The Boss's Son Box Set

by Sierra Rose

  “Don’t blame me for the fact that Dave’s an asshole! That’s guilt by association,” the man complained.

  “I still don’t trust him as far as I could spit. I don’t even like you hanging out with someone like that,” the woman shot back.

  “Fine, treat me like a child,” he huffed as they stomped down the hall still arguing.

  “If you act like one, that’s how I’m going to treat you,” she returned.

  Britt pressed the button and rode to Jack’s floor, her palms sweating, her knees weak. She’d licked her lips nervously so many times that they were chapped and it was getting on her nerves. She strode to his door and knocked. Tentatively, too lightly at first, and then waited. When no one came, she steeled herself and knocked louder. If he wasn’t home at twelve-thirty on a Monday night, she didn’t want to consider where he might be instead.

  Chapter 15

  At last the door swung open and there was Jack Fitzsimmons, black hair shaggy across his forehead, a wry half smile on his face, a white t-shirt that made her bite her lip. He was barefoot. Somehow the intimacy of that, of his total casual ease just undid her.

  “Hey, Britt,” he said neutrally.

  “Jack, I know you’re mad—” she broke off.

  He had opened the door wider. Behind him on his stunning white couch was a woman. Also barefoot, her lovely blond hair swept artfully into a messy bun, long legs stretched out in front of her, she was doing something on her phone. Britt’s mouth fell open. He had a woman. Involuntarily, Britt took a step back. Shaking her head, she retreated down the hall.

  “Britt—”

  Jack called after her but she didn’t turn around. She’d broken into a run, as fast as wet flip flops would carry her. Once the elevator doors closed, she burst into tears. Already, after one day, he had moved on. In fact he’d moved on to a perfect blonde, gorgeous and already quite at home on his couch. She choked and sobbed as she hailed a taxi and rode home, dejected and even more humiliated. She knew when she went across town to beg his forgiveness she was leaving most of her dignity behind but she had no idea that the rest of it would be left in shreds outside his apartment where, even now, he was probably laughing with his hot girlfriend over his desperate ex stalking him during a rainstorm. They were probably drinking that six hundred dollar wine in bed, naked and both equally flawless, admiring their own physical perfection and ridiculing her. The thought made the guacamole lurch in her stomach.

  She managed to avoid him for three whole days, resorting to hiding in the ladies room twice when she thought she heard him coming. She didn’t want to hear him say how sorry he was that she had to find out that way. She didn’t want to hear Jack’s empty apologies, his condolences on the fact that he had obviously moved on and she hadn’t. She was still grieving, the wound still fresh. On the fourth day, he came to her cube with the manila folder in hand. She nodded without a word and he set it down on her desk in a towering pile of folders.

  “Listen, Britt...” he began.

  “No, don’t. Really. Please. Don’t say anything.”

  “I have to say this.”

  “I’m asking you not to.” She stared down at her desk, unwilling to look at him, lest he see the tears standing in her eyes.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Not now.”

  “How about we meet for lunch?”

  “I feel nauseous. I can’t eat.”

  He touched her cheek. The barest brush of his fingertips but it sent a jolt of recognition and longing through her body. “You’d tell me if you were pregnant, right?” He whispered very low.

  “I’m not,” she said stonily. “I’m just upset.”

  Clearly instead of touching her because he missed her, he was trying to determine the reproductive status of his precious seed. She scowled. She had started her period right on schedule the day before but she wasn’t going to go into that information with her ex. It cut her to think of Jack as her ex.

  “I wish—” he began.

  “Just. Go,” she said flatly, thinking she’d go crazy if he didn’t leave her cubicle instantly.

