Boss Undercover: Part 3 (Boss Undercover Series)

by J. S. Badham

  They both sat in silence, Claire reluctant to finish off her sandwich as she placed it on the coffee table. Why was she so suddenly at a loss for words? Why wasn’t she standing in her own corner? How had she become so quiet that she lost her prevailing argument? Last night, she had given up on the idea of a relationship between them, she had vouched for her independence, but now sitting there, the tables had turned. After all, he was here. Wasn’t that making an effort? Wasn’t that a sign? Goddamit, why couldn’t her emotions just be clearer? He didn’t have to be here, and if he was lying, surely it wouldn’t bother him.

  She sighed, the first sound of activity breaking the silence between them. “I’ll give that to you, you are here,” Claire muttered, awakening Zack’s attention.

  His eyes opened, and he slid his hand away as he glanced at the white ceiling. “I’m so sorry, Claire. You’re not stubborn. You have every right to be mad. I lied to you, and so I know, I know, it makes our chances slim. I shouldn’t have lied. I should have been honest—”

  “I know. And I can see you’re trying to make amends. It’s just hard, Zack. I really, really loved you,” Claire interrupted, her tone sad and dismal.

  Zack sat up. “Do you still love me?”

  Claire clenched her hands together as she looked down to her lap. “I-I…”

  Zack cut her off as he scooted closer and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Please don’t tell me this doesn’t make your heart flutter,” he whispered before dangerously taking a risk to kiss her lips. Fortunately, she willingly responded, sliding her hands around his neck as their lips kneaded together gently, rekindling an old love. The taste. It was so pure. So sweet. He was attentive. His hands respectfully remaining laced through her hair. He was the one to pull back.

  With their foreheads resting against one another for support but also not to disturb the sudden interaction, Claire could only close her eyes in response to the throbbing sensation of her lips.

  “Of course I still love you, Zack,” she admitted aloud to her heart. “I didn’t mean what I said last night…I still love you.” She caressed her thumbs against the bristly surface of his jaw. He pulled her into an embrace, resting his head in the crevice of her neck, holding on tight. She held him, suffering the blinks of tears and fully intoxicated by that familiar scent—Zack’s.

  She didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want to feel that penetration of aching in her heart.

  Then he spoke and broke the lingering silence. “I’ll give you time if that’s what you need just as long as you say you won’t give up on me,” Zack offered, pulling back and wiping away the trail of a tear meandering down her right cheek. “Two weeks. For both of us. To get our shit together. Then you get to decide. Not me. You.”

  Claire croaked, holding back a flood of tears as she nodded her head desperately. “I promise, I promise.” Then she was the one to pull him in close, interlocking their lips in a hopeless yearning for a second or two before they broke apart. “Thank you,” she exhaled, shaking her head as she looked down. “Why couldn’t this be easier? I don’t want to wait. I crave—”

  “Ssssh,” Zack interjected, clasping her hand. “Two weeks, baby. That’s all it is. I need to respect that you need time. I’ve put a lot on your shoulders, so you need the time to think it over. If you know that you love me, then the end of that deadline will come sooner than you think, baby.” He pressed a hard kiss against the surface of her knuckles.

  Claire sniffled. “I told my dad. He knows, Zack. I had to,” Claire confessed, searching for any sign of disgust, yet his frank response was understanding.

  “I don’t care,” he replied, shaking his head. “Don’t feel bad. Your father has every right to hate me—”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Zack. Far from it. He’s right…I shouldn’t give up,” Claire said, squeezing Zack’s hand.

  Zack offered a smile, squeezing her hand with encouragement. “Two weeks. That’s all. Think it over and this will soon be nothing but a bad dream.”

  “I promise.”

  “I love you so much, Claire.”

  That was a reconstruction.

  ***

  “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, then she took the plate from his hands as she 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 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. “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 more important to her than her ability to argue.

  “Hate’s a strong word,” Zack commented as he sat back.

  “Good, because I do.”

  “No, you don’t, Claire.”

  “Yes, I do,” Claire spat back.

  “Well, blimey. If you can make your mind up on something over the course of two nights, then you must be fucking out of your mind. You don’t hate me, Claire. The alcohol has been talking to you,” Zack said with vexation.

  “Fuck you, Zack,” Claire hissed, throwing her plate onto the coffee table. “Don’t go telling me how and what I should feel. You’re the one who fucked up.”

  “Fuck me. Claire, you’re being so irrational right now. And yes, I get it. I don’t deserve any sympathy, but I’m here, am I not? I’m here proving to you I want us. I’m not being a dick and leaving you to mope around. I want you, Claire. I’m owning up to my mistake. I’m asking for a second chance,” Zack said bitterly as he ran his hands through his hair without grace. Then he sighed, his eyes floating towards the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, Claire. I love you. Is that not enough?”

  He grabbed an adjacent pillow and covered his face.

  “You sound like a fucking walrus.” Claire frowned, snatching the pillow away from his face.

  “Well, I’d always wondered why I had big tusks and lived in the fucking Arctic Ocean,” Zack replied with a hint of sarcasm as he adjusted his watch around his right wrist.

