Naughty Boss

by C L Cruz

  Cleo sees it and waves a hand in dismissal. “Speak freely. He acts like a lion but really he’s just a big teddy bear.”

  A laugh escapes Josie and she clamps a hand down over her mouth. I should discourage this, but I just ignore it instead, sliding the contract across the table to Cleo.

  Fifteen minutes later, the deal is done, and Cleo is bustling around the kitchen, insisting on bringing us fresh-baked beignets from the last batch of the day. I feel ridiculously big in this small, iron chair, but Josie looks radiant. Her place is definitely not in an office behind a desk, but I won’t be the one to tell her that.

  “Glamour, yachts, and what?” I ask, leaning forward. The table rocks under my weight.

  She cuts her eyes to me. “Rich men.”

  Something unfamiliar swells inside of me at the thought of her with other men. Of other men buying her things, taking her to their yachts, having her in their beds, their eyes on her naked body. I remember how well she played the part at the OC and just now realize it must have been from experience.

  “Were there a lot of them?” I ask.

  “Are you a jealous teddy bear?”

  I smirk at her. “I have nothing to be jealous of. You’re mine.”

  She rolls her eyes but doesn’t object. I’m wearing her down. Eventually she’ll admit it.

  “So, if you hadn’t been forced to follow your friends around, where would you have gone?”

  Her eyes grow distant as she rolls a napkin between her fingers in thought. Finally, she says, “Brazil. Budapest. Alaska.” She shakes her head. “I can probably think of a dozen others.”

  Cleo appears then and puts a plate of beignets between us, dusting the pastries heavily with powdered sugar. “Take your time,” she says with a wink.

  I spread my napkin across my lap and reach for a beignet but pause, letting Josie have the first pick. She chooses the one right on top with the most powdered sugar and bites into it with a moan, her eyes closed in pleasure. My dick strains against my zipper. What I wouldn’t give to have her moaning like that beneath me. To distract myself, I eat my own beignet. It’s warm, and practically melts in my mouth.

  When Josie looks up at me, there’s powdered sugar on her cheek.

  “What?” she says with a nervous laugh.

  I shake my head. “Come here.”

  She leans close, her eyes wide, and I wipe the sugar off her cheek with my thumb and then press it against her plump lips. They part for me, and I slide my thumb inside. Her tongue grazes my finger, cleaning it, her eyes on mine the whole time. As her lips close around it and give it a small suck, I swear my dick almost busts my zipper open.

  “Good girl,” I say.

  Her eyes dart to Cleo, but she isn’t paying any attention to us. No one is.

  We finish our beignets, but neither one of us makes any move to leave. This place—there’s something about it. It makes you want to stay, relax, not look at your watch. There’s no way people around the country aren’t going to love it. Like Starbucks without the snobbery. Like Dunkin Donuts without the crappy food.

  “So, you don’t want to work at a boring desk job. You don’t want to follow a rich guy around Europe. What do you want to do?” It’s not far from the question I asked her in the airport, but instead of asking her what she is, I’m asking her what she wants to be. I’ve discovered there’s a big difference when it comes to her.

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” she says, relaxing back into her chair.

  I nod, remembering her intensity as she bent over her journal in the airport. “Maybe you should do something with your writing. I’m guessing you have more than one of these.” I tap the journal sticking out of her purse. “You’re already halfway there.”

  She cocks her head to the side, considering the idea. “About my travels? Books, maybe a blog.”

  “That seems like a great idea,” I say, stopping myself before I suggest that we do some of the traveling together. “I never got to travel much. My dad believed work came first, always.”

  She cocks her head at me. “What do you believe?”

  I meet her eyes, and this time I’m not smirking. “I’m not sure anymore.”

  “Aren’t you a little old for that?” she asks, trying and failing to suppress a grin as she throws my own words back at me.

  I stand and round the table, pulling her chair out for her. As she rises, I press my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Don’t forget—you’re never going to be too old for me to spank that sassy ass.”

  Then, I turn and leave so she doesn’t see me smile, knowing that she’ll follow.

  Chapter Nine

  Josie

  The Uber driver pulls up to the tall, iron gate and looks at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Is this the place?” she asks.

  I sigh and nod. “Push the button.”

  She does, and a crackling voice comes over the intercom. “Can I help you?”

  I lean forward between the seats. “It’s me, Edward. Josie.”

  There’s silence, and for a moment I think my father’s footman won’t let us in, and then the gates open with a loud buzz. The Uber driver pulls through, going slowly down the winding driveway until finally the house comes into view.

  I haven’t been to the Kline Estate, in over five years. It’s a sprawling, lakeside mansion on hundreds of acres situated between Oakwood City and its smaller neighbor, Fairview.

  “Oh, wow,” the Uber driver says as she eases to stop at the top of the circular driveway.

  “Yeah.” I pull out my wallet and handing her a twenty for a tip. “Wow.”

  I gather the store-bought pie I brought and step out, only to be met by Edward’s disapproving glare. I swear this man was old when I was a kid, but he doesn’t look any different now, two decades and some change later.

  “Eddie,” I say by way of greeting, knowing he hates the nickname.