  He filled up the whole space with his presence, it seemed to her. She needed him gone, so she could breathe again. It was like he sucked all the air out of the room just by being there. Her lungs felt like there was a vise around them. She could breathe just fine when he wasn’t around. She watched his shoes as he turned and walked out. Britt dropped her head onto her desk and gulped in air. She was officially incapable of behaving like a professional at all around him. Thank goodness she’d never gone to dinner with his dad. Then she’d have to hide from her boss as well. As it was, in their weekly staff meeting, she’d taken notes much more diligently than usual just to keep from having to look up and accidentally lock eyes with Jack. Locking eyes with Jack would trigger a sex flashback that would set her back for days in the getting over him process, she knew.

  Chapter 16

  Britt agreed to meet Marj for coffee after work and she sat there, trying not to be sullen.

  “You’re not touching that muffin. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re not eating. You always eat stuff from the bakery,” Marj persisted.

  “I’m just not hungry.”

  “Are you in love? Is it the Tinder guy? I thought you were kind of rude to him when I brought him here but maybe he had the balls to stick it out.”

  “I’m not seeing Greg. I saw him one more time. That was it.”

  “So Tinder boy broke your heart, I see how it is!” Marj teased.

  “Stop. Just stop,” Britt said dully, not even mustering indignation.

  “Wow, I guess he did a number on you pretty fast, then. Unless this is still about Kevin. Do not tell me you’re moping about that fucker.”

  “I’m not moping about Kevin.”

  “Good. But you acknowledge that you’re moping,” Marj said, slurping on her frappe.

  “No, I categorically deny any mope-age. It’s just been a long week with all those insurance forms. There are people who STILL have not turned them in.” She tried to complain energetically.

  “You need a drink.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re depressed and boring. You’re talking about paperwork. Work is over. We’re not in the office. Talk about your hair or the book you’re reading or what happened on Scandal. Do not talk about paperwork.”

  “I DVR’d Scandal. I fell asleep before it came on.”

  “You fell asleep? That early? Oh, honey, you are depressed. We’ve gotta get you out there.”

  “No. No more Tinder. No more bars. No more set ups. I’m taking time off from guys. I’m just going to focus on myself, and my interests.”

  “Right. Your interests. Like falling asleep at eight o’clock,” Marj snorted. “And, I’m betting, caramel corn and reality TV.”

  “I didn’t watch TV last night.”

  “Okay, you got online and read about how your headache may be a brain tumor.”

  “I did not. I read a bunch of news articles.”

  “News as in the Kardashians?”

  “They may have been in some of the headlines I clicked. Nothing wrong with pop culture. Human interest...”

  “You’re not thinking about plastic surgery are you?”

  “No, why? Should I?” Britt snarked.

  “No, not at all. I just thought that all that exposure to Photoshopped images might make you feel insecure.”

  “It’s my boobs, isn’t it? They’re too small.”

  “They’re fine. They’re proportional with the rest of your body. You’d look silly with huge boobs.”

  “Maybe to you I would. But to men, I’d look like someone they wanted to know better.”

  “Nail, not know better. There’s a difference.”

  “Speaking of nail, not know better, how’s beard boy?”

  “Who?”

  “You were so drunk,” Britt scoffed. “This guy you called Duck Dynasty becaus
e of his beard. He was Chris’s friend.”

  “You should go out with Chris again.”

  “NOT! Break from men, plus ‘organic water’ and no gluten for no good reason. No way.”

  “Okay, fine. When you’re ready to dust off your stilettos let me know and we’ll go out on the prowl.”

  “Weren’t you with Luke?”

  “I thought I was. He thought we weren’t exclusive.”

  “You were flirting with guys at the bar...I thought you weren’t exclusive either.”

  “Well, he was being not-exclusive with Fitzsimmons’ secretary, too. She and I were talking in the break room and figured out we were seeing the same guy. Now I have to see him every damn day at work one cubicle over from mine. Ugh. NEVER date anyone from work. I know better. I just...liked him, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry, Marj,” Britt said earnestly.

  “It’s okay. It’s just typical, you know. It’s what I’ve come to expect. I like a guy, I think he likes me, we’re both too gun shy to give it a real go and so we just screw each other over. It’s like it never ends.”