  Claire looked over to him with disdain. “Not funny.”

  “Not trying to be. Now, let’s cut to the chase,” Zack stated as he stood up impatiently. “Tell me now how you want me to prove this to you. Honestly.” He motioned with his hands. “What, Claire? Just tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  “I asked for time,” Claire grumbled, turning her eyes away to rest elsewhere.

  A pinch of silence loitered, that it left Claire still hanging on tight to the patch of wall she was trying ever so hard to focus on, whereas Zack stood where he was, vexed, shown by the several times his hands had ran through his hair.

  “Time,” he reiterated heavily, relaxing his hand on his hip. “Why isn’t this a better alternative? Huh?” He began after a second’s pause. “We can talk it out. Bullshit with all this ‘I need time.’ How on earth is that going to help? If anything, you’re just going to be put off more. I know—”

  “Zack!” she barked, cutting him off from his rant as she launched to her feet. “Stop! Just stop!” She paced around to other end of the coffee table and back to her initial spot. “After that night, you said you’d give me time. And—and you said all the time I desired. But—but you’re here!” Her tone croaked a little. “How on earth do you think I’m able to process this…this…situation so quickly? Huh? Am I just supposed to sleep it over one night and think yeah, everything’s good the next day? What gives you the right to come in here and tell me we should talk
about it? Huh?”

  “I’m—Claire, I just can’t see why you don’t want to talk it through now!” Zack snapped back, lifting his hand to his forehead.

  “I just don’t, okay!” Claire snarled, clasping her hands harshly around her cheeks. “You lied, Zack. And you keep telling me you love me, but my mind is in a battle of contradiction at the moment. I need time to adjust, to think. I thought you understood that after that night.” Slapping her hands together, she paced around the room. “Eurgh, why are you so difficult? Why did you have to fucking lie? Why did it have to me? Why, why, why?” she groaned, shaking her head. “Why you? Why couldn’t it still be Jason? I used to absolutely adore that guy. So why did you have to come along? Damnit!” Cradling herself into a hug, she rested her head against the wall closest to the front door.

  “Claire, c’mon,” Zack encouraged gently as he went on over to her. “You don’t mean that.” He comforted her, resting his hand on the wall to hold himself up steady. “We’re good together, me and you. We were fighting against this love for ages, and look what it did—it only brought us together. Don’t tell me you regret falling in love with me. Don’t say that because I don’t know for the love of Mars what I’ll do if—just god, Claire. I’m sorry. Fuck.”

  Claire remained where she was, sniffling. Her reply was garbled by emotion. “I don’t know anymore, Zack. I don’t even know if I know you.” She sniffled again. “God, I hate you so much.”

  “No, no, Claire.” Zack placed a hand on her shoulder, disrupting her from her moment of silent whimpering. “Please, I love you so much, baby—”

  Hastily, she pivoted on her toes and heckled whatever he was about to say with his lips on high alert with the taste of her own. It was no peck, but a full-on kiss locked in an embrace, her hands dragging him with yearning, closer towards her level, and his control, cautious, at the unexpected interaction. “God, I hate you,” she moaned.

  Claire tugged him along, yesterday’s dress rising up her thighs with the action. With his bottom now back on the sofa, she leaped into his lap, stripping back his top as their lips remained in a fiesta. Her lips sucked on his before biting down on his bottom lip playfully. And her hands remained interested elsewhere with his hardened member, teasing it through the denim material of his jeans. Growing urgency took over as she began to kiss his chest, her nails clawing down his shoulders and the shameful wetness at the centre of her knickers. All the while, Zack was wary, his hands remaining solely resting on her back.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed suddenly, pulling back and clenching her eyes together. “No, no, what am I doing? What are we doing?” She complained aloud as she hopped off his lap and ran her hands through her nestled, tangled hair. “Oh, god! Why do I have to be so fucking hormonal with you? And you!” She jabbed her finger at him. “Why do you have to be so intoxicating? Eurgh, I’m such a mess!”

  “Claire—”

  “No!” she snapped, cutting him off. “Get up! Now! Two weeks, Zack.” She grabbed his top with fury as she guided him to the front door. “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks for what?” Zack said, finally awakening from his daze.

  Pushing him into the corridor, she threw his top back at him. “Give me two weeks. Nothing less. Two weeks.”

  “What? Time?”

  “Yes, I need to think.” Then she slammed the door before falling to her knees in a flood of tears.

  Some talk that was.

  Chapter Eleven

  Claire

  “And then…” Claire broke into tears even before she could manage her sentence as she fell into Darren’s arms. It was Tuesday, and for the past hour, she had been cooped up in Darren’s apartment as she went over every last detail in relation to her turmoil with Zack Benson.

  “God, I just can’t believe it,” Darren confessed as he rocked Claire in his arms to soothe her broken heart. “Nor can I get over the fact he is our big boss. I wouldn’t have guessed, but I can definitely see him as that now.”

