Boss Next Door

by Beverly Evans

  “Okay bud, before I give you this treat, we need to have a talk,” I start. “You need to stop digging under that fence. And you definitely need to stop doing your business in the neighbor’s yard.”

  I gesture as I talk – it’s a lifelong habit of mine – and Thaddeus’ eyes follow my every movement. He lets out a chuff that could be him agreeing to my demands or just demanding that I hand over the goodies – it really could go either way.

  I squat down and scratch him behind the ear – something he normally loves. Right now, though, his only focus is in trying to figure out how to get the treat out of my hand and into his mouth. Laughing softly, I hand it over, and he wolfs it down eagerly – then looks at me as if expecting another.

  “You are terrible. Such a taker,” I tell him.

  I hand him another treat, though – I can’t resist that sweet face. I love this dog, and I’m pretty sure he loves me more than he loves my mom. I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, open it, and lean against the center island as I take a long drink, my mind whirling with thoughts.

  Seeing Braxton standing in the doorway this morning felt like a sharp kick to the belly. Even now, a little while removed from it, I can feel that familiar dull ache and burn inside of me. He’s as gorgeous as he ever was. His brown eyes still sparkle, his jawline is still strong, and he still looks as fit and toned as ever.

  I mean, it’s probably irresistible to other women. I’m sure he’s probably got somebody in his life. How could he not? He’s probably even got a family by now – which would make sense since he’s living out here in the suburbs of Henderson – a small city about twenty minutes away from Vegas proper. Yeah, it’s a posh gated community, but it’s well away from the Strip and all the debauchery that entails and is very much a suburb – exactly the sort of place you’d raise a family in. He’s wealthy and gorgeous. Of course he’s got a wife and a family.

  Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m thinking about all of that. Braxton and I did not end – whatever it was we had – on good terms. He showed himself to be an arrogant asshole who thought he could snap his fingers and make me bend to his wishes. And it’s that thought – that memory – I’m trying to hold onto. But it’s slipping through my fingers like sand, and I can’t seem to grasp it tightly enough.

  Instead of the fight we had that last morning before I trudged off to London, my head is filled with other memories. I recall the laughter we shared. I remember the smiles he always seemed able to bring to my face. Yeah, he frustrates me in ways few others have ever been able to before – or since – but most of the time, he had a knack for being able to get a smile out of me.

  That of course, leads to other memories, and snippets of our two nights together start to play through my mind. My body tingles as I remember the way his hands felt on my body. The way his mouth and tongue felt upon my skin. Despite my best efforts to stuff them all down, images of his naked body flash through my mind like they’re on a highlight reel. My nose is filled with his scent – he always smelled so clean and musky. My body quivers as I replay the feeling of him sliding inside of me for the first time. I bite my bottom lip hard, feeling myself growing warm and wet as I remember the way he filled me up so completely, the way he fit inside of me so perfectly.

  I close my eyes, still biting my bottom lip as I slide my hand into my boxers. A small smile touches my lips as I remember tying him to the chair and riding his cock for everything I was worth. As my fingers dance over lips that are suddenly swollen and slick, I feel myself shiver as the image of me bouncing up and down on his hard dick fills my mind. I loved having that sense of power and control while I fucked him.

  As the ghostly echoes of our moans fill my head, I drive two fingers into my pussy. I gasp as I start to pump them in and out, my thumb finding my clit, circling and rubbing it as I work my pussy harder. As I remember the way Braxton’s tongue felt on my clit I shudder, and when I recall him parting my lips with it, grinding his mouth hard against my pussy as he ate me out, I can’t stop the moan that bubbles up out of my throat.

  I lean over the counter, bracing myself with one hand as I keep thrusting my fingers into my pussy, the memory of feeling Braxton’s cock inside of me fueling my lust. I picture myself being bent over and fucked from behind, feel the sharp sting of him spanking my ass as I slip a third finger into my pussy and bang myself even harder.

