towel to his head to dry him off.

  “Go ahead,” Oliver says after a moment. “Say it. You know you want to.”

  “Say what?”

  He glares at me. “I told you so.”

  I chuckle. “No,” I say. “That’s not my style.”

  I push the wet hair away from his eyes, drying his forehead and cheeks before I even realize what I’m doing. We hover only a few inches away from each other; so damn close to that self-deprecating smile of his.

  Oliver seems to realize it as I do, and his eyes drift to my lips. The shock of it makes my heart jolt and I remember the last time we were this close; locked together in a nearly identical room to this one on the other side of the country. The memory surges through me, reminding me, taunting me, begging me to give myself to him again.

  I blink and we’re an inch closer. Another breath and we’ll be—

  “Wet,” I say without thinking.

  Oliver pauses.

  “I’m wet. I mean — moist. I mean—” I exhale a laugh. “I should go call Bill and then… get changed because my clothes are…”

  “Wet,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “Mine a little more than yours.”

  I look down again, admiring the way his biceps pop through his sleeves. “Right, of course. You’re very…” I stop myself from saying wet again and drop the towel on him as I push off the floor. “I’ll go call Bill.”

  Oliver nods as he pats himself dry. “Go call Bill.”

  “Go call Bill,” I repeat for no reason.

  My heart races while I shuffle across the suite to the phone.

  Good god, did we almost kiss?

  Did I almost kiss my boss?

  “Maintenance,” Bill answers.

  “It—” I choke as I realize my lungs are about to burst and force myself to inhale some fresher air. “It’s me again, Bill. Looks like the problem is little out of our paygrade.”

  Bill laughs. “That’s all right, Paige. I’ll send Nancy up. She just got back from break.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

  I hang up and turn to find Oliver standing in the doorway with the towel still draped along the back of his damp shoulders.

  “They’re on their way up,” I say.

  “Excellent.” Oliver lingers for a moment. “Well, I’m going to go get changed.”

  I chuckle. “Me, too.”

  “Then, lunch?” he asks.

  “Lunch?”

  “You kinda sold me earlier on that Sicilian sandwich.”

  “Oh!” I nod, my stomach awakening at the mere thought of it. “Sure. This was my last suite check today, so I’ll call up to the restaurant. Let them know we’re coming, then...” I glance down at my own wet feet. “I’ll meet you there.”

  He smiles. I sway. “Sounds good,” he says.

  “Then, we can go over our checklist,” I continue, purposefully forcing the conversation back to work, work, work before I fall over. “See what else we need to get done tonight and tomorrow before we head to Boston on Thursday.”

  Oliver steps through the doorframe and nods. “I’ll meet you upstairs in a bit,” he says.

  “Okay,” I say.

  He exits the room. I wait until the electronic lock makes its usual locking click before letting myself relax.

  I plop down onto the disheveled bed, exhaling hard to banish the remaining temptation from my gut, but a new gang of butterflies rush in to take its place.

  Yup. I almost kissed him.

  Or he almost kissed me.

  No.

  We almost kissed each other.

  “Nope,” I whisper, scolding myself. “Nope, nope, nope.”

  I’m not sure if I can make this friends thing work.

  Not with Oli.

  Chapter 13

  Paige

  “Hey, Paige! Welcome back.”

  I smile at Shirley as she passes me in the restaurant. “Hey, Shirl,” I say. “How are you?”

  “Busy busy. Can’t stop. Lunch rush. Love you.”

  I chuckle as I stand aside, dodging the tray of food held above her fiery red head as she moves. Very busy based on a cursory glance of the tables, but that’s what we like to see.

  I make my way across the restaurant to the table in the corner marked RESERVED. Looks like I beat Oliver here, so I choose my favorite spot — not that either chair’s view is better than the other. In fact, it’s hard to find a bad table at NYC’s Botsford Plaza restaurant, which offers a 360-degree view of the Manhattan skyline.

  I sit down, place my clipboard on the table beside me, and take a breath.

  Goddamn. I love this place.

  As much as I adore Las Vegas, you can’t find views like this back there. I might as well get as much of this as I can while I’m still able. Sure, the Assistant to the Company Liaison travels constantly. The Assistant to the CEO... not so much.

  I sigh quietly. I shouldn’t complain, really. I spent my mid-twenties traveling the world for work — for free. It was good while it lasted.

  “Hey, Paige.”

  I glance up at Shirley’s smiling eyes. “Hello.”

  She places two water glasses — mine with lime — down on the table. “Sorry I booked it past you there before,” she says.

  “Busy busy,” I repeat. “No worries.”

  “Greg’s working on your usual. Want me to fetch you anything else?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Probably going to be a quick bite here. We’ve still got a lot to do.”

  “Right.” She gives the empty chair a quick glance. “I heard the new Liaison’s in town.”

  �
��Yes, he is.”

  “What do you think?” she asks. “Should we be worried?”

  “Worried?” I ask. “About what?”

  “Well, Graham was awesome. Firm, but awesome. It would really suck if the new guy were an unforgiving hard ass, you know?”

  I chuckle. “No, Oliver’s nothing to worry about.”

  Her eyes widen. “No?”

  “Absolutely not. He’s like... Graham 2.0. You probably won’t even notice a difference. That’s why I’m here, actually. Smooth transition of power.”

  “Good. That’s a relief.” Shirley peeks over her shoulder as she hears another party pass the entrance with a hostess. “Well, I should—”

  “Go!” I shoo her away. “The best restaurant in New York City doesn’t run itself.”

  She chuckles with a bow of her head and rushes off.

  As she disappears, I catch sight of Oliver stepping off the elevator. He sports a new suit, this one a dark navy color with a black tie. Simple and classy. I make a mental note to fetch his soaked clothes from his suite and have them cleaned before Thursday.

  Oliver takes direction from the hostess and makes his way toward our table. As he gets closer, I notice a small shopping bag in his hand.

  “Goddamn,” Oliver whispers as he sits down.

  “What?”

  “I’ve only been up here once before,” he says.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s...” He scans the surrounding skyline. “Goddamn.”

  I chuckle. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Truthfully, I hope I never do,” he says.

  Oliver sets the black bag down in front of me, but says nothing about it.

  “What’s that?” I ask, intrigued.

  “That’s for you.”

  I blink. “Me?”

  He nods in response; brief yet powerful. I glance at the bag, feeling a kick of excitement and an ounce of dread spurred by the sinister glint in his blue eyes.

  But, hey, not about to turn down a gift.

  I pick up the bag and reach inside, feeling the smooth spine of a book against my fingertips. A few butterflies tingle my chest as I pull it out and flip it over to see the cover.

  “The Torn Photo,” I read aloud, “by J.P. Holwood.” I look at Oliver. “What’s this?”

  Oliver smiles. “That’s my favorite book,” he says. “Sorry I’m a little late, by the way. I ran to that bookshop down the street to see if they had it.”