She's the Boss (Romantic Comedy)

by Lisa Lim

  “Anything but work.”

  He looked at me in some surprise. “I thought you enjoy what you do.”

  “I do. Work may be my world but it’s not my life. And by the way, when was the last time you went out with friends?”

  His mouth curled slightly. “When I was eighteen.”

  “Carter!” I chided. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “All right, I can change that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Starting right now.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.” His eyes were fixed on my face, seemingly awaiting reaction. Butterflies started up in my stomach and I nodded to show that I understood. “Karsynn?” he said at last.

  “Carter?” I grinned, sensing his awkwardness. And mine.

  “I was wondering,” he said hesitantly, “would you like to go out with me sometime?”

  “Erm …” I could actually feel my cheeks growing hot. “OK.”

  “How about tonight?”

  “Sure,” I said in a voice that didn’t quite sound as though it came from me.

  “Dinner at my place? I make some mean Mexican food.”

  How did he know? I’ve missed Mexican food so much that I’d fall into paroxysms of delight at the mere sight of a taco stand.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Stop by my room at seven?”

  “Seven’s perfect.”

  Later, after Carter had left to attend another meeting, I stood there for a moment, scattering my thoughts to the four winds of heaven, wondering if this dinner invitation meant more to the both of us than was superficially apparent.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You do make a mean tortilla soup.”

  “Thank you.” Carter turned slowly to me and smiled. We were sitting a fraction apart on the wicker sofa. “I’ve honed it to perfection.”

  I laughed. “Never one for false modesty.”

  All in all, dinner with Carter had gone rather well. We immediately fell into conversation, chatting idly about nothing in particular and laughing about silly things. Now, after a satisfying meal, we had retired to the living room and the conversation was still flowing like wine.

  “I’ve been dying for some Mexican food. Back home, I eat some form of Mexican food at least once a week.”

  Carter leaned back on the sofa, folding his arms behind his head. “For me, it’s at least three times a week.”

  I curled my feet up under me and sighed. “Why doesn’t good Mexican food exist in Asia?”

  “As every carne connoisseur knows, the further you get from Mexico, the lamer the tortillas. That’s why I brought my dry spices all the way from home.”

  “Well you sure know your ingredients, Señor Carter.”

  He nodded sagely. “As every good cook should.”

  I looked at him with interest. “How come you’re so good at cooking Mexican food?”

  “My grandmother was from Mexico and I learned from the best.”

  “Can you speak any Spanish?”

  “Of course,” he said, brightening. Then he lowered his voice and intoned, “Para continuar en español, oprime numero dos.”

  I started giggling. “Even I know that one! ‘To continue in Spanish, press two.’ I sometimes hear that in my sleep.”

  Carter nodded briefly in acknowledgment. “It’s always a manly voice, too.”

  “Yep,” I agreed in heartfelt tones. “Always a manly voice … with a deep, rich baritone.”

  “Like the voice of God?”

  “Nah!” I pooh-poohed. “More like a telenovela actor.”

  “I suppose,” he said with a quirk of his lips.

  I leaned back, resting my head against the plush cushions. “Besides cooking Mexican meals and working, what else do you do during your spare time?”

  “Read. I enjoy reading. And before I forget—” He stood up abruptly and cut across the bamboo floors. I kept my eyes focused on his retreating back; he disappeared into his bedroom and emerged seconds later holding a thick hardcover book. “I’ve been meaning to give you this,” he said, pressing the book into my hand.

  I sat forward and read the title aloud, “The World is Flat.”

  He stood awkwardly and raked a hand through his hair. “I hope you’ll read it.”

  Leafing through the pages, I quickly surmised it was an Economics textbook of some sort. I feigned enthusiasm and lied, “Of course I’ll read it.”

  Carter sat back down on the sofa and said, “Good.”

  Sensing a lull in conversation, I felt compelled to fill the silence and launched into a fairly long soliloquy about some ideas I had for work.

