Boss Undercover: Part 3 (Boss Undercover Series)

by J. S. Badham

  It was such a manipulative device that not long after she sighed, admitting the veracity of the problem. “Okay, Dad. You win…it’s Zack.”

  Her father’s brows lifted up, the second stage in the Dad stare that she recognised as the look of relief. “What did the chap do? I thought everything was all sunshine and rainbows between you two. Even your brother said he liked the man. And well…to be honest, petal, I could see myself liking him. So what happened?”

  Claire let out an exasperated sigh, scratching her wrist lightly as she began. “He lied…he fucked up, Dad. And I’m stuck because I don’t know what to believe. I just don’t know where our relationship stands anymore.”

  Andy frowned a little as he appeared to think it over, the tiny cogs working hard before eventually he replied, “What did he lie about, sweetheart?” The steam from his mug wavered in the atmosphere as it sat undisturbed.

  “About him. About who he is. Everything,” Claire muttered, shrugging her shoulders as she slid her index finger around the diameter of her cup. “His name isn’t Zack Chase. He’s Zack Benson. The significance of Benson in that he’s my boss. The master behind the corporation I work for. Only, here’s the fucked-up part. The part I’m struggling with is he did all of this because of a bet with a friend. A bet that makes it extremely difficult for me to believe that perhaps he feels the same as I do for him,” Claire finished, feeling a little better for getting it all out into the open to the only man in her life who could never break her heart.

  “Well,” Andy swallowed, blinking several times as he shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. “So he is the company’s leader then? And he…has been…”

  “It just doesn’t matter anymore because I think it’s over between us and—”

  “Hey, hey,” Andy interrupted, leaning forward eagerly as he shook his head. “No, no. Honey, as much as I would love to kick him where he would scream the high notes, I just want to take a minute—or rather you to think what you’re saying. I know this is all so bizarre. But honestly…” He paused as he clasped his hand over hers. “Do you honestly feel he is lying? Lying about how he feels? I mean, he is a complete fool for lying in the first place about all of it, but…Claire, he came here with you. He met me and your mother. Now, I don’t want you to feel like I’m vouching for the guy because I’m not. You’re my baby girl, and no one gets away with murdering your heart. But there is a chance that this man isn’t lying that he loves you.”

  Claire slid her right hand across her forehead before dragging it through the parting of her hair, the stiffness of yesterday’s hairspray tangling it around her fingers. “I know. I know. But it’s just so hard. He’s part of the reason why I lost my job. He let that happen. He must have known. And then…the whole lie about himself, how can you trust someone you don’t really know? I just don’t know.”

  Andy sat back, finally bringing his mug to his lips, taking a brief sip, then drawing back as he sighed, “I just can’t believe he’s the big boss. Like, that’s huge. And your mother doesn’t know?” He looked directly in her eyes.

  “No.”

  “Damn.”

  “What do I do, Dad?”

  Andy ran his hand across his chin. “Honey, I’d do what you feel is best. If this was some ordinary chap, I’d probably go over there and tell him how it is, but this is a man with influence and power. I don’t know what he could do. Looking back yesterday, he seems decent, and like I said, I very much could see the happiness between you two. But now this is all under a different light, and I can’t tell you what to do.”

  “I know,” she said, attempting a short smile. “Thanks, Dad. You won’t tell Mom, will you? Not until all of this blows over?”

  “No, honey.” Andy shook his head. “Come here.” He opened his arms for an embrace. Claire got up and slouched around the kitchen table until she flopped into her father’s arms. “You always attract the weird ’uns, don’t you, Claire Winter?” he remarked with a slight chortle.

  Claire hugged her father as she said, “You know me, Dad. I’m not normal.”

  As Claire drew back, the arrival of her mother was evident by the state of the woman standing at the door; messy, recently dyed hair stuck against her face, dried saliva upon the pink collar of her pyjama top, and the exhaustion beneath her eyes.

