Boss Man Bridegroom

by Quinn, Meghan

  I just hope she’s not under there staring at my “bulge” because right about now, my cock is pressing against my jeans from the thought of Charlee giving me a “blowie.”

  * * *

  Charlee walks me to the door. Grandma is getting ready for bed and has already given me a hug. Because I brought so much Chinese food, we had some for dinner and polished off the rest of the Danishes for dessert. Once Charlee felt she could rejoin the group, we played a few more rounds of Life, this time Charlee and Grandma taking the wins.

  “I need to apologize.”

  I hold up my hand as I step outside her door, the hallway empty and lit up by lights. “No need to apologize. It was a great night, and I had a lot of fun. You guys didn’t have to invite me to stay.”

  She folds her arms over her chest and leans against the doorframe. “Technically, my grandma asked you to stay for games, not me.”

  “Yeah, but you did the initial inviting in.”

  “Are you really going to keep track of every last detail?”

  “That’s part of my job.”

  She shakes her head and presses her finger to my chest quickly before pulling it away. “No, that’s my job.”

  “So, does this mean you’ll be back to work on Monday?”

  “Miss me that much, boss man?”

  Not wanting to hide it, I say, “Yes, I did. I missed you a lot.”

  A grin of amusement passes over her lips. “Got you with the color coordination, didn’t I?”

  “I have a hard time looking at the color green without wanting to start working my ass off.”

  She laughs and rests her head against the doorframe and in a matter of seconds, my aching body has this uncontrollable urge to reach out and take her into my arms. I want to feel her warmth again, the softness of her body pressed against mine. I want to rub my hand up and down her back, going low enough that I almost touch the swell of her ass, causing her nipples to harden. I want to feel those pebbled nubs against my chest again, flick them with my thumbs, see how hard I can get them. And I want to cup her jaw in my large hand, pass my mouth over her cheek, her eyes, her nose, and then settle on her lips where I’d finally steal a kiss from her, a kiss I’ve wanted ever since I hired her.

  My body pulses with the idea, with reaching out, closing the space between us and taking what I want. It’s so potent, so heavy in my veins that I have to mentally reprimand myself and tell my legs to take a step back before I make a colossal mistake like kiss the best assistant I’ve ever had.

  “Thank you for tonight,” she says. “For listening to me and my stories.”

  Steadying my breath, I say, “It was nothing, but I will tell you this, if I ever run into your ex, he’ll be making a grand introduction to my fists.”

  “You’re going to beat him up for me?” she asks, humor in her voice.

  “Yeah, I fucking am, for taking away a special moment from you and your grandma. The guy deserves a lot more than a conversation with my fists. So much more.”

  “I like this protective side of you . . . Mr. Westin.” She presses her finger against my chest again and I have a strong urge to snatch that finger and pull her in closer. “Seriously though, thank you for listening. And I hope”—she pauses and looks me meaningfully in the eyes—“I hope you don’t think I’m still pining after him.”

  “I sure as hell hope not,” I say, wondering why she wanted to make that a point. Why she keeps touching me. Why her body language is leaning into me, tempting me to think dirty, naughty things.

  “I’m not. My love ended for him the day he left me at the altar.”

  “Good, or else I would have to kick your ass too.”

  She chuckles and taps me with her foot. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Watch it, Bag of Dicks, I could take you down.”

  Her eyes round in amusement. “You did not just call me bag of dicks.”

  “That’s what you call yourself all the time.” I smile and her face lights up even more. And before I do something I can never reverse, I say, “See you on Monday . . . Cox.”

  Not giving her a chance to respond, I turn around and head to the elevator, feeling a little bit more pep in my step. Hanging out with Charlee will do that to you; it will give you energy and make you almost feel like you’re walking on a cloud.

  If only I could return the favor to her.

  Make things better.

  Give her and her grandma the walk down the aisle they deserve.

  * * *

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Bram and Julia as I open the door to my apartment, finding them standing on the other side with a box of pastries. I’ve hit up the gym a lot more lately thanks to all my pastry consumption.

  “Can we please talk to you?” Julia asks, looking very apologetic.

  I push the door open and walk into my living room where I take a seat and lounge on my couch. They follow behind me and sit down on either side of me only to set the pastry box on my lap and pop it open.

  No Danishes.

  But . . . it’s full of my favorite lemon drop Italian cookies topped with sprinkles.

  Wow, they’re really sorry if they brought me these, because that would mean they had to go to Brooklyn to buy them.

  “Did you get these yourself or send someone to get them?” I ask.

  Julia holds her phone out in front of me and shows me a picture of them at the small Italian bakery I wish I lived in, because all I would do would sit in a corner and pop these in my mouth over and over until I fell into a sugar coma.

  “Fine.” I pick one up and shove the whole thing in my mouth, letting the lemony, buttery goodness soak into my taste buds. Fuck, these are amazing.

  Bram reaches for one but I swat his hand away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Sharing?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No. These are mine.” Like a child, I wrap both my arms around the box and hold it close to me.

  “Can you stop torturing me?” Bram asks, flopping back on the couch. “We haven’t talked in a week and I’m having a mental breakdown. You can’t be mad at us.”

