Sleeping With the Boss

by Marissa Clarke

  “Claire-ism?”

  She ate a bite of yogurt and nodded. “Yeah. When something goes massively wrong or especially when something is embarrassing, my friend Heather calls it a Claire-ism. I’m forever doing odd or embarrassing things.”

  “Your skirt ripping was a Claire-ism.”

  “A prime example. So was spilling my purse.”

  He nodded. “So how does that relate to my lunch offer?”

  “That had massive Claire-ism potential.”

  He smiled—he found himself doing that constantly around her—and took another bite of the roast beef sandwich. “In what regard?”

  “In every regard. First, I wasn’t sure you meant it. Second, I would have done something awkward. Third, it made no sense.” She dipped her spoon in the yogurt, and he watched her pull the utensil between her lips.

  He leaned closer, staring at her full mouth before reluctantly dragging his gaze back to her deep hazel eyes. “First, I meant it. Really meant it.” Her breath caught, and she blinked slowly. “Second,” he said, leaning even closer—close enough to smell something floral, perhaps her shampoo, “something that you consider awkward, I might like. Take the ripped skirt for example—I liked that a lot.” A blush crept up her neck and over her face. “And as for not making sense…” He leaned back in his chair. “Go out to dinner with me so I can show you how much sense it makes.” She remained silent, but her eyes never left his. “Say yes,” he prompted, surprised at how badly he wanted her to agree.

  Still no answer, but a faint smile curved her lips and she looked away. Good. She was considering it. She balled up her sandwich wrapper, and put it, along with her plastic spoon and empty yogurt cup, into a paper bag. When she stood, he did, too, holding his breath in anticipation.

  “Yes.” She met his eyes and her smile broadened. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Nothing about this woman was guarded or deceptive. No way was she the spy. “Excellent. So, how about tonight at eight?”

  …

  Claire couldn’t believe this was happening. Gorgeous men never asked her out. Never. Yet, here was William Anderson inviting her to dinner. It took everything in her not to jump up and down, pumping her fist in the air. In her buzzy haze, it sounded like a great idea. Screw responsibility, her body cheered, but then she stilled as a wave of disappointment flooded her. She had her Tuesday girls’ night out with Heather. They met twice a week for drinks now that Claire was no longer tied down. “I can’t. I already have plans.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s too bad.”

  No shit.

  “Tomorrow?”

  Everything in her wanted to say yes, but it was just too good to be true. A man this important and desirable would never seek her out like this. Something was off. “So, do you do this often?”

  “What?”

  “Ask women from the office out?”

  “I don’t ask anyone out. I don’t date…well, I haven’t in a long time anyway.” He took several steps closer. Near enough to touch, but he didn’t. “But I want to go out with you, Claire.”

  Heather had told her to do something reckless. Going out with William Anderson was as reckless as jumping the Grand Canyon on a motorcycle. Just having him this near made her knees go weak. “Yes,” she whispered in spite of her misgivings.

  Will’s phone buzzed in his back pocket and he took a step back. “Sorry.” His smile faded as he stared at his screen, then a less genuine one replaced it when he shoved the phone back in his pocket. “We’ll leave from here and catch a bite somewhere casual close by. Will that work?”

  She nodded, and was relieved when the warmth entered his eyes again. He moved closer and ran his fingertips down her arm. Such a gentle touch, but her entire body hummed to life. “See you tomorrow.” He gave her one last dimpled grin, grabbed his sandwich wrapper, and left the room.

  Gasping for breath, she slumped against the table. Holy shit. She was going on a date with the hottest man she’d ever seen who made her lose her mind with a simple touch. How in the world could she go back to editing descriptions of Greek pottery? She straightened and gathered her purse. “How’s that for reckless, Heather?”

  Chapter Five

  Will sat back in Michael’s desk chair and stared at the text again. Drinks tonight?

  When it came in while he was in the file room with Claire, he assumed it was Jim getting back to him about his findings. Instead, it was Suzanne Elliot, a socialite who ran in Beth’s circles—and his, too, if he ran at all, which he didn’t anymore.

