Ego Trip: A Cocky Boss Romantic Comedy

by Tabatha Kiss

  Oliver smiles as he drifts closer, his hard cock leading the way. “I was going to,” he says. “I started getting dressed, but then...” He takes hold of my waist and pulls me against him. “I decided that I’m not done with you yet.”

  I glance at his dick. “I can see that, but—”

  He kisses me as he reaches around to cup my wet body.

  I laugh. “I’ve already showered, Oli!”

  Oliver scoops me up and sets me down on the bathroom counter. He yanks my towel open, exposing my naked body as my legs spread wide for him. “So, you’ll be dirty,” he says, “but happy...”

  My laughter turns to moans again as Oliver takes hold of his cock and guides it home.

  Chapter 16

  Paige

  present day

  Do friends masturbate to memories of their friends fucking them on hotel bathroom counters?

  Probably not.

  But after yesterday, with that almost-kiss in suite 1412 and the way he looked at me in the restaurant and how that motherfucker went down the street to a bookstore just to buy me his favorite book.

  Fuck.

  My vibrator buzzes between my legs, igniting the memory with each deep thrust I give myself. I don’t recall exactly how long Oliver kept me propped up on that counter. I sure as shit remember how good it felt. It only took a few minutes of those urges for me to wonder how good it would feel to recreate the memory on my own.

  Pretty fucking good, actually.

  I lean back against the mirror behind me and raise my legs a little higher, imagining his naked body pressed between them with perfect clarity. His stunning physique. Chiseled abs and muscular arms. I could have lost myself in them for hours, but he pinched my chin and made me look him in the eyes. He kissed me and groaned with pleasure. He forced me to say his name as I —

  A full body climax charges through me. I slide the vibrator’s shaft inside of me until it bottoms out and angle it hard against my G-spot so the vibrations make me—

  “Fuck!”

  My voice echoes off the walls of the bathroom. I bite my lip hard, smothering the next moan as my entire body spasms on the counter.

  Oli.

  I don’t say it out loud, but I can still see the smirk on his face.

  You’ll be dirty,

  but happy.

  I pull out as the vibrations become too much for me to take. My ankles sway as I slide off the counter, so I keep a steady hand on it to keep myself upright.

  A woman stares back at me from the mirror. She’s a little blurry thanks to her farsighted eyes, but I can make out the details of her.

  Wet blonde hair.

  Pouty lips and rose-red cheeks.

  Perky breasts barely covered by the open royal blue bathrobe. Ms. Landon, the front pocket says in golden thread beneath a matching golden B. It was a gift from her boss on their first anniversary of working together. The first of many, a note in the pocket said, along with a hefty bonus check that honestly didn’t last very long if she recalls correctly.

  I glare at my reflection.

  Who is this woman?

  I haven’t let a man rile me up like this since... well, that night four years ago, but I was fine with that. I have a great job. I have my mother, thankfully. I have my book boyfriends and my giant fucking vibrators and I am happy. But, wait! Here comes Oliver Black. He waltzes back into my life and I’m a damn cat in heat suddenly?

  I shake my head, suddenly overwhelmed with post-orgasm clarity.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I didn’t just masturbate to memories of my friend.

  I masturbated to my current boss.

  Luckily, I haven’t technically done anything wrong. Yet. There’s nothing in the corporate manual about the ethics of masturbating to one’s superiors... so long as I don’t physically act on those urges, of course.

  I clean the vibrator in the sink and shove it back into its satin travel bag where it belongs. And to think I almost didn’t bring it with me on this trip.

  I just might need it again if I’m ever going to make it through next week.

  Chapter 17

  Oliver

  “You what?”

  I pause, taken back by Paige’s explosive reaction to my statement. “I can’t swim,” I repeat, slower this time in case she heard me wrong.

  Paige’s mouth sags as she lifts her pen off the clipboard. “You can’t swim?” she asks.

  Her dangling blue-jeweled earrings shimmer as she moves her head. They match my tie perfectly today, though I shouldn’t be surprised. When my soaked suit from yesterday was delivered to my suite this morning, freshly cleaned and perfectly pressed, the employee offered me two ties as well: blue and black stripes or blue diamonds on black.

  I chose diamonds. When I made my way downstairs, I found Paige waiting for me with speckles of blue hidden throughout her latte-colored suit like sapphires; her earrings, her bracelet, a thin, fashionable scarf tied off around her neck, and let’s not forget the usual faded blue hidden within the frames of her glasses.

  And thus began the beginning of the end of my reluctance to go full corporate. She’ll match us whether I like it or not.

  I shake my head as I turn back to my file. “Never learned how,” I say.

  “Why not?” she asks.

  “Just never did.”

  “How is that possible? You ran a building with a pool on the roof for years.”

  “I never had to clean it myself,” I joke, and she laughs. “You’re telling me there’s no common survival skill out there that you never learned how to do?”

  Paige pauses, glancing up as she thinks it over between the tall stacks of boxes marked cloth napkins in the restaurant stockroom. Seven long hours of counting and verifying and auditing books have left my head spinning, but it’s somehow gone by quickly thanks to the constant flow of friendly conversation between us.