  “What are you two up to?” She yawned, hobbling over to the sink and grasping a glass from the rack. “God, my back kills. And why on earth did I wake up? I don’t know.”

  “Well, love,” Andy said in return. “You were the one drunk off your head on that dance floor. I’m pretty sure half the guests left because of you—Matt even went off to his honeymoon an hour early.”

  “Cheeky bugger,” she scoffed before she drank back the pint of water.

  “Well, it did sound like a tornado had ripped through the house last night when you two came back home. What were you doing, Mom? Wrecking the joint?” Claire pitched in, grateful this household was always able to put a smile on her face.

  “Oh, ha ha ha, Claire,” she spluttered, forgetting she had a mouthful of water. “God, I need some paracetamol. Andy, grab me some from the cupboard above you.” She flicked her finger out to point directly towards the spot she’d described. Her husband chortled as he stood up and opened the cupboard door.

  “Can you believe my son is married?” she blabbered to herself. “Claire, we’re just waiting on you now. And then it will be the question of who will have grandchildren first.”

  Claire winced, looking down into her cup, thankful for her father’s awareness to the situation as he chipped in, directing his wife off course. “Honey, here, pop these in your gob and go get yourself in the shower. You don’t exactly smell lovely.” He handed over two pills and ushered her with his other hand towards the door.

  “Oi!” she exclaimed. “I’ll have you, Andy.” Then she turned towards Claire. “Honey, I thought we could do some shopping before you head off. I’m not taking no for an answer, so go get yourself ready and we’ll be off. Andy, you’re taking us. So don’t even think for one minute that you’ll be sitting out in that garage of yours.” She turned to her husband, who was drinking back more of his cup of tea. “And as for our recently hitched son, Andy, send him a text message to remind him to phone us when he’s safely off the plane.” And there was the normalcy of her mother. It would be difficult to think she had been drunk last night if it weren’t for the state of her appearance this morning.

  ***

  As much as it prompted Claire to feel a little satisfied, the two bags of clothes she’d purchased just weren’t enough to maintain that level as soon as the sight of the two-storey flat came into view. She was a little hesitant to get out of the taxi, which irritated the driver, who kept fidgeting and glaring into the rear mirror to see if Claire was going to move. Nonetheless, she remained in the backseat, not moving a muscle.

  “Err, miss?” the driver said, clearing his throat. “We’re here.”

  Claire blinked several times, acknowledging the frustration laced through his tone and the way his hands squeezed the steering wheel from the bell alerts echoing off his phone. She preferred the last driver who had driven them down to her parents’, even though he might have been a little irksome at times. At least she suspected he might have allowed her to uncomfortably sit it out and tackle her feelings surrounding Zack.

  With her suitcase out of the boot and the two designer bags sat before her feet, Claire eyed the building up and down as if she had never seen it in her entire life. She knew she couldn’t stand there all day, so with much encouragement from the crowding dark, grey clouds in the sky, Claire began the daunting journey to her apartment.

  Thankfully, she found no Zack. Nor did it appear he had even stepped foot in the place because his room was preserved like a museum artefact. Claire didn’t feel like packing, didn’t feel like eating, even though it read on the kitchen’s clock that it was past lunch and the rumbling in her stomach begged for food. Instead, she chucked on a romco
m, threw on her night gown, and cuddled with some old teddy she had stuffed at the bottom of her wardrobe.

  Then she just sat on the sofa, not even pressing play at the title screen as it replayed the prime scenes of the film repeatedly. This was not what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to be sitting on the sofa feeling sorry for herself and dwelling over one guy. Instead, she wanted to do the exact opposite, just like that one rare empowering character she had come across: Miranda Elliot. What a badass she was, went through tough relationships and each one she’d not shed a tear, only go home, put on her best makeup and dress, and wear it around the house. She wouldn’t go anywhere, just simply stalk in the house and feel that she owned that motherfucker; no guy could lay a finger on her.