  Carter quietly interrupted, “Let’s not talk about work.”

  “OK.” It came out like a frog’s croak.

  He was studying me, his dark eyes intent and laden with desire.

  My eyes dropped to take in that handsome curve of his mouth. “So …” I said, amazed that my voice was coming out properly.

  “So …” His words seemed to hang in the air, his eyes momentarily flickering to my lips and then back to my eyes.

  Hardly knowing where to look anymore, I dropped my eyes and began to study the grains in the bamboo floor with close attention. I didn’t dare look up in case he read my every desire in my face. The air grew electric and the room seemed to have shrunk. Carter was imposing no matter when I saw him, but in his little apartment, his size and magnetism were overwhelming.

  This is silly. I can’t be staring at the bamboo floor all night.

  I forced myself to look up and meet his eyes. My breath caught in a tiny gasp. Those deep eyes of his held the promise of seduction on a voluptuous four-poster bed with a sheer canopy, complete with Egyptian satin sheets in the middle of a deserted beach, under the moonlight with gentle waves lapping quietly against the shore.

  Involuntarily, my hands fluttered up and I found myself straightening Carter’s shirt collar with shaky fingers.

  He caught one of my wrists. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I think,” I muttered a bit unevenly, gently brushing my fingernails against the front of his pants, “this is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.”

  “A bad idea,” he echoed a bit raggedly, linking his hands around the small of my back, pulling my hips toward him. I fell onto his lap and straddled him, my arms wrapped around his neck. We kissed, long, hard and passionately, our tongues gently interlocking, our breaths hot and moist. I threaded my fingers into his hair, stroking the back of his neck where the short hairs grew.

  Carter stroked me through the thin cotton material of my shirt, sliding slowly upward then downward, touching me everywhere. He deepened his kiss, his lips molding to mine, tasting, caressing. Then he drew back reluctantly and looked at me intently. “Are you sure?”

  I spoke almost inaudibly, “Yes.”

  Carter worked on the small buttons on my shirt until it fell open to reveal my lacy black bra. He reached out and cupped my breasts. Slowly, he dipped his head and lapped my hardened nipple through the lace, suckling, teasing, drawing it deeper and deeper into his mouth.

  I let my eyelids drift shut, savoring the feel of his tongue swirling and sucking, drinking in my shudders. My fingernails dug into his shoulders as he lavished the same attention on my other breast. I was drowning in need, my moistened nipple rasping against the lace. “Carter,” a whispered breath slipped past my lips.

  His hands were all over my bare skin, skimming my stomach, my rib cage, my thighs, running down my back, cupping my bottom. Then I felt his fingers hook into the elastic at my waist, tugging my skirt until I was stripped down to the bare essentials. In short, I was naked all except for three lacy triangles covering my breasts and my lady bits.

  Carter sat back and stared, his eyes roaming all over me, drinking me in. It wasn’t fair. I was as naked as a jaybird, well … a jaybird in trashy lingerie, and Carter still had all his clothes on.

  So not fair.

  I shift
ed slightly, feeling suddenly bashful.

  Gosh. It’s a good thing I’d got a Brazilian wax. Just last week my lower lady bits were so obscured by hair that it had resembled Chewbacca.

  Carter shifted too and knelt before me, holding my gaze as he spread my thighs apart. “Open your eyes, Kars. Watch me. Watch me make love to you.”

  I did. It was hot and sexy, though unwillingly, I found myself giggling.

  The lazy sweep of his hooded eyes alighted on my face. “Don’t ruin the moment, Kars.”

  I nodded fervently and bit my lips, trying hard to keep a straight face. Conjuring sensational powers of self control, I managed to keep obediently silent for all of two minutes when I heard Carter give an audible sigh, then, “You’re about to ruin the moment, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head vehemently, fighting for control.

  I tried to keep it together. Really, I did.