  “I know it’s discouraging.” Britt said, struggling not to tell her friend about what happened with Jack. “There’s someone out there for you, I’m sure.”

  “You’ve been watching romcoms again, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which ones?”

  “British. Four Weddings and Love, Actually.”

  “Oh, gosh. You’ve brought out the classics. You must be really down. You’re mainlining sunshine.”

  “I am. They just make me feel good.”

  “That’s what all addicts say...it was just to take the edge off,” Marj teased.

  “Wanna come to my place and watch a movie?”

  “Don’t tempt me to the dark side.”

  “I have a fresh bag of caramel corn. I have peanut M&M’s. I have Mamma Mia starring Meryl Streep.”

  “You know me too well. Peanut M&M’s and a musical. Let me go change to sweats and I’ll be there. Want me to bring supper?”

  “Sure. We might get hungry despite all the snacks.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Ham and pineapple? You’re on,” Britt said, feeling slightly cheered at the prospect.

  They talked and ate and made fun of the singing in the movie and when it was all finished, nothing left but the credits and the empty caramel corn bag, Marj left. So Britt was alone again. She had almost asked Marj to sleep over but it seemed too pathetic. She watched another movie and then she lay in bed and didn’t sleep. She just thought about Jack, remembering everything they’d said and done on a constant memory loop.

  Another week went by and she was glad that he was out of the office for most of it. That Thursday, Marj cancelled their coffee plans to get ready for a date with the new copy repairman who’d brought them new toner the day before at the office. Britt was cruising Netflix for a new series to binge-watch when her phone lit up. She put down the remote and tapped on the message.

  “My band is playing Salamander tmoro night @ nine. Hope u can be there.”

  She stared at her phone, shocked. Britt didn’t know what to do. She wanted to agree to anything, just to get him to let her back in, just to have a chance to make it up to him. She wanted to be part of his life, back in his arms, back in his bed, back on his speed dial. But what if he sent the invite to everyone at the office? What if it wasn’t for her specifically? What if she went there with her hopes up and everyone else from the office came and brought a date and she was the sad sack groupie hoping to hook up with the front man? It was too much anxiety for her, she decided, and laid the phone aside without replying.

  All that night she imagined walking into Salamander, a retro seventies bar she’d been to a few times. In her fantasy, she rocked her skinniest jeans, her highest heels, her eyeliner was perfect and her hair had a fresh blowout. She breezed into Salamander, saw him take the stage, and turned to the bar where men clamored to buy her a drink. She chose a whiskey sour because it was Jack’s favorite. She fought through to the front of the crowd and when she was right in front of the stage, at his feet, she fished the cherry out of her drink and bit into it. The music stopped and his eyes were fixed on her mouth. He slung the guitar strap off of his shoulders and climbed down beside her. He lifted the glass from her hand, took a drink and set it on the stage. Then he swept her hair back from her face and kissed her. It was, in her imagination, just like a movie. The fantasy may have even wrapped up with Jack lifting her in his arms to carry her out of the bar, somewhat reminiscent of An Officer and a Gentleman, which she had watched the night before after Marj had left.

  Scolding herself for obsessing, she went to bed early, again.

  Chapter 17

  Friday was a blur of indecision. Britt changed her mind every hour. She was going to go and look her best, but just to show him how unaffected she was by their breakup. She was going to be supportive of a coworker. She’d have a drink, listen to the music for a while and then leave with the air of a woman who dropped in before going someplace far more fabulous. No, she couldn’t go, she decided. She wasn’t a good enough actress to pull off the nonchalance. But she had to go or he’d realize losing him devastated her and that she didn’t have the nerve to face him. Still, she couldn’t show up there and hear him sing and watch his hands on the neck of his guitar without remembering the way his hands had felt on her body. It would be too heartbreaking, too confusing to try to attend his band’s gig as if they were merely work acquaintances.