  “I can’t?” I ask, about to go on a tirade when Julia steps in.

  “No, you can’t. Vanessa is my friend, Rath. You both messed up that relationship and you know it. You can’t act like the victim when you’re both to blame.”

  I know she’s right, but I don’t really want to listen to what’s right at the current moment. I want to be mad, I want to hold this against them, I want to be able to make them feel as bad as I do, because that’s what mature men do.

  “She’s the one who walked away.”

  “You’re the one who pushed her away,” Julia counters while Bram just rocks back and forth next to me, hands clasped, most likely praying for this to end.

  I didn’t enjoy fighting with Bram either. Not only was I missing Charlee, but I didn’t really have anyone to talk to about it other than Roark. And Roark is my buddy, but he’s also a sarcastic jackass most of the time and isn’t the most eloquent when it comes to advice.

  I missed my friend. I missed my sister.

  Hell, I missed these cookies.

  “Can we please just make up already?” Bram asks. “I can’t take the uncertainty of all of this. I need to know I have my best friend back.”

  Sighing, I drag my hand over my face and say, “I don’t want to see her.”

  “Why?” Julia asks. “Are you still hung up on her?”

  “No,” I say quickly, although, I’m wondering if that’s true. “No one wants to see their ex, especially if the other person is engaged. I don’t even have a girlfriend, for fuck’s sake.”

  “That’s not our fault,” Julia counters, her strong-headedness coming out. “Just because you don’t have a girlfriend shouldn’t be a reason why I don’t invite my friend to our wedding. Did you hear that, Rath?” Her voice grows tight. “This is our wedding. When you get married you can invite whoever you want.”

&nb
sp; “Fuck,” I mutter. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was just caught off guard and fuck, I really don’t want to see her, especially on my birthday.”

  “Oh, now you bring up the birthday thing.” Julia chuckles and pulls me into a hug. “This means a lot to us, Rath, especially if you can keep it together for one day.”

  I nod because when it comes down to it, I would do anything for my sister and Bram, even if it means spending my birthday with my ex, who I never want to talk about . . . ever.

  My first real girlfriend. My first real assistant who didn’t let me down. My first love. My first heartbreak. Who wants to be slapped in the face by the past? Probably no one, but when it comes down to it, I will internally suffer for the good of Bram.

  And Julia . . . I guess.

  “You owe me a really nice birthday present. More than just a cake. I want something big and expensive.” I point to Bram. “Do you hear me? Really fucking expensive.”

  “We have a wedding to pay for,” Julia reminds me.

  “Please, the money you’re spending on it, we shit out in an hour. You’re not going to even notice a dent.”

  “He’s right, babe,” Bram says, leaning over me and snagging a cookie from my box. I let him. “I’m filthy rich, you have nothing to worry about.” Sitting back, he says, “How about you go on the honeymoon with us?”

  “Now there’s—”

  “No.” Julia shakes her head. “I draw the line at my brother spending our honeymoon with us where all I’ll be packing are two pieces and lingerie.”

  Bram’s face falls in shock and then he pats me on the back. “Sorry, dude. You’ve been uninvited.”

  Saw that coming from a mile away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CHARLEE

  “Good morning,” I say to Rath as he steps off the elevator, looking fine as hell in a tailored navy-blue suit with a white shirt and tan shoes. It’s casual business attire for him, an outfit I’m sure he didn’t put much thought into, but to me, it’s an aphrodisiac.

  This past week has been an emotional roller coaster not just because of my grandma, who refuses to tell me any information about her health, but because of the man standing in front of me, wearing a charming smile on his face—a smile I didn’t experience until this past weekend when he melted any kind of shield I’d tried to keep around my heart.

  Not only did he visit me once last week, but twice. He came to my apartment concerned, full of compassion, and showed me a side of him I’d never seen before.

  He held me while I cried.

  He listened to me while I sobbed.

  He made me laugh when I was least expecting it.

  And of course, he charmed the pants right off my grandma . . . and me. Literally, when he left, she shucked her pants and said she needed a cigarette from just being around him. Is it odd to say I felt the same exact way?

  Saturday night I went to bed with a huge smile on my face. I didn’t see it at first. I thought he was a robot, someone who didn’t know how to feel an ounce of emotion, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Renita said he was a nice guy, but she missed the mark. He isn’t nice, he’s amazing.

  He made me feel things I haven’t felt in a really long time, or maybe ever. He made me question my sanity every time he laughed, he made me swoon when he smiled, and when he was leaving, he made me feel like I couldn’t take another breath if he didn’t kiss me right then and there.

  I couldn’t stop myself from touching him, from pressing my finger to his rock-hard chest, from giving him small hints here and there that if he wanted to pull me in by the waist and ravish my mouth with his, I would let him.

  But he didn’t and as he walked away, I dug deep and forced myself to breathe. To let go of the feelings coming at me full force.

  That was until he walked off the elevator.

  Rath gives me a quick once-over and then studies my eyes for a few breaths. “You were crying this morning.” Not a question, but a statement. “Why are you here?”