  But I was fully incapable of such self restraint. Barely a second later, I burst into a spasm of giggles. Eventually, I regained enough control to say, “I’m so sorry, Carter, but I have to close my eyes.”

  Then I did.

  Carter was not a man who believed in rushing his pleasures. He was sweet and tender and he took his time with me. The things he did … bits of me were quivering that I had never known could quiver.

  Erm … I’ll stop there. Any more would be X-rated.

  Whoo! I exhaled. What a great way to combine business with pleasure.

  Sated, I nestled my head under Carter’s chin, feeling warm and safe in his arms, fully secluded from the outside world.

  Hmmm. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that my boobs seemed to have gotten bigger in the last hour. Is that possible? From all that boob massaging?

  Should I have Carter confirm this?

  Nah. It was probably the boob fairy. She still visits me from time to time … ever since the tooth fairy ditched me.

  Quietly, Carter asked, “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” I said stiffly.

  “No really,” he pressed, “tell me.”

  I quickly turned my thoughts to weightier issues. “Oh you know,” I murmured airily, “this and that.”

  He drew me closer and I wriggled deeper into his arms. His shoulder felt solid and curved perfectly to fit my cheek. Ever so gently, he started stroking my hair. “Karsynn …”

  “Mmmmm …” I smiled, bliss skipping through my veins.

  “I really like you, but—” he broke off.

  The smile slowly faded from my face.

  “I don’t think we should do this again. I think we should wait.”

  A knife to the heart. I nodded, not feeling capable of saying anything else.

  Carter smoothed his hand down my spine. “We should wait until our working situation is different.”

  I swallowed hard, pushing against the lump that was blocking my throat. “Of course,” I heard myself say, “I never expected anything more than this.”

  “Karsynn,” he said disparagingly, “this meant more to me than just a one-night stand.”

  “Uh huh,” I said coolly, throwing back the covers and slipping out of bed. Realizing I was stark naked, I searched around on the floor for my clothes and headed to the bathroom to get dressed.

  “Karsynn!” he called after me.

  Muttering furiously to myself, I slammed the bathroom door shut and closed my eyes, feeling perilously close to tears. God. I’m such an idiot.

  Afterward, fully dressed, I muttered a quick goodbye. “Don’t bother getting up,” I said in a rush, “I’ll see myself out.”

  Clicking the door into place, I made the walk of shame back to my room with my heels in my hands and smudged eyeliner under my eyes, feeling decidedly empty.

  My shoulder angel, the more sensible voice that I tend not to listen to very often because her advice is so annoying, told me I was a fool and a harlot.

  Shame, shame, shame on me!

  My shoulder devil, the not-so-sensible voice inside me told me not to worry. The sex was good and I had a great time. There was nothing to be ashamed of. A walk of shame was shameful only if I felt ashamed about it.

  In the end, my shoulder devil effectively silenced my shoulder angel by slapping duct tape over her mouth.

  Lifting my chin up, I smiled radiantly and walked down the corridor with my head held high, turning my walk of shame into a stride of pride.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Oy vey! I was sweating like Charlie Sheen in a brothel. And I seriously needed to take another shower. I was drowning in this humidity!

  Drowning!

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Damn it. It was those pesky mosquitoes again. They refused to leave me alone. Why weren’t they drowning in this humidity, too? Like I was?

  I fell back against the mattress and stared at the bloodsuckers buzzing about me. I imagined they probably wore snorkels, goggles, wetsuits and flippers just to stay alive in this humidity.

  Hell, I might even be sprouting gills myself.

  I don’t think I could ever get used to this humidity, not even after staying here for two months.

  TWO MONTHS! I sat bolt upright in my bed with a gasp. I’ve been here two full months! I was actually truly surprised by this. The hours, the days, the months just sped between my fingers. Carter and I never slept together after that fateful night. Nope. There was no more friction under the sheets, though there was plenty of friction at work. The sexual tension was almost palpable.