  “Fuck this,” she spat, heaving herself off the couch and switching off the telly. Claire marched down into the hallway, slamming open her bedroom door as she ran through, then rummaged in her wardrobe attempting to find the sexiest thing she owned. She wasn’t going to mope around; she was going to be like Miranda and prove that this guy couldn’t get to her. So, without wasting a second, she spent an hour and a half dolling herself up in the shoes, the lingerie, the makeup, and the skimpy red dress that flashing enough cleavage from its daring neckline. And then she rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of wine, mimicking Miranda’s actions, and drank that motherfucker like it was last supply in the entire world.

  With the bottle still in her hand, she sashayed her hips into Zack’s room, picking up the tossed shirt on the floor by the pads of her fingers as if to say it was contaminated and throwing it into the wastebasket in the corner of the room.

  “Fuck this!” she yelped, throwing her hands into the air and growling to herself as she kicked off the quilt from his bed. “You bastard.” She began throwing the pillows off the bed. Old sex stained the bed, spurring her on towards the sickening thought that all of it could have been to manipulate her. “Nothing is real!” She was not at all concerned if the neighbours could hear her shout from the paper-thin walls.

  Exhaustion was the only line of attack that could make her surrender. Why on earth had she chosen Zack’s room? His smell coated every inch of the bed and the exact same radiating warmth she’d feel when encased in his arms, felt real and alive from the shirt she clutched in her hands. Just why did he lie? Good God, why couldn’t she believe he was swearing the truth? She loved him. There was no denying that. And that was what hurt so much. Her dad was right; there was nothing that anyone else could do to solve the matter. It had to be her. But what was the right answer?

  She must have fallen asleep because she awoke from a series of knocks on the front door. Groggily, she glanced towards the bedside clock, realising she had slept at least two hours. Whoever kept knocking pushed her to go answer; otherwise the neighbours might have another reason to complain.

  “All right, all right, all right, I’m coming!” she groaned, weakened by those blissful hours of sleep she had. Eventually, she reached the door, making no effort to ensure she was in the best state to be seen. Claire opened the door, scrunching her eyes as she struggled against the adjustment of light. Only now she wished she had never opened the door seeing the man she was in turmoil over standing there looking fresh in a new change of clothes.

  “No,” she hissed, pushing the door in his face, yet Zack successfully barricaded the effort. “Let go of the door, jackass.” Her drowsiness dispersed at the awakening of realisation that he was indeed here.

  “Claire, no,” Zack objected, standing his ground and barely using any of his own strength against Claire’s weak push. “I gave you time. I gave you a day. I told you I’m not going anywhere. Fuck, Claire. You didn’t answer any of my messages. I was worried that something happened to you.”

  “That’s not your job anymore,” Claire scoffed.

  “It is.”

  “It is not.”

  Zack sighed, biting down on his tongue as he rolled his head to the right. “We’re not doing this, Claire. Just let me in and we can sit and talk about this. You need me with you.”

  “No, I don’t. I’ve decided I don’t need you anymore. I don’t want no lying man. So you can fuck off and go shag some other woman.” She jabbed her finger in the air at him. “That’s all you are. Ain’t it? A man whore! You used me for sex! That’s all you are! Man fucking whore!”

  “Claire, you’re not thinking straight. You’ve been drinking.” Zack attempted to reason with her, but she just continued to cut him off.

  “Fuck you!” she hissed bitterly. “I’m done. We’re done.” She waved her hands about as she shook her head.

  Zack looked down the hallway and back to his feet. His eyes lingered there for a second before suddenly he pushed, breaking back the door and forcing himself inside. With his arms out wide, he ensnared her into his embrace, cooing against her ear, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Ssssh. I’m here.” He kicked the door shut before guiding her further into the apartment. Claire was hopeless in fighting back, too tired and weak.

  “C’mon, over here,” he muttered, aligning her in front of the couch where gently he helped her sit back. “C’mon, Claire. That’s it, sweetie,” he encouraged as his fingertips caressed the left surface of her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. Just sit here and close your eyes if you need to.”