  My body is crackling with intense sensations as I plunge my fingers into my pussy again and again. Remembering the way his body felt against mine, the weight of him pressed down on me as he fucked me makes me shudder wildly. I recall the feeling of him erupting inside of me, and it makes me lose control of myself. I cry out as I come. My pussy jolts and spasms, my orgasm crashing down over me with the force of a powerful wave.

  Breathing heavily, I remain where I am, letting the waves of my orgasm wash through me. Slowly, I come back to myself and slide my hand out of my boxers, suddenly gripped by the desire to fuck Braxton again. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the wanton need to feel him inside of me.

  “No, no, no,” I mutter to myself. “That can’t happen. I won’t do that again.”

  I go upstairs and clean up, looking at myself in the mirror and feel a ripple of guilt pass through me both for masturbating to memories of Braxton, but also for blowing off my interview because I’m afraid of seeing him again. Braxton stirs emotions in me like nobody else can, and that terrifies me.

  There’s something about Braxton that makes me feel out of control. Like my mind isn’t my own. And if there is one thing I refuse to do in my life, it’s cede control of it to anybody. I’ve done that for far too long and look where it’s gotten me.

  No, it’s better that I stay as far away from Braxton Voight as possible – a task that might prove difficult, considering the fact that he lives right next door. Well, if nothing else, it will be a good test for me and this newfound control I’m looking to assert.

  I go back downstairs and grab another bottle of water out of the refrigerator and pace around the kitchen as I drink it. I need to formulate a plan. I need a job, and then I need to get out of my mother’s house as quickly as I can if for no other reason than preserving my sanity.

  But having blown off the interview today, I don’t know that I can go back to Ms. Walsh. That will likely be a black mark on my record, and since she was doing me a favor anyway, I don’t think a no-show is going to make her look too favorably on me. I know that I have to at least try, so I make a mental note to call her first thing in the morning. Maybe I can spin some story that will make it look a bit better than it is. I don’t want to outright lie to her, but I know she liked me, and I’d like to preserve some of that good feeling if at all possible.

  I just need to put a better face on this. I mean, it’s not like I can tell her I bailed on my interview so I can avoid my ex – whatever he was to me. She seems like a no-nonsense kind of woman, and I doubt she’d take too kindly to what even I have to admit is pretty adolescent behavior. I’m a grown woman and should be able to work for or with somebody regardless of personal history.

  I just can’t.

  Call me a child, but I didn’t realize just how much residual tension remained within me until I saw Braxton face to face and felt it all get stirred up again. Ever since that moment, my body has hummed with a nervous and almost anticipatory tension. I’ve felt wound tighter than a spring, and I know that I can’t be around him. There is just too much water under that particular bridge. There are too many things left unsaid and too many feelings left unacknowledged.

  Working for him would be a Pandora’s Box that, if opened, would be entirely destructive. At least for me.

  Which means that if I’m not able to convince her to give me a second chance, I’m going to need to come up with another plan of attack. I can’t live forever on my savings, and I will not ask my mother for financial help. Having to ask her for a place to stay was a blow to my pride that will take me forever to recover from as it is. She’d nev
er let me live it down if I had to ask her for money on top of it.

  So since I already have my resume polished and ready, if things with Ms. Walsh don’t go my way, I’ll have to carpet bomb the area with it. I’ll have to go to staffing centers, search job boards online, and see if there are any career centers in the area. My biggest fear is that I’ll end up dealing cards like my mom used to. I’m sure she still has friends in the industry and can pull a few strings if need be, but that is my absolute last resort, absolute worst case, break the glass emergency scenario.

  Dealing cards is a job with almost zero upward mobility and would be a waste of my education – as if working for my father wasn’t – but I know if you can get into the high roller rooms, you can make pretty good money with the tips from the players. And as a woman who is attractive, intelligent, confident, and can be engaging, I have little doubt I could work myself into the high roller rooms fairly rapidly.

  It’s something I have absolutely no desire to do and would only choose to do it if my only other options were something like working at a Starbucks or McDonald’s. But at least it’s an option.

