Bad Boss: A Steamy Romantic Comedy

by Liv Lane

  Now it’s fuchsia pink and brown.

  I glare back at the meeting responsible for my misfortune. It’s in ten freaking minutes.

  I bound from my chair like it’s an ejector seat and all but sprint to the bathroom. I try dabbing it with water, but that only makes a worse mess. Finally, and conscious of the ticking minutes, I take it off and liberally douse it under the tap. With the aid of some hand soap, the stain comes out, and I’m mentally congratulating myself on the recovery when I drop a swathe of the gathered material into the sink.

  Just great! It’s soaked, like dripping wet.

  I press my hands to my face. They’re shaking, my whole body is shaking, and I’m getting tunnel vision. I think I might actually pass out.

  I squeeze out as much water as I can. I’m glad it’s a cheap material that doesn’t crease, and I thrust it under the hand dryer and take a quick peek at my watch.

  Four minutes, and I have to wait for the elevator to arrive.

  I curse some, burning my fingers and then panic thinking I might have ruined the blouse.

  While it’s not damaged, it’s still soaking.

  Three minutes. I know I have to go.

  I pull it back on, but now the buttonholes are tight and wet, and they fight my fumbling attempts to close it. I smooth it down and check myself in the mirror.

  No coffee stain. Check.

  But it’s wet…and see-through.

  It’s fine, I tell myself. By the time I get to Matt’s office, it will be fine. I check my watch. I’m going to be late, and I hurry out of the bathroom and head for the elevator, stabbing the button half a dozen times like that’s going to hurry it up.

  It takes ages to arrive, and it’s full, and it stops at nearly every freaking floor. No one mentions my blouse, which I take as a good sign that it’s not as bad as I think. Unless they’re too polite. Actually, everyone in the office is super polite—except for Rex, but that’s more misguided than a lack of manners.

  I’m worrying again as the elevator empties on the penultimate floor, and I ascend alone to the top level.

  The whole building is nicely furnished with a relaxed modern theme, and Matt’s floor is no different. He has a corner office on the west side next to the boardroom. I know this because Susan filled me in when she came by yesterday to thank me for the pastries I ordered in from the German bakery on fifth. I like Susan, she’s so friendly, and she happened to mention that she’s married to Matt’s brother while we were chatting…which is good to know.

  I hang about outside the elevator, trying to work out which way is west and check my watch. I’m ten minutes late. How is it possible to be ten minutes late when I’ve only traveled eight floors? I catch a glance of the river through the window, and it’s enough to orientate myself. I head west but come to a stop when I spot his office. There’s a desk outside, which I presume to be Susan’s. She’s not at her desk, but I know I’ve found the right place because Matt is standing at the door to his office. He’s leaning casually against the frame, looking like a cover image for GQ magazine.

  Who looks like that every day?

  He pushes off, and steps aside, indicating I should precede him into the room.

  Nervous tension envelops me as I approach, and I’m conscious of the tiny gap I must pass through. I wait for him to move. He doesn’t. He simply stares down at me with an expectant expression. I can see the shadow of scruff on his jaw as I near. He’s not shaved this morning—and it’s hot. Maybe it’s because he’s got a suit on? No, I think he’ll look this good in anything. Or nothing.

  I try not to think about that because I’m close enough to smell his aftershave, and it’s doing funny things to me. I try to hold my breath, like that’s possible when my heart is racing a million miles an hour.

  He’s not looking at my face. He’s staring at my chest, my wet blouse actually. Probably wondering why it’s wet.

  I trip.

  I’m confident there are no hidden bumps in the carpet. My feet seem to stop functioning as I reach him, and the simple act of placing one foot before the other defeats me.

  His arm shoots out to catch me before I can face-plant into the lovely plush flooring. And somehow, I end up plastered against his chest. It’s softer than the floor, I’m sure. But not by much, and during my attempt to extract myself from his hold I smooth my hands over ridges of hard muscles.

  My face is radiating heat, and my pulse pounds heavy in my temple.