  “I’m sorry for putting this on you, Darren.” She sniffled, gently pulling back, knowing her behaviour had been right depressing, especially since this man had been through so much. “I know you’re still—”

  “Hey, hey,” Darren interjected, swiping tears away from her cheeks. “Claire, don’t. I’m glad you’re telling me. I need to get back to some normalcy around here. And baby, you’ll need me for all the advice in the world.” Her friend offered a warm smile, reminding her just for that odd second that the old Darren was back, safe, from whatever chest he had been locked in deep down in the pits of his heart. It didn’t have a lasting effect; from her viewpoint she could still see that tired, defeated man who had lost the man he’d loved.

  “And yesterday?”

  Claire exhaled. “Just thank god I don’t have a job there, right?” She snorted.

  “So, what happened Sunday then?”

  “Well, of course, I got pissed. He shows up. I wake up Monday and he’s still there and we argued and then suddenly I was the one trying to get him into bed. As if shit wasn’t bad enough as it was,” Claire explained with utter remorse, her need to cry weakened.

  Darren smirked slightly. “I’d always said you were a horny bastard.”

  Claire shook her head with a slight smile, loving that she knew her friend could always make her smile. Darren clapped his knees softly as he inhaled. “So…” He pushed the air back out his lungs. “What are you going to do?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah, you’ve said two weeks. So, what?”

  Claire pulled up one of her socks, ignoring the question at first, knowing she did not have the answer. She could only shrug in return.

  “Well, here,” Darren began, leaning forward off his armchair to stir his green tea with another whisk of the teaspoon. “You have options, so that’s one good thing. You can walk away or you can stay.” Claire could only glance at the pink blanket he was sitting on, feeling numb to even wanting to bother to listen. “He has lied. He’s been a dick. He did probably have intentions to just sleep with you as a bonus but—” Darren stopped, a deliberate pause to study Claire’s fed-up expression. “He has learnt to grow. He’s became attached to you. And when J—” Darren swallowed, clenching his eyes briefly. “On the night of Jonas’s…death…” The struggle was evident in his second pause. “He was there for you. If he…didn’t love you, he had every chance to walk away.”

  Claire reached over to squeeze his hand, seeing the utter effect of despair and loss towards mentioning “his” name. Darren returned the gesture before he continued, “Claire, don’t make a mistake. Don’t be stubborn. We don’t…control time. So…” He swallowed back another mouthful of tears. “Just do what is right.”

  “I love you,” she said as she brought his hand to her lips, her touch grazing his knuckles.

  “I love you too, my baby.”

  Claire embraced him into her arms, then she pressed a kiss to his cheek before she whispered, “He’s always here with you. Don’t forget that.”

  ***

  Tuesday late evening in an apartment that felt bare was disturbingly depressing.

  Flicking the meatball with her fork, she could only sigh. Two weeks. Two weeks to get her mind around all of this. What did it mean for them? What would it mean if she did go back? What would it mean to their relationship? After all, he was a billionaire. A man, who she had thought didn’t know how to wash up or hoover because he was a couch potato, not that he had a maid cleaning up after his ass. It did indeed feel like she was missing the final piece of the puzzle. Did she even know him then? Or was it different?

  Darren spoke convincingly, too. Now, she had to really think.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sweat clung to their skin. The pads of their fingertips stuck to one another as the rocking motion endured. Heavy, carnal moans of their shared desire ran wild. Arousing to the ears, a mind fuck, all building up; a second over and it would explode like a fizzy can of pop, disturbed.

>   Cries of ecstasy, stimulated by the kneading of his hands upon her breasts, his lips replacing their position to suck and tug on the pink, aroused part. All the while, her hands searched the flat, horizontal surface of his back. Clawing her nails down, resulting in zig-zagged patterns of raw redness.

  Inside, the tip of his dick ramming against her core generated titillating waves through her bottom yet lingered more so in the bay of her stomach. Then without surprise, the piercing scream, enough to shatter glass, as running juices leaked down her thighs. Her lips were on his. The taste of salt on his index finger, prominent in his mouth. Just another breath, not the release, and his hips collided with her own again. His hands lifted her hips up, gripping on as they both felt the build-up of climax.

  “Claire…” The one single syllable was enough to stir her up.

  Subsequently, she sat up in her bed. Sweat stuck to the sides of her face and there was shameful moisture elsewhere. It had confirmed on that Wednesday morning, at half past six, she had an aphrodisiac dream.

  She sighed, flipping back the duvet cover as she clenched her eyes, feeling utterly ashamed of her lustful thoughts. It had her wondering if what Darren said was right and that she was horny bastard.

  Why was she breathing so fast? God, she frowned, lifting her feet out of bed. How stupid. Claire shook her head, stood up, and headed for the bathroom. There was no point in even asking why. She knew why. And as for now, she had to focus on getting to work without dropping another lid shut and pondering on that erotic dream.

  ***

  Zack must have been trying because on Wednesday morning she was requested to return to the board in reconsideration of her position. As much as she wanted to boycott the establishment, she missed and needed her job. By the second hour, she was back at her desk, people whispering amongst themselves over her absence and Graves’ suspicion following her like a hawk.