  He’d bumped into Suzanne on his way into the building day before yesterday. It had been good to see a friend from college, and he thought nothing of exchanging numbers as a nicety. He’d never expected her to actually contact him. So much for expectations.

  What was he supposed to do? He was free tonight because Claire was going out with someone else. What harm could it do to meet an old acquaintance for drinks? Hell, it might even be fun. He’d make it someplace close and keep it short and sweet. At least his brothers would quit hassling him about being a hermit.

  How about Georgio’s at 5:30? he texted back. There. Early and close.

  Her response was immediate. Fabulous. Can’t wait to catch up.

  Fabulous…

  “Hey!” Chance said, peeking in the doorway. “A client from a few years ago just called. He’s selling off some stuff. Michael is going to be stoked.” His brother had the trademark Anderson dimples, which showed up when he grinned like he was now. He was wiry and thin like Michael, but despite his quiet demeanor, he managed to look like a badass even in the suit and tie. Perhaps it was his longer hair or his eight-billionth-degree black belt in karate or whatever he was now.

  Their mom had labeled the Anderson brothers from early childhood. Michael was the serious one, William was trustworthy and dependable, and baby Chance was the sensitive artist. Will had always half expected Chance to spin off into all kinds of craziness, but it had never happened. He was probably the best-looking of the three brothers, and girls had always followed him around like puppies. With the exception of a few dates here and there, he just didn’t seem interested, which unlike the dimples, was not an Anderson brother trait.

  Since his return from duty, Will usually preferred to be alone, but something had shifted today and being alone tonight didn’t appeal. He hoped it wasn’t a bad thing. “You doing anything later tonight?” Maybe they could meet up after he had a drink with Suzanne.

  “I’m stuck here for a while. Plan to order takeout at five if you want to join in. I have a sparring match at eight, but have to finish Polly Guidry’s contract first.”

  Well, that effectively took Chance out of play tonight unless he wanted to go to the dojo and watch him face off with another ninja type. Will folded up one of his cuffs. God, he hated dress clothes. “Polly… Old Bart’s widow?”

  “Yep. She’s selling off a Rembrandt charcoal and three Fabergé pieces. The auction and wine and cheese party is here in the lobby on Thursday. Super small, invitation-only event, so no real security issues for this one.”

  “Is she selling stuff off to finance another European luxury tour?” Will’s other cuff received the same treatment as the first.

  “Nope. She’s gone cougar. Buying a yacht for her new, younger man.”

  “She must be eighty by now.”

  “Eighty-one. He’s seventy-four. Love is timeless.” Chance winked and swung his feet back to the floor. “Dinner early here, then?”

  “Can’t. Meeting Suzanne Elliot for drinks.”

  Chance’s eyes widened. “Suzanne Elliot, as in the model?”

  “Yeah. We bumped into each other out front the other day.”

  “I remember her from your engagement party. She’s kind of hard to forget.”

  She was hard to forget. Tall, leggy, and in the prime of her modeling career four years ago, she’d captured the eye of the tabloids at the engagement party and stolen the limelight, which really pis
sed Beth off. It was the first real glimpse Will had gotten into Beth’s selfish, darker side. Sadly, it wasn’t the last.

  “Wow. Suzanne Elliot.” Chance stood and gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder. “Good luck, man.”

  For some reason, the inference bothered Will. “We’re just going for drinks. Nothing else.” Shit. He hoped Suzanne didn’t have the idea there would be more. Maybe he should call it off after all.

  “You’ve been in the desert too long if you’re really expecting me to buy that.”

  “Don’t you have some legalese to interpret somewhere so Polly can give her boy toy a yacht?”

  Chance grinned. “Indeed I do.”

  …

  “Holy shit, girl, what did you do?” Heather broke her breadstick in half and wagged it at Claire. “I got phone calls from Bev the Beast and some dude named Jim asking all kinds of things about you. Did you do Michael Anderson or something?”