  His hands, strong and capable, close around my upper arms. I look up when he doesn’t release me. He’s smirking.

  “You’re welcome,” he says.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT’S NOT COFFEE this time, although she’s definitely spilled something, either that or she decided to take a shower with her clothes on.

  And she’s just thrown herself at me.

  Not technically at me, but better me than the floor, right?

  I hang onto her arms because she doesn’t appear too stable—ever. I draw her into the room and kick the door shut with a thud that makes her jump.

  I’ve been thinking about those plump red lips wrapped around my cock ever since our fateful first meeting Monday morning.

  It’s been a long week, during which I have found an inventive number of pretexts to hang out on her floor.

  I know I’m not imagining her interest, her eyes track my every move, and I make damn sure I stand where she can see me because I really like her interest.

  This morning’s elevator encounter reminded me that I’ve been reticent in formally welcoming her to the company. Something I do with every new employee, no matter the position or pay-grade. Admittedly, I don’t normally want to fuck new hires—with the exception of the paralegal who remains my greatest error of judgment.

  Emma’s cheeks are flushed, and she bites nervously on her bottom lip.

  I track the movement. It’s not really an invitation, but I’m going to accept it as such.

  Stepping into her space, I wrap my fingers around her hair, which she’s worn in loose tumbling waves, and lower my lips over hers. She gasps, her soft lips parting on a soft sigh that sends blood rushing straight to my dick. She tastes like cinnamon and cherries, which shouldn’t be a good combination, but it is. Maneuvering her against the door, I palm her ass through the jeans she’s wearing wishing it wasn’t casual Friday because the material is too thick to feel through, and glad it’s casual Friday because they fit her like a glove. I tug her hair gently, the strands oh-so silken under my fingers, and bring her lips exactly where I need them.

  Her arms have circled my neck, and she’s pulling me in closer—which reminds me of where we are. I break the kiss and step back.

  “I’m sorry,” she says like it’s her fault.

  I smile and raise an eyebrow as I straighten my suit jacket and readjust my tie. “Much as the thought of you dragging me off to have your way with me is appealing, I don’t think you can shoulder all the blame, Emma.”

  She has no idea what to make of that, and her lack of sophistication is bringing out the worst in me. I’m definitely going to need to take this slow. I don’t want our first time to be a rushed office fuck, although I’m certainly not opposed to trying that later. But I’m going to need to build her up to that, I can tell.

  And I’m going to savor the journey.

  I check my watch. I booked a thirty-minute meeting, and only fifteen are left. I don’t usually delve into my own schedule, but Susan had gone to help Tony in accounts with a presentation, and after the elevator encounter, I decided I couldn’t wait.

  With hindsight, the meeting is turning out to be the perfect length. I smother my smug grin as I rub my jaw. Her eyes are half-lidded, and her cheeks are still pink.

  This is how I picture her right after I make her come.

  No, better, definitely better.

  She’s not trying to be coy, but her innocence is fucking with me all the same. It’s time to be blunt. “I’ve wanted to do that since we first met
.”

  This isn’t technically true, I first saw her picture three weeks ago after Andrew issued her a formal job offer, and yeah, I’ve been curious about her ever since.

  “You have?” Her cheeks turn a brighter shade of red, and her lips fall apart in a pose of confusion.

  “But that’s not why I called the meeting.” Not the only reason. Her scholarship was down to merit, and her job offer, the same. Andrew’s already impressed, and she’s only been here a week. And she’s in my office because Andrew asked me to make time for her.

  I indicate that she should take the seat before my desk, and I circle it to take mine.

  He also told me that she was sweet and not to ‘fuck with her’. I’ve known Andrew since college. He’s worked for me for the last three years and has a twenty percent stake in the company. So he knows me, and I’m confident my ‘welcome to the company’ kiss wouldn’t meet with his approval. But he’s not my goddamn mother, so he’s going to have to deal with it.

  “Andrew is pleased with your work this week. By his account, you’ve settled in quickly and are delivering value.”