  For a second, I think that maybe Graham was on to something here. Having an assistant might not be so bad of an idea after all.

  But only for a second.

  After a moment, Paige hums softly. “I guess I never learned how to light a fire with two sticks or whatever,” she says.

  I laugh as I purposefully look her over. Clearly not the outdoorsy type this one. “You?”

  She holds up her hands. “I know. It’s a shock,” she quips. “Can you do that?”

  “I can,” I answer as I mark out a finished task on my form.

  “Really? Do a lot of camping in your day?”

  “Now and then.” I take a wide step down the line of pristine tablecloths folded neatly on the shelf. “You?”

  She snorts. “Not really, though I do like the idea of it. Hang out with mama nature. Cut off from the world. Sleep beneath the stars. It actually sounds kind of fun... assuming I still had clean water and soap and a warm bed to sleep in.”

  “And a place to shower?”

  “With hot water!”

  I chuckle. “Maybe a cabin getaway would be more your style, then.”

  “Do they put cabins on the beach?” she quips, though I doubt she’s kidding.

  “Sure,” I say. “If you like ice fishing.”

  She bristles as her cellphone chimes from the pocket of her jacket.

  “Excuse me,” she says as she pulls it out and answers without a glance at the screen. “Hey, Mom. … Yeah, I’m working.”

  She looks at me and I give her a nod to show that she can take the call.

  “New York,” she says, giving me a grateful head bob as she turns around and walks out of the stockroom. “Uh-huh...”

  I adjust the roll of my sleeves as I take a quick break as well. Three days into this trip and her mother has called three times that I know of. My assumption that they must be close seems to be quite the understatement, as Paige instantly answers each time whether or not she’s on the clock; a strange trait for Paige “by-the-book” Landon for sure.

  Paige returns with her head high and shoulders rolled
back, ready to get back to work. “Okay,” she says, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Where were we...?”

  “Is your mother all right?” I ask.

  “Oh, yeah,” she answers. “She just gets lonely sometimes.”

  “Is your father not around?”

  Paige pauses. I realize I might have overstepped. “Not so much, no,” she says. “It’s just the two of us nowadays.”

  “Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “No, it’s fine!” She waves a hand as she pivots back to the stock. “Let’s finish this up, shall we?”

  I smirk as I present my clipboard. “Already did.”

  She blinks twice as she takes it from me and scans the front page. “We’re... done?”

  “We’re done,” I say. “New York day two is officially in the bag.”

  She releases another deep sigh. “Oh, thank the lord. I thought it’d never end.”

  “Working with me is that hard, eh?”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—” She stops as she notices my smirk. “Yes, I admit it,” she jokes. “It’s awful. You’re awful. This was awful.”

  “Really?”

  “Worst day of my professional life. Yes.”

  I chuckle. “Then, let me make it up to you.” I snatch the clipboard from her hand. “Let’s go get a drink.”

  Predictably, Paige inhales sharply to argue her way out of it.

  “Please,” I say before she can. “You blew me off last night and the night before that—”

  “I didn’t blow you off. Come on.”

  “We just spent a full day auditing the massive, five-star, Botsford Plaza New York restaurant,” I argue. “We came, we saw, we conquered the hell out of it, and I want to celebrate with a drink at the bar with my new best friend.”

  Her lips twitch. “Oliver—”

  “You and me. Right now. On me. Let’s go.”

  “But—”

  “One drink and you can explain to me why exactly I should root for Melissa and Richard to be together,” I say, dropping the bait.

  Paige’s jaw opens wide. “Excuse me?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t see why they should end up together.”

  “Uh... because they’re meant to be!”

  “But why, though? He’s a jerk. She deserves better.”

  She scoffs. “That’s so—”

  I hold a finger to her lips, stopping her. “Save it for the bar,” I say, quickly turning around taking a few triumphant strides toward the door. “Come on. Head downstairs, slip into something a little more casual, and meet me in ten. I’ll do the same.”

  Paige arches a brow. “Casual?”

  “Yeah.” I give my tie a light yank. “I hate drinking in a tie. Not my style.”

  She chuckles and props her hands on her hips as she considers it.

  I hold open the stockroom door and wait. I don’t have to say anything else. I know I’ve got her hooked.

  “Fine,” she says. “One casual drink.”

  I smile.

  Gotcha.

  Chapter 18

  Paige

  Casual.

  A casual drink with a co-worker.

  I reach the entrance to the bar, casually.

  It’s crowded tonight, though not too crowded for a New York Wednesday. I shouldn’t stick out too much in a sweater and jeans; the most casual articles of clothing in my suitcase.

  After a bit of scanning, I spot Oliver sitting at the bar. One step forward and I pause, taken back by his sudden smile. He’s talking to somebody.

  Shirley.

  Her hair tumbles over one shoulder. She’s still wearing her server uniform, but she’s clearly off the clock with a loosened collar and open vest. She says something and touches Oliver’s arm from the stool beside him, laughing the entire time.

  My chest tightens, though I’m not sure why. Why would I care if he talks to other women? Smiles at other women? Accepts the oh-so-casual touches of other women with fun and flirty red hair and big lips and—

  Okay, maybe he was on to something with that jealousy thing before.