  “No!” Claire covered her mouth and coughed out the bit of wine she’d just inhaled. “God, no.”

  Heather shoved part of the breadstick in her mouth, eyes narrowing. “The little brother, then. The quiet one with the long hair. Shit, I’d do that one, no questions asked.” She dragged the other half of her breadstick in marinara sauce and took a bite. “I bet he’s got a wild streak a mile wide. The quiet ones always do.”

  Claire raised her wineglass and took a sip, trying to cover up her panic. It unnerved her that people were calling Heather’s temp agency about her. And who was this Jim guy anyway? No doubt the calls had been triggered by Will Anderson’s puzzling interest in her. Claire didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  “I did not…do either of them, Heather. I have no idea why this is happening.”

  “Liar.” Heather cocked her head, then pointed at the bowl of marinara. “You are the color of this sauce right now. Spill, girl. I’ve known you too long to be fooled.”

  Mercifully, the waiter arrived with their food and rescued her from having to answer. Maybe Heather would be so distracted by her huge bowl of lobster ravioli she’d drop it. The middle-aged man, wearing a white apron past his knees, placed the food in front of them, making a big deal about not touching the hot plates.

  “So, who is it?” Heather asked before the waiter was even out of earshot.

  Yeah, well, so much for dropping it. Claire took a bite of her minestrone.

  “Ignoring me won’t work.” She stabbed ravioli with her fork. “I have my sources in that office, and I’m going to find out sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.”

  Even more embarrassing than admitting her attraction to William Anderson would be Heather snooping around and bringing someone else’s attention to it.

  “You’re right. You’re probably getting called because I’ve…I’ve had some dealings with one of the brothers.”

  “Dealings?” Heather popped the ravioli into her mouth whole, face glowing like she’d won the lottery.

  “Nothing serious. It was minor.”

  Heather eyed her empty glass, then reached over and chugged some of Claire’s wine. “Nothing with an Anderson is minor. Scoring an Anderson is like spotting a Sasquatch. They are elusive, mysterious, and larger than life—if you know what I mean.” She winked and shoved another ravioli in her mouth. “And I have that last bit on the best authority.”

  Good God. Claire was not going there. She’d said all she was going to say.

  When her mouth was empty again, Heather leaned closer. “I knew you were bluffing at lunch yesterday. It’s the oldest one, right? I’ve heard he’s fantastic in bed. I have a couple of friends who say Michael Anderson was the best night of their lives.” She leaned even closer. “What did he do? They won’t give me any real specifics. Just vague five-star reviews and dreamy smiles.”

  Claire pointed at her face and scowled. “Does this look like a dreamy smile?”

  “No.” Heather gasped, then grinned. “Get out! You kissed the youngest brother, Chance? Nobody kisses Chance—well, at least Chance doesn’t kiss them back. Did he kiss you back?” She bounced in her chair and clapped her hands.

  “You are way off base and I am not talking about this with you.”

  “Well, that only leaves…” Her jaw dropped. “Oh, wow. I’d heard the middle one was back. Did William Anderson kiss you? Because if he did, you are one of the few girls in the world lucky enough to experience a close encounter with those lips.”

  Not reacting, she took another bite of soup and waited for Heather to fill in the blanks. For once, she hoped her friend’s snooping and gossip would come in useful for more than entertainment. Maybe she could learn something about the man who made her heart hammer and her knees go weak.

  “He dated the same woman forever. They had a huge high-society engagement ball even. I heard she called off the wedding before he came back from wherever the military sent him, but I never found out why.”

  Claire stirred her soup.

  “So, how was it?” Heather asked.

  “Fine. We only talked, for heaven’s sake.”

  Heather’s eyebrows shot up, and her lips pulled into that smirk Claire knew so well. “I’m calling bullshit. That guy is walking sex. Hell. If I’d known he was back in play, I’d have taken the position as editor myself. Whatever you did with that man was not ‘fine.’ Now, it might have been fiiiiine.”