  A smile lights her face. “Oh! Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I smile because it’s impossible not to.

  We chat for a few minutes about the project and how she feels about her first week. As she talks about her work, her nerves disappear. It reminds me of why we offer scholarships and the benefits that go both ways.

  She relaxes further until I wrap the meeting up, and suddenly her face blushes as if she’s remembered where she is.

  “Emma,” I say as she reaches the door.

  She peeks over her shoulder. Her blue eyes are bright and expectant, and her cheeks, pink.

  “You okay with what we did?”

  She blinks a couple of times as she processes that, then nods.

  “Good.” I say. “I’ll see you after work.”

  Her mouth opens in a silent ‘O’ before she turns and flees.

  I smile as I watch her leave.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHAT DOES HE mean by, ‘I’ll see you after work?’ Do we have another meeting? I don’t remember seeing anything in my calendar, and my day is already pretty full. I have a workshop for the next three hours, and then Andrew wanted me to collate some of the data for next week’s presentation after lunch.

  And besides, I’m not sure if my heart can take another meeting on the same day with Matt. Being in the building with him is bad enough.

  I hit the elevator button, pull my phone out of my pocket, and tap a quick message to Betty. “Just had a meeting with Matt!” I’m not going into the details now. She knows I have a minor—okay major—fixation with him.

  I think that fixation has lifted a notch.

  Maybe a bit more than a notch.

  My phone vibrates. Thank God I keep the thing on silent! I shoot a quick, “Can’t talk. Fill you in later,” message as the elevator arrives.

  I don’t know how to compartmentalize the kiss. I can’t keep my feelings a secret. I’m terrible at keeping secrets. Like the worst person in the world at keeping secrets of any kind. Look at what happened with Coffeegate. I’d barely met Andrew, and I was offloading that saga.

  The workshop provides a perfect distraction, and the day passes in a blur—I don’t even stop for lunch.

  As the day draws to a close, I learn that drinks after work is a thing at Dexton Corporation, not every week, but at least once a month. It’s bad luck that this ritual coincides with my first week on the job. I’m not prepared with a valid excuse…next time I’ll have a fail-proof reason to decline.

  Having never worked more than casual jobs, office etiquette, and further office drinking etiquette, is new to me. I’m gathered up with everyone in Andrew’s team, except for Andrew, who is taking his girlfriend to a show and thus has an excuse. His face softens with amused empathy as I’m dragged from my desk amid promises of ‘Dillon’s buying’.

  I’ve no idea who Dillon is, but he’s popular. I’ve yet to determine if this is a general sort of popularity or directly related to his offer of free alcohol. I feel bad that he doesn’t know me, and he’s paying for my drink by association.

  My protests fall on deaf ears. I don’t do socializing. Even the thought of it is making me anxious. After a full week of new experiences, I’m desperate to head back to my tiny apartment, even with its deadbolt and rowdy neighbors. There, I can retreat into my safe hermit world and lose myself in a good book.

  It’s probably weird to an outsider how much joy I take from my tiny home because I’ve never experienced constancy before. My father was never in the picture, and my mom and I moved around a lot when I was a kid.

  She’s not a terrible mother…just superficial. She’s spent her whole life searching for something, and I had no choice but to go along for the ride. It’s why I’ve been so focused on my education. Why I grabbed the opportunity with both hands and hung on for dear life.

  I want stability. Crave it.

  She likes to party. I don’t.

  It’s just a drink. I’m being foolish, I know. I’ve got this, and I can do this. And it’s only an hour. Then I can escape.

  The appointed location for the drinks turns out to be a popular bar, half a block from the office. It’s after six when our team arrives, and it’s packed with people waiting two-deep at the bar. The noisy environment makes me want to turn around and exit, but Rex and Kelly from our team have decided to take me under their wings, and there is no chance of leaving.

  Kelly has a super obvious crush on Rex, which Rex is oblivious to. Then again, Rex is oblivious to most things, including the impact of words coming out of his mouth, so Kelly’s got an uphill battle ahead.