  People must have been able to sense it at meetings. If we weren’t sitting next to each other, we were positioned to be able to communicate nonverbally. To me, it seemed that if people didn’t know that something was going on between us, they just weren’t paying attention.

  But Truong was paying attention. Last week, he’d finally confronted me.

  “Is something going on with you and Carter?”

  Though I vehemently denied, Truong saw right through me. “You can’t fool me,” he said. “When two people start communicating more with their eyes than their words, they’re probably sleeping together.”

  Truong was almost right. Something was going on between me and Carter, but I didn’t know what it was. We weren’t dating, we weren’t having sex … we just worked together.

  But I couldn’t deny the ever-building sexual tension between us. It was intense. It didn’t seem like a passing fling. Passing flings I knew how to handle only too well. But Carter Lockwood was new territory. Was this an emotional affair? I don’t know. But whatever it was, I didn’t have the option to walk away from it because I worked with him everyday.

  Nonetheless, we tried to maintain a level of detachment and kept things strictly professional at the office. Outside of the office, it was a slightly different story. We took advantage of the little private moments we could find and it was during those moments that Carter was warm and friendly, flirty even. The change in Carter’s personality had me totally unnerved. And I came to realize that he was a mass of contradictions, stern and uptight, but also tender and a lot more laid back than he let anyone see.

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. A mosquito buzzed about, jolting me out of my reverie.

  SMACK! I swatted it with my open palm and watched the blood splatter on my arm. “Hah! Take that you Monsanto mosquito!”

  Last week, Malaysian officials had released thousands of genetically modified mosquitoes into the wild in an attempt to curb the spread of dengue fever. These ‘Frankensuckers’ were sterile male Aedes mosquitoes. Since only female Aedes mosquitoes spread dengue fever, the hope was that when these female mosquitoes mated with the impotent males, they wouldn’t produce any viable offspring, thereby curtailing the entire mosquito population.

  To me, it sounded like the beginning of a sci-fi horror story. Once the genie was out of the bottle, it wasn’t going back in.

  Humph. How symbolic. Once Carter and I had crossed that line, there was no going back either.

  Eventually, I rolled out of bed and surveyed my packin
g with a dismal air. In a way I was grateful I was leaving in just three days. Leaving this humidity, leaving these mutant mosquitoes, leaving memories of Carter …

  Carter again!

  He seemed to be able to slip effortlessly into my head.

  I needed some physical distance from him. Back in the States, we wouldn’t be living in such close quarters. Here, his room was eight doors down the corridor from mine. Not a good thing.

  I dragged my thoughts from all things Carter and padded to the window. I threw back the curtains and stared out at the ocean, watching the white ripple rising and disappearing into the even surface of the water. A child sat playing with sea shells on the sandy beach that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles.

  Suddenly, my iPhone beeped and I fished it out of my back pocket. It was a text from Truong.

  Did you just butt dial me?

  I texted back:

  Maybe …

  Seconds later, my phone beeped with another text.

  I’m on the beach with Inge. Come join us.

  I texted back:

  You are? I’m staring out my window.

  Truong texted back:

  Are you way hung us?

  I texted:

  How can I be way hung when I don’t even have a ding dong?

  Truong texted back:

  Oops! My bad! My phone keeps auto-correcting watching to way hung.

  I texted back:

  LOL. That’s probably ’cause you’re always asking men if they’re way hung.

  Truong texted back:

  True. Anyway, come down to the beach. Now.

  I texted:

  I’ll be there in twenty.

  Truong texted:

  Oh, and invite your boyfriend!

  I texted back:

  I don’t have a boyfriend.

  He texted:

  Just do it. I’d like to know if Carter is way hung.

  I twisted my lips. I knew I shouldn’t. I wanted to, needed to keep an emotional distance from Carter. Still, I found myself thumbing in a text:

  Me, Truong and Inge will by laying on the beach. Care to join us?

  Seconds later, my iPhone beeped. Carter had texted back:

  Public promiscuity is not really my thing.