  After an entire day of accomplishing very little, she packed up some files to take home and resolved to go to Salamander. She messaged Marj and asked to borrow a top because she was going to Jack’s gig.

  “What are you talking about? Was this posted in the break room or something?”

  “I just heard about it around,” Britt hedged, inwardly doing a happy dance that he at least hadn’t invited the entire office. Hope leapt in her that he had messaged her specifically. Only her.

  “I have a date with the toner guy. Come on over and pick out what you want out of my closet.”

  “Great, be right over,” Britt said.

  Excitedly, she hurried to Marj’s apartment. Marj was wearing a charcoal gray bandage dress.

  “Knockout!” Britt said. “Who’s this copy guy?”

  “It’s not the copy guy. It’s Luke. He wanted to give it a real try. I’m—”

  “Breaking out the heavy artillery, I see. You look gorgeous. I hope he realizes how lucky he is,” Britt said. Marj hugged her.

  “Thanks. Now let’s get you dressed up. You’re going out. Out of the apartment, into a club where there will be people, some of whom will buy you drinks. Let’s see.”

  Marj rifled through her closet and a few drawers, littering the bed with possibilities.

  “Here. This one.”

  “It’s purple.”

  “Yes. You’re very observant. Full marks on your color blindness test. Now put it on.”

  “I’m not sure how. Too many straps. Where do my arms go?”

  “Here, like this,” Marj demonstrated.

  With her friend’s help, Britt wriggled into the form-fitting top with its asymmetrical collection of skinny straps. Once it was settled and straightened, she had to admit it looked fabulous.

  “Here, give me your bra.”

  “What? I need that. Get your hands off! You haven’t even bought me dinner!” Britt giggled, smacking at Marj’s attempts to remove her bra.

  “The straps show. It has to go.”

  “That rhymes.

  “Take off your bra,” Marj ordered.

  Britt sighed and removed the offending garment, tossing it on the bed with the discarded clothes. In the mirror, the top looked better without the interference of extra straps. She had to admit Marj had been right.

  “You’re my style guru,” she said, hugging her again.

  “Thanks. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck. Where are yo
u two going?”

  “I don’t’ want to say.”

  “Why not?”

  “Tamarind. I know you have bad memories.”

  “Just don’t go there with Kevin, you should be fine. The steak was excellent.”

  “I may have to try that,” Marj said.

  Britt went back to her apartment and applied her makeup with great care. She experimented with different earrings, with bracelet versus no bracelet. Soon it was time to go. She took a cab to Salamander and paid the exorbitant cover charge. The club was packed and the band had just started when she arrived. She ordered a lemon drop martini and sipped it, trying to make her way through the crush to get near the stage. Her ears rang from the volume, her chest felt the impact of the bass as they played. At the end of the song, she heard Jack’s voice say they were taking a break because there was a problem with the sound equipment.

  As she reached the stage, he walked off to the side to get his bottle of water. A girl stepped up onstage and reached for him. At first, Britt thought it was a deranged groupie but he looped an arm easily around her hips and kissed her back. Britt managed to get back through the crowd and deposit her unfinished drink on the bar. She stumbled out onto the quiet pavement with tears in her eyes. He had kissed that girl like he’d done it a million times, like she was supposed to be there by his side. Britt found a cab and went home. She washed off all that makeup but she couldn’t pretend she was able to wash away all her expectations that had just been destroyed. Somehow she had thought that his text about the show was the first step on the way back to each other. She put on her pajamas and poured herself a glass of wine. Might as well get some work done, she thought ruefully.

  She opened her laptop and started down the formidable stack of papers. She entered data and made corrections. About halfway down the pile, she encountered Jack’s insurance file. Shaking her head with nothing but regret—regret that he wasn’t hers, regret that she’d screwed everything up, regret even that she was going to have to enter data from a form with his handwriting all over it—she opened the file.