  Still, copious amounts of alcohol usually help, and perhaps tonight might be the night.

  We squeeze our way through the crowds to a high table with spare stools at one end.

  “Here you go.” Rex pushes a luminous pink cocktail across the table toward me. I didn’t notice him leave—that was fast! There are three of them—we’ve got one each—I definitely didn’t take hipster Rex for a pink cocktail man. More…craft beer.

  “Yay!” Kelly squeals. It’s obviously a crowd-pleaser because they both lift their glasses to clink them together before waving them toward me.

  I reciprocate the gesture, baffled by how I could find myself thus trapped. So much for my plan to sip water and hope everyone assumed it was vodka or gin until I could make my escape.

  “Great, yeah?” Kelly beams at me after taking a sip. She has big, dark brown eyes, honey-blonde hair, and a smattering of freckles over her nose.

  I take a cautious sip. It tastes surprisingly good, much better than it looks. I’d imagined it would be sickly sweet, but it’s actually subtle, and cherry…I love cherry. This is a winner. Why have I never tried cocktails before? “Yes, I love it.” I enthuse.

  I inspect the drink, wishing I had a half-decent phone-camera so I can immortalize the moment. Betty would be proud!

  Sparkles are floating in it. “There are sparkles in it?”

  I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud until they both burst out laughing.

  I laugh too. Okay, I’m guessing the sparkles are fine.

  Another trio of cocktails arrive—from a mysterious source in the crowd—while they’re still falling about laughing. I blink a couple of times. Jeez, who the hell is sending the cocktails? Is this some sort of monthly ritual? How can they be ready for another one already?

  They are ready, though, and their empty glasses are pushed aside for the new blue cocktails in beautiful martini glasses.

  If this is an office initiation, I’m going to fail. I’m only halfway through my first one, and they’re diving into drink two with expressions of glee. I take another sip; the cherry one is delicious. The blue one is so pretty, though, with a tiny candy-floss creation floating on top. I never knew cocktails could be a work of art. The night is turning out better than I thought!

>   The bar has gotten busier while we’ve been admiring our drinks, and the buzz of conversation has risen to a din. “Who’s buying our drinks? Can I get the next round?” I’m not sure my bank will stretch this far, but I’m prepared to eat ramen noodles for a week rather than be labeled as a Scrooge.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Rex says, removing the half-drunk pink one from in front of me and replacing it with the blue one. “Try this.”

  I do. Omg, orange! A tangy, slightly bitter orange. It’s amazing.

  I grin.

  Kelly gives me an exaggerated wink when she sees my expression.

  My question as to who is sending the drinks is answered when Susan arrives looking the epitome of effortless glamor. She squeezes in next to Kelly. There’s a tray in her hands, baring four more cocktails. These ones are cloudy white with silver swirls. “How’s my favorite team?” She beams and begins handing out the drinks.

  Kelly and Rex cheer. I might cheer, too. Damn, maybe the drink is stronger than I thought. I’m not usually this comfortable with new acquaintances…or old acquaintances. Except for Betty, she gets the real, unedited me.

  Kelly leans over to hug Susan. “Thanks so much for the invite! We’re so excited for Dillon.”

  “Hey, I’m selfish,” Susan replies with a smile. “You guys are fun.”

  There it is, that little, seemingly innocuous word, fun. I’m not fun, not by a long shot. I’m an interloper and a fraud sitting among this select group.

  Betty is fun with her over-the-top, center-of-attention personality.

  Rex is fun with his ramblings and teasing and foot in his mouth.

  “Besides, I’m going to need help getting Dillon home later,” Susan says. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she glances to my left where a young man is standing at the opposite end of the table wearing jeans and a faded Iron Maiden T-shirt. He’s perhaps a couple of years older than me…and built. His handsome face is laughing as he slaps his hand on the back of the man wearing a suit to his right. I guess this must be Dillon, and from the way Susan’s face shines with love, I’m guessing Dillon is Susan’s husband—Matt’s brother. And Susan’s husband is hot.