  “Ms. Kline,” he says, practically hissing on the S as he pulls open the heavy front door and follows me inside. “Late, as usual.”

  “It’s called making an entrance,” I correct him, turning toward the dining room.

  “Oh,” Edward says from behind me, “you certainly don’t need any help doing that.”

  When I round the corner into the large, ornate dining room, I find that he’s right. Everyone is already there, and conversation stops when they turn and see me and my cardboard-wrapped pie standing there. God, how did I forget how horrible this whole song-and-dance is?

  Just a few hours, I promise myself.

  My father, seated at the hand of the table, stands, and my brother does the same moments after. My mother remains seated.

  “Josephine,” my father bellows, always too loud even in large spaces. “Don’t hover in the doorway. Come in, come in.”

  A maid rushes over and takes the pie, which I’m sure will find its way into the garbage. My dad pulls me into a hug, and I pat my mother’s shoulder, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  “It’s been too long,” my mother says.

  Tobias wraps me in a hug next, and then pulls out the chair next to him for me. I sink into the plush, red seat and shake out my cloth napkin.

  “You’re just in time for the first course,” he says, eyes sparkling.

  “I was hoping I’d missed at least a couple,” I mutter, loud enough just so he can hear.

  He chuckles. My father checks his phone while my mother looks at me with loads of disapproval and a hint of regret. Pretty much the story of my childhood, if I ever saw them at all. Mostly, it was just me causing trouble, and Tobias cleaning up my messes.

  Not much has changed, I guess.

  Dinner drags on, course after course. My mother shares gossip that I don’t care about anymore, while my dad grills Tobias about things at work.

  It’s finally dessert when Tobias turns to me. “How do you like your new job?”

  Before I can even answer, my dad butts in. “I never cared for Clarence Talbot. I ca
n’t believe you’re letting her work for his boy.”

  “I—” I start, but Tobias cuts me off.

  “Ben is a great businessman. If anyone can get our Josie under control and show her what it’s like to live in the real world, it’s him.”

  I gape at him. There’s so much wrong with what he just said that I don’t know where to start.

  He glances sideways at me and pats my knee. “No offense, Jo.”

  “I’d rather have her at H&K where we can keep an eye on her,” my father grumbles.

  “I don’t have time for that,” Tobias says, looking pointedly at our father over his wine glass. “Do you?”

  My fork clatters to my plate, and I push away from the table. “Excuse me?”

  “Josephine,” my father warns, but I ignore him.

  “First of all, I don’t need anyone to keep an eye on me. Secondly, I also don’t need anyone to get me under control. And last of all, I live in the world you all created for me, so if you don’t like it, maybe you should take a good, long look at yourselves.” I wave my arm wildly around, signaling the gigantic room and the ridiculous house all at once.

  “Josephine,” my mother snaps this time.

  I stand and look at my brother. “Thank you for getting me the job, but I’ll have you know, it’s just temporary. Once I get on my feet—”

  My father laughs. Fucking laughs! “What?” he asks. “You’ll fly back to Europe and whore yourself to the cutest duke you can find?”

  “Jesus, Dad,” Tobias scolds.

  “I’m not a whore,” I say. “I’m a writer.”

  “You’re an office assistant,” my dad says. “If only you could be more like your brother.”

  Whatever, I don’t need this. Throwing my napkin on the table, I stalk out to the foyer and shove open the front door, not bothering to wait for Edward.

  I’m sitting on one of the ornamental stone benches beside the driveway and pulling up Uber on my phone when my mom appears, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, a lit cigarette between two fingers. Then, I catch a whiff of something fruity and a little rotten, and I realize it’s not actually a cigarette.

  “Mom, what are you doing?” I ask as she sits beside me.

  “It helps with my anxiety.” She passes it to me, and then sets my cardboard-wrapped pie between us. “You have to inhale.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “I know how to smoke weed, Mom.”

  “Since when?”

  I puff on it once, twice, and pass it back, not bothering to answer.

  “Right,” she says with a sigh. “Five years. So, what happened in there?”

  Tipping my head back, I take in the blanket of stars overhead. It’s the only good thing about this place—that it’s so far away from the city lights. It reminds me of being on my back on the top deck of a yacht, floating in the middle of nowhere, completely alone as the party raged on below me.

  “Josephine?” my mom asks.

  “What?”

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “I think I’m a little high.”

  She laughs. The sound takes me back to when I was a little girl who could still fit on her lap. Before she decided that fundraisers and spa days took precedence over her kids. “I mean, what happened back at dinner?”

  “I’m so tired of it,” I say, still leaning back like I’m talking to the stars. “Of how condescending they are. How they treat me like…I don’t know, like they have no respect for me at all. Like I’m not capable of anything more than what they put before me.”

  “Well, honey,” my mother starts, and I know I won’t like what she has to say. “That’s who we are. Women of society. We’re not expected to be anything more than that.”

  “It’s not enough. Not anymore.”

  I feel her shrug. “Maybe you can break the mold, then, darling.” When headlights appear at the end of the driveway, she pushes to her feet and puts a hand on my shoulder. “If anyone can, it’s you, honey. You just have to prove it to everyone else.”