  It had been more than that, which was the most disturbing aspect of this whole business. She hadn’t even kissed the guy, but she could think of nothing else—which was out of character. Claire, though not worldly compared to someone like Heather, was no wallflower. She had dated in high school and early college before her grandparents got so sick. She even considered marrying Eric until he turned into a controlling asshole. Maybe he’d been one all along, but she hadn’t noticed until he insisted she stop caring for her grandparents because he didn’t like sharing her.

  Will didn’t strike her as the controlling type. She sighed. If only he’d come along a couple of years ago. For the first time in her life, her time was her own. She was leaving the country in a few weeks, hopefully forever. No matter who…

  Heather snapped her fingers. “Hellooooooo, Claire! We’re talking about important things here, like William Anderson’s lips.”

  She grinned. “He only used his lips to talk.”

  “What a waste. Are you going to see him? I mean in addition to the office…talk?” She winked.

  “Dinner tomorrow.”

  “That’s fantastic.” Heather accepted the black check folio from the waiter and lifted it above her head when Claire reached for it.

  “Come on and let me cover this one. I owe you dinner for getting me this job to cover expenses until my money comes in and I take off.”

  “Nuh-uh. I’m buying dinner as a bribe for more info. A lot can happen between a man and woman in two weeks.” She pitched her credit card into the black folder and handed it back to the waiter. “Consider this prepayment for vicarious enjoyment of your future ‘dealings’ with William Anderson.” Her mouth went slack as she looked over Claire’s shoulder. “And oh, shit. Speak of the devil.”

  Dammit. Claire knew having dinner at the Italian restaurant across from the Anderson Building was a mistake, but she and Heather had met here every week since she’d started working at Anderson Auctions, as the temp agency office was only a few streets away.

  Claire gripped the table, forcing herself to not turn around. Instead, she watched Will’s reflection in the glass of a huge black-and-white photo of the New York skyline. He wasn’t alone.

  “Oh my God,” Heather whispered. “He’s with that model chick. The tall, black-haired one with the legs for days whose picture was on that billboard at the Astoria station a couple of years ago. You know the one. The ad for those designer jeans with the rhinestones on the ass?”

  Claire squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed the lump in her throat. I will not turn around, I will not turn around, I will not turn around.

  Will’s
reflection slid off the side of the glass as he was seated at a table somewhere behind her.

  Heather flagged the waiter down. “Two more glasses of merlot.” She tapped Claire’s arm. “Unless you want something stronger.”

  “No. Nothing for me, thank you,” she murmured. Her chest felt too tight to breathe.

  The waiter nodded and headed off, and she released her white-knuckle death grip on the edge of the table and slipped her purse from the back of the chair to her lap. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Not unless you want him to see you. So far, he’s looked at nothing but the hot model.”

  “So?”

  “So, you have to face him at work tomorrow and you have a date. How awkward do you want it to be? Sit still a moment.” Her eyes flitted back to the couple somewhere behind and to the right of Claire. “They refused menus, so they’re probably just having drinks. If they leave first, he won’t know you saw him out with Sparkle Jeans the same day he hit on you.”

  “He didn’t hit on me. He asked me out. And the only reason you want me to stay is to see what happens.”

  “Damn right, I do. Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  The waiter delivered Heather’s wine, and Claire buried her face in her hands. Maybe she’d call in sick tomorrow. Hell, she wouldn’t be too far off. Her stomach was about to heave-ho. “I’m not sticking around to see if he scores. Thanks for dinner.” Claire stood, gathered her purse, and without glancing in the direction she knew Will had gone, exited the restaurant.

  Chapter Six

  Well, shit. Will should’ve known someone from the office would spot him in this restaurant. He just wished it had been someone other than Claire. Anyone but Claire. She hadn’t made eye contact as she’d rushed for the door, but there was no way she’d missed seeing him. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Suzanne cleared her throat. “Earth to William.”

  “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll be in the city for a while.”

  She ran her finger around the rim of her glass in a calculated, sensual stroke and met his eyes. “How long?”