  I sigh and try to shake this icky feeling that’s wrapped its slimy tentacles around me. The old saying, ‘Man plans, the gods laugh’, springs to mind as I trudge my way upstairs. It seems like nothing I try to plan ever goes right. Something always comes along to wreck whatever plans I’ve laid. First, it was my father sabotaging my original career path – and then sabotaging my career as a whole. And now it’s Braxton Voight. I want to hate him, but try as I might, I can’t find it in me. I know it’s not like he planned to do this. But even knowing that doesn’t make this feel any less like a kick in the ass. It’s just another case of the gods laughing their asses off at my expense.

  And the fact that he has the nerve to still be so gorgeous after all these years doesn’t make it any easier.

  To clear my mind, I’ve decided that I’m going to go take a swim and layout by the pool for a while. Maybe some cool water and a good book will do me some good.

  Chapter Twenty

  Braxton

  “Did you lose your balls, man?” he asks.

  I stare at Noah’s image on the computer screen, a wry smirk on my face as I give him the finger. We laugh together for a minute. By the time I got home, I was still feeling pretty wound up about seeing Chloe again and had to talk to somebody about it, so I got on Skype and dialed up Noah. He’s one of the few people in this world who knows the whole Chloe saga, and he helped get me through some pretty dark times in the wake of it all.

  “Don’t listen to him, Braxton. I’ve got his balls on a necklace.”

  I laugh as Noah’s wife, Nadine peeks over his shoulder, wearing a wide smile. With long raven black hair and eyes that are just as dark, skin that’s smooth and pale, and a gorgeous hourglass figure, Nadine is a beautiful woman.

  “Hey Nadine,” I greet her. “Still slummin’ with this guy, I see.”

  She laughs. “Yeah you know, just waiting for something better to come along.”

  Noah scoffs. “There is nothing better coming along,” he laughs. “You’ve peaked, baby.”

  She rolls her eyes and gives him a kiss on the cheek. They’re so good together – they fit together perfectly on so many levels – but there’s part of me that’s envious of what they have together. I’d like the sort of open and easy, loving, and fun relationship they share.

  “How are you doing, Nadine?” I laugh. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” she grins. “When are you coming out to Briggs?”

  “Hopefully soon,” I tell her. “Noah tells me the place is really growing up.”

  “You should see it now,” she beams. “Seriously, get your ass up here and see it.”

  I laugh. “I will do my best to get up there as soon as I can.”

  “You better,” she laughs.

  I hear the pop and can tell by the way she jumps and lets out a surprised squeak that Noah slapped her on the backside. A wide smile spreads across her face that makes me laugh.

  “Do you mind?” he chuckles. “I’m trying to give him advice about his love life.”

  She laughs out loud and turns to me. “You’re going to take love advice from this guy?”

  I shrug. “Well, I can’t really argue too much,” I tell her. “I mean, he did marry well above his station, so he obviously has some sort of wisdom to impart.”

  They both erupt into laughter. “That was smooth, Braxton,” Nadine grins. “Very smooth.”

  “And he’s not wrong,” Noah chimes in.

  Their laughter slowly fades out as Nadine smiles and blows me a kiss before turning and disappearing from view. Noah leans back in his chair and takes a long pull of his beer.

  “You are a lucky man,” I tell him.

  He nods. “Yes I am,” he says. “But, let’s focus on your issue.”

  “I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing all day long,” I chuckle wryly.

  “So she just didn’t show up to her interview?” he asks. “No call, no nothing?”

  “Nothing but radio silence,” I confirm.

  I sigh as I take a swallow of my own beer. I’m sitting downstairs in the living room with my laptop propped up on my lap, letting the cool breeze pumping out of the air conditioner wash over me.

  “You said she lives next door, right?” Noah presses.

  I nod. “Yeah,” I grunt. “The old battle axe next door I told you about is her goddamn mother if you can believe that shit.”

  “You’re kidding,” he laughs out loud.

  “Wish I was.”

  “Fuck me,” he shakes his head, still chuckling. “Man, the gods must hate you.”