  “I don’t want you here…” Claire moaned, spluttering a little as she hid her face in the cushions. “Just…go…away.” She mumbled incoherently through the pillow before it was summarily removed and she found herself lying on top of his thigh.

  “Claire, I’m so sorry…I fucked…up…so bad.” She heard him speak, although the natural fatigue taking a toll upon her body made it difficult to pay attention. “But I swear, we’ll make this work. I promise.” Another whisper of words as she felt herself drift slowly back to sleep. “We’ll make this work.” The final words that managed to project through lay in her sleepy mind.

  ***

  Claire’s sensitive nose caught the scent of sizzling bacon, impelling her to open her eyes and catch the thieving culprit who had taken out the packet from the fridge.

  Lifting herself off the sofa, her attention shifted straight towards Zack, who was mindlessly unaware she had awoken. His tongue was sticking out the right corner of his lips as he meticulously prodded the fork into the pan, seeming afraid to burn it to a crisp. He leant in closely to inspect its state. She didn’t say anything at first, her head was still a little drowsy, but it was obvious he had not left.

  Her back was killing her as she attempted to stand up. She kicked her heels out the way before hobbling over to the kitchen. Swallowing what little saliva she could manage from a parched throat, she spoke bitterly. “What are you still doing here?”

  Zack turned off the gas dial, sliding the bacon onto the slice of bread placed conveniently adjacent on the counter next to the oven. “I heard a greasy breakfast is the best cure for a hangover,” he replied, ignoring her statement as he continued to squeeze a dollop of ketchup onto the bacon then finished it altogether with the second slice of bread on top. “Here, eat this. And I did put some water by the side of you. Paracetamol is also there if you need it.” He cut the sandwich into two neat triangles.

  Claire pulled a grimace, her rumbling stomach arguing otherwise. “I don’t need you babysitting me, nor do I want you here. Need I remind you I told you I wanted time?”

  “First, bullshit,” Zack began, tearing off a strip of kitchen roll. “You got pissed last night, Claire. And secondly, I am not sitting in my fucking lonely-ass penthouse moping about when I should be redeeming myself and being right here with you, proving to you that I’m not a liar about this relationship. Call me selfish for not giving you your time, but I can’t let you slip through my fingers.”

  “What? You want an orchestra of violins? I’d rather you were there than here. I can’t even stand the sight of you. I hate your face,” Claire snapped back, then she took the plate and shuffled back over to the sofa.


  Zack laughed bitterly. “And yet you take my bloody bacon sandwich. I think you do need me here then.”

  “I’m hungry, and it’s my bacon. Now, just fuck on off back home, Zack,” Claire grumbled through a mouthful of food. Zack stalked over, taking the spot right next to her, where he crossed his arms in protest.

  “Go away,” Claire gasped, shoving his shoulder away. “Can’t you take a hint?”

  “And can’t you take a hint?” Zack sneered, lifting his eyebrows up. “I ain’t moving. We need to talk this out properly. And you can keep saying you don’t need me, but I know you do.”

  Claire groaned with frustration. “I’m hating you so much right now.” Then she took another uncomfortable mouthful of bacon, hunger being more important to her than her ability to argue.

  “Look,” Zack said, slapping his hands on his knees. “I know this is difficult. It’s more fucked up considering this wasn’t a professional tactic and instead was cooked up between me and my friend…but Claire…” He shifted his body slightly to face her directly. “It didn’t centre around just sleeping with you. That was just me being a fucking dick. As soon as I got to know you, I realised it was more than that. And then, yes, there was another good, valid reason for this. My company was being fucked about with. So I had to sort out that, too. Another thing I shall explain to you.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  Zack moaned in annoyance, flopping his head back as he massaged his temple. “You’re one stubborn woman, Claire. What more can a man do to prove his affection?” Then he slid his hand towards his nose, pinching the bridge as he shut his eyes, refusing to emit another word.