  I should duck out of here before he catches me staring at him, or else he’ll never let me live it down.

  Oliver looks up and smiles.

  Shit.

  I push myself forward, pretending to move with momentum as I make my way toward the bar. As I approach, Shirley turns her head and grins, her lips emblazoned with a deep red non-regulation lip color, but she’s on her own time now.

  “Hey, Paige!” she greets me as she scoots off the stool. “I saved your spot.”

  I shift back to let her step around me. “Oh, thank you,” I say.

  “Thank you, Shirley,” Oliver says, raising his bottle. “And thank you again for the drink.”

  “Anytime, Mr. Black,” she teases as she slinks into the crowd. “I’ll see you around. Bye, Paige.”

  “Bye, Shirley. See you next quarter,” I say out of pure habit.

  But that’s not true, is it?

  I’ve already forgotten that this will be the last time I’m here as the Assistant to the Company Liaison. It’s a sudden thought, but strong enough to twinge my stomach.

  Oliver gestures at the stool for me. “Have a seat,” he says.

  I slide onto it, careful not to brush against the man on my other side. “Thanks,” I say again.

  He pushes the second bottle in front of him toward me. “From Shirley,” he says. “She insisted on buying our first round.”

  “Oh,” I say, “that was awfully kind of her.”

  “Yes, she’s very kind,” he says. “She slipped me a room key, too. I’m meeting up with her later.”

  Oh.

  “Well, that’s…” My chest twists even tighter. Suddenly, I feel no urge to touch the drink in front of me at all. “That’s certainly kind...”

  That’s one way to put it, I guess.

  Oliver smirks. “I’m kidding,” he says. “I wouldn’t sleep with a subordinate. That would be naughty.” He raises the bottle to his mouth. “You... weren’t feeling a little jealous, now were you?” he asks before taking a sly sip.

  I scoff. “Of course not.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “But if you’d like me to beat you with the employee handbook, I’ll be happy to do so.”

  “No need.” He sets the bottle down on the bar. “I only break the rules for you.”

  I look away, targeting the drink in front of me. I slide a finger along the dripping condensation as I decide whether to acknowledge that comment.

  “You look nice,” Oliver says before I can reply.

  My lips twitch. “I just put on a sweater and came downstairs,” I say.

  “Well, it’s a nice sweater and you look nice in it.” He tilts his head. “Nice enough to catch the attention of that guy over there.”

  I stiffen. “What guy?”

  “Blond hair. Blue blazer. Glasses. Five o’clock.”

  “My five or your five?”

  “Yours.”

  I perform a casual glance over my right shoulder. Just like Oliver said, I lock onto the blond man sitting at the other end of the bar. We make eye contact and he flashes me a quick, subtle smile.

  I spin back around. “You weren’t kidding,” I say.

  “I was not,” Oliver says, expertly ignoring the man so he doesn’t suspect we’re talking about him.

  “He’s pretty,” I say. “Like, really pretty.”

  Oliver nods. “He’s a pretty guy, yes.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Well...” he smiles, “I imagine he’s waiting for me to leave so he can buy you a drink.”

  I shake my head. “No way.”

  “Trust me. I’ve smiled at many a woman across a hotel bar. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “And what look from me will tell him thanks, but no thanks?”

  “A hard glare from me should be more than effective, I think. Though, I’m curious why you would
want me to.”

  “I’m here for work,” I say. “Not play.”

  “You’re off the clock,” he argues. “As your boss, I give you permission to play.”

  “I don’t think so. Hard glare, please.”

  Oliver exhales through his nose, giving me one last moment to change my mind before hardening his face. He furrows his brow and glares across the bar, giving the blond man a protective death stare that even makes me lean back a bit.

  I sip from my beer as I wait.

  “And there goes Blondie,” Oliver says after a moment.

  “He’s gone?”

  He nods. “He’s gone.”

  I glance over my shoulder again to confirm it. Blondie no more.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re welcome. Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you really ask me to do that?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I wouldn’t know what to do with him, anyway.”

  “Oh, honey.” Oliver chuckles. “I know better than anyone how untrue that is. You could use that guy’s chin as a bicycle seat right now. What’s really up?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “I’m just not in the mood for… a bike ride tonight. I have plans.”

  “Plans?”

  “Yes, I have plans.”

  “What plans?”

  “I’m having a wind-down drink with my boss,” I say. “Then, I’m going back upstairs to my suite, taking a long, hot shower, and then reading until I fall asleep. They’re perfect plans. More than adequate for a Wednesday night.”

  “Sure, in Cleveland,” he quips. “This is New York City. Bike lanes on every street.”

  “Okay, big guy. What are your cardio plans for this evening?”

  His lips twitch. “I’m having a wind-down drink with my assistant, going upstairs to my suite, and reading until I fall asleep.”

  I laugh, victorious. “That’s what I thought!”

  “But…” he raises a finger, “if I spotted a twenty-seven-year-old with big lips, thick glasses, and an attitude problem, I’d be legally obligated to make an exception.”