  Always observant, a quality I find incredibly sexy. No one sees me like he does.

  “Because I want to work. I need to get out of the apartment.” Together we walk to his office. “My grandma is slowing down more and more and it’s startling, so I needed some time away.”

  “Then you can leave at noon so you can be with her.” He sets his briefcase on the floor next to his desk but doesn’t take a seat. He sits on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, and faces me.

  I felt the shift in our relationship when he came over to check on me, when he pulled me onto his lap and cradled my head to his chest, stroked my back. When he stopped by on Saturday, I continued to feel the shift from business only to getting mixed up into each other’s personal lives. I thrived off the shift, loving the way he relaxed and showed an unexpected layer of depth.

  Coming into the office this morning, I was nervous that shift would go back to what it used to be, but from his body language, his casual posture, his concern, I can proudly say, the shift held.

  “That’s not necessary. She’ll only be sleeping at this point. I’d rather be here, helping you. I know it’s hard to understand, but I truly do love this job, and the distraction is nice. Just this morning, I caught her looking through her wedding album and crying into her handkerchief.” I get choked up myself. “I can’t be there, have the constant reminder of what’s to come and what’s not to come.”

  “I can understand that.” He pushes off the desk and takes a step forward. Reaching out, he pushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “Were you crying this morning because of the album?” The touch is intimate, loving, and when I want to push my face into his hand, he pulls away, clearing his throat, almost like he’s chastising himself for reaching out.

  I nod. “Yeah, just too raw.” I sigh and flippantly say, “Hell, at this point, I’d randomly marry someone just to give her what she wants before anything happens to her . . . you know?”

  When I look up at him, I watch as his brow pinches together. Does the idea of randomly marrying someone not meet his approval?

  He looks off to the side, deep in thought. I wish I could be inside his head, hear all his thoughts, rather than trying to guess what he’s thinking about. Turning back to me, he scratches the back of his neck and says, “Why don’t you do that? Get married?”

  Wow, I was not expecting that.

  “Oh, okay.” I laugh. “Yup, let me go pick out a guy from the hundreds lined up at my door. Not to mention, marrying someone is serious.”

  “What if it didn’t have to be?” he asks, his eyes running wild now, as if he’s come upon a reasonable solution. “A marriage of convenience.”

  Oh Rath. I chuckle and shake my head. “You know, I think you’ve been reading too many historical romances. You’ve sort of lost it, boss man romantic pants.”

  “I’m serious,” he says, looking me square in the eyes, in earnest. “You can get married, wear the dress for your grandma and then later, get an annulment. At least she’ll have her moment.”

  “Under false pretenses,” I argue and wonder if he’s lost it. “Plus, who on earth would sign up for that farce? She would never believe I’d marry any random person.”

  “Doesn’t have to be a random person.” He pauses, his chest rising and falling faster than before. Time stretches between us as his eyes bore down on mine. It feels like ten minutes pass before he finally licks his lips and says, “Marry me.”

  The room stills and only the light hum of his computer fills the silence as I try to comprehend what he just said.

  Marry him?

  He can’t be serious. From the shocked look on his face, I’m not the only one stunned from his suggestion.

  “What?” I whisper.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushes away and paces his office, one hand pushing through his hair. Finally, with his head tilted down, he glances at me and says, “Marry me.”

  That’s what I thought he said, but I still can’t quite understand why he would suggest
such a thing. Why he’d want to fake a marriage with me. I know he likes my grandma, but that much?

  And why does he look so serious, as if he’s given this great thought, as if this is one of the wisest decisions he’s ever made?

  And why does the suggestion flip my stomach in nervous but excited knots?

  Marry Rath Westin. The idea is so far-fetched, so unbelievable, and yet, I know one person who would believe it, one person who would be incredibly happy over the entire prospect.

  “Rath . . .”

  “It would help me out too,” he says quickly. “A wife, a fiancée would assist me with a few upcoming events.”

  “What upcoming events?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.

  “Fundraisers,” he answers quickly. “The people with the bigger pockets have wives; they’re more receptive to donating if I show a softer side of myself.” He points at me. “That would be you.”

  He does make a valid point. I’ve been to those events with Mr. Danvers and noticed how easily he racked up the donations and deals because of how entertaining his wife was. And when Rath and I were in Miami, including when speaking to female executives, having someone by his side who could maintain and execute business conversation was a definite bonus. Mind you, some probably wished I wasn’t by his side, given how close they tried to get to him. Unsurprisingly . . .

  “So . . . this would be like a business deal then?”

  “Yeah, a marriage of convenience. We both get something out of it. You get your walk down the aisle in your grandma’s dress, I get a charming woman on my arm to help me with the upcoming donation season. The holidays are right around the corner, people have money to spend, and I want Westin Enterprises to be who they donate to.”

  “You think I’m charming?”

  I awkwardly fluff my hair to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t lighten up at all. He grows more serious. “You know I think you’re charming.”

  Oh God, those eyes. I know what eyes those are. Those are promising eyes, the type that make you weak in the knees. And guess what, they’re doing just that.