  “Yeah tell me about it,” I say. “It’s like some freakish twist of fate. I have no idea why she’s here and not in New York or why she’s not still working for her dad.”

  Noah arches an eyebrow at me with a wry expression on his face. “So why not ask her?”

  “Just walk over, knock on the door, and ask her. Just like that, huh?”

  He nods. “Yup. Just like that.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. I am not a shy man. Aloof sometimes, yes. But I’m never shy. However, the idea of just walking next door and asking her what went wrong in her life fills me with a feeling of hesitancy and dread I’ve never experienced before. As much as it pains me to admit, I’m actually afraid to go over there.

  “She made her feelings about me abundantly clear eight years ago,” I muse.

  “Do you really think she’s been holding a grudge all this time, man?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, Noah,” I state. “But I kind of think her not showing up for her interview is just an extension of those feelings.”

  “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” I counter.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “You seem awfully invested in me patching things up with Chloe,” I observe.

  “I think she’s good for you.”

  I laugh. “And what makes you say that?”

  He looks at me pointedly. “Because she scares you.”

  I arch my eyebrow at him, doing my best to hide the fact that he’d scored a bullseye. The last thing I want is to encourage him. He already thinks he’s always right as it is. I am afraid of Chloe simply because I’ve never not gotten what – or who – I wanted. Except when it came to her – and I still feel the bitter sting of that failure even all these years later.

  “Roll the dice, Braxton,” he urges. “You lost her once, and I think you’re going to spend the rest of your life kicking yourself in the ass if you let her get away again without even trying.”

  Nadine peeks over Noah’s shoulder again and flashes me a smile. “It pains me like you wouldn’t believe, but I agree with Noah this time,” she says. “And you are such a great guy who’s got so much to offer, that girl would be nuts to not give you another chance.”


  A mirthless smile touches my lips as I look at them. Even through the computer screen, it’s obvious to see how much Nadine and Noah love one another, and that twinge of envy flares up within me again. And I know the only way to quell that pain is to get off my ass and do something about it.

  We talk for another half hour before saying goodnight. After closing the laptop, I wander upstairs to my office, not feeling any more settled about the situation. I go to the tall cabinet beside my drafting board, open it, and pull out the small lockbox inside. Carrying it back to my desk, I sit down and set it on the surface in front of me. I punch in the code, and with an electronic chirp, the lock disengages. I open the box and pull out the sheet of paper sitting top of the stack inside and sigh.

  I stare down at the marriage certificate from a crazy, impetuous night eight ago. This is something I haven’t even told Noah about. I don’t know why I’ve kept it from him. Perhaps there’s some part of me afraid that he’ll give me a practical piece of advice – like have it annulled or something.

  Apparently, the ‘Crown Jewels’ package at that tacky little chapel included a free filing of the paperwork. This is what I get for not reading the fine print. It was supposed to be fun. A goof. And it was something that sounded like a grand idea when we were teetering on the edge of blackout drunk. What we’d intended to be a stupid, childish game, has turned into a legally binding marriage. Talk about a kick in the nuts.

  I never told Chloe about it. After she stormed out that morning, I figured this was only going to piss her off even more, since it had been me who dared her to do it. I had always planned to send in the annulment paperwork but never seemed to find the time to get around to it. After all those years went by, I’d sort of forgotten about it, actually. But when I saw Chloe standing in front of me again, the realization that we were still technically married came crashing down on me all over again.

  This is going to complicate things even more.

  I know I need to tell her about this, and we need to figure out how to best handle it. I’m sure her solution is going to be the same as Noah’s would have been had I told him – have it annulled. And I know that’s probably the smartest way to deal with the situation. I mean, it’s not exactly like we’ve been living as husband and wife these last eight years. Hell, neither of us really knew we technically were man and wife. Well – she didn’t. I found out that we were a few months after we got ‘married’, when I received the marriage certificate in the mail – included with a discount coupon to come back to the chapel to renew our vows on our next anniversary.