  She walks away, and I gather my pie and the half-smoked blunt just as the car rounds the circular driveway. My phone buzzes as I’m climbing into the Uber.

  Nicki: Hey girl, want to hit the OC?

  My fingers hesitate over the keyboard. If I do that, what am I doing except proving my dad right—I’m nothing more than what he’s trained me to be. I’m tired of being on all the time, constantly trying to prove myself, as my mother put it, when nothing will ever be good enough for them. All I want to do is be myself, and there’s at least one person in this city that makes me feel like I have nothing to prove.

  Josie: Not tonight. Working late.

  Then, I lean between the seats and give the Uber driver the address for Talbot Investments, in hopes that I’ll find what—and who—I’m looking for.

  Chapter Ten

  Ben

  I study my computer screen and try to come up with my next move.

  I have to be cold. Calculating. Strategic.

  But dammit if I don’t want this for completely different reasons.

  Crown Hotel Group—Monolith’s biggest competitor—just went up for sale. Unlike Monolith, it really is a money pit. But just having my name behind it would strike fear in Maximilian Hawthorne’s snobby little heart. And maybe I could turn it around, make it better, put Monolith out of business…

  “One man’s trash,” I mutter as I start to compose an email.

  Then I stop, delete it, and stand.

  If I jump the gun on this and buy it without the board’s vote, I could be sued.

  What am I doing?

  My tie hangs loose around my neck and my shirt is wrinkled, my sleeves rolled up. I’m a fucking mess, and I’m never a fucking mess.

  I cross my office to the liquor cabinet and pour myself two fingers of scotch. I pace and drink, and study the lights of the city beyond my window. I wonder what Josie’s doing, and then I drink some more to try to get her out of my head.

  This is all her fault.

  When the elevator dings, announcing someone’s arrival on my floor, I freeze. No one else is here. The cleaning company is long gone. Maybe it’s the security guard making his rounds. But when I hear the sharp staccato of high heels on the tile floor, I know it isn’t.

  Seconds that feel like hours pass, and suddenly Josie is standing in my open door, holding what looks like a grocery store pie in front of her.

  “Think of the devil,” I mutter before tossing back the rest of my drink. “What are you doing here?”

  She purses her lips. “I don’t know.”

  “Why do you have a pie?”

  She looks down at it as if just realizing she’s holding it. “To eat, I guess. Are you hungry?” She comes in without waiting to be invited and puts the pie on the coffee table by the couch, the very one where I spanked her ass earlier in the day.

  I sit down in one corner of the couch and gesture for her to sit, too. She does, but on the chair opposite me, clever girl. I get the lid off the pie and discover that it’s key lime, my favorite.

  “Do you have a fork?” I ask.

  “No,” she answers. She switches seats, coming to sit beside me, and then digs two fingers into the pie, scooping out some of the filling and holding it out to me. “Here.”

  I grab her wrist and bring her fingers to my mouth, sucking on them until they’re clean. She’s breathing hard by the time I’m done, her eyes wide and dark with desire.

  She clears her throat. “Why are you at work so late?”

  “Contemplating revenge.”

  Her face brightens. “What kind of revenge?”

  “I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?”

  She hums. “I don’t know. I guess you could give their phone number to every telemarketing firm in the country. Or replace all their coffee with decaf.”

  “Not buy a rival business so I can bury their company in the ground?”

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “That’s a little extreme.”
<
br />   “I’m feeling a little extreme,” I admit, something I normally wouldn’t admit to anyone I’m so used to keeping any emotions at all locked up inside. But Josie feels safe, even after just a few days.

  She leans back and sighs. “It’s OK to be emotional, you just have to be smart about it.”

  “You’re right. There’s no room for emotion in business.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. You’re telling me the decision to purchase Just Desserts wasn’t a little emotional?”

  I shake my head. “It was a smart investment.”

  “It doesn’t quite match Talbot Investments’ portfolio though, does it?”

  I forget how smart she is despite the spoiled rich-girl facade.

  “I admit,” I say, “I admire a woman like Cleo who commits to what she loves, even if there are a few bumps along the way.” When she sits up and goes back for more pie, I ask again, “What are you doing here?”

  She licks the pie off her own fingers before she answers. “I just had a really shitty family dinner and I needed to be with someone who doesn’t think I’m a worthless whore.”

  Anger flares inside of me.

  She seems to realize what she said and glances over at me. “At least, I don’t think you do.”

  “I definitely don’t.”

  “I mean, I’ve been thinking about the bossiness and the spanking, and—I’m sorry, is it OK if we talk about it? Like, is that weird?”

  I realize that I’m staring at her. “What’s different about you?”

  She pulls half of a blunt from her purse. “Probably this.”

  Laughter bubbles up and explodes out of me. I can’t honestly remember the last time I smiled, let alone laughed, and it feels good. Rusty and out of use, but good. Josie is watching me, her own amazed smile on her face.

  “Do you have a lighter?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I stole it from my mom.”

  This girl. I dig through my cabinets until I find a matchbook from the OC, and she lets me light the blunt. I inhale and hold it to the count of three, then pass it to her.

  “I probably shouldn’t,” she says even as she does.