Bossy: A Billionaire Boss Office Romance (Alpha Second Chances Book 4)

by Rowena

  Everything in me liquefies when he says my name, and it’s a wonder I manage to do everything he said, considering my limbs feel like they’ve turned to jelly.

  But the sound of the door closing reaches my ears, and the distance between Jaxson and me lessens until I find myself an unbearable few feet away, my hand on the intended chair.

  “Sit,” he repeats firmly, and the command works on my chaotic body, my butt plopping down on the seat immediately.

  Jaxson stares at me long and hard, and just when I think I’m about to actually melt and slide off this chair into a pile of goo, he says, “What brings you here today?” in a falsely casual voice.

  What’s he really asking? I’m obviously here for a job.

  But I guess I have to play along and keep calm, cool, collected. The interview has begun, and this question, like all others that will come after it, is clearly a test.

  Time will tell if it’s just a torturous setup to send me packing at the end of a grueling interrogation; it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Jaxson decided to punish me by not giving me the time of day, and he just brought me here to watch me squirm.

  I take in a deep breath and let it out with a smile.

  I’ll just have to pretend he’s some other interviewer.

  “Well, after reading the job description, I thought this company and I would be a great fit, considering…”

  “Candace, stop. Why show up at my company? And for this sort of position? You made sure you’d never have to work a day in your life if you didn’t want to.”

  A sharp pain briefly cuts through my composure, but I manage to keep it together.

  I’m proud to hear the strength in my voice as I say evenly, “Having had a few things fall through, I found myself on the market, and my job search led me here. I had no idea you worked here; I was just looking for a good fit.”

  I’m amazed I made myself sound so normal—nothing about me feels normal right now. My insides are raging—my heart slamming against my chest unnaturally hard and fast, the delicate flesh between my legs tingling persistently, no matter how much I try to ignore it.

  I’m also overwhelmed by panic at being in such dire straits and facing the man whose heart I broke so many years ago.

  It almost feels like too much for me, yet instead of passing out from all the emotional stress, I’m playing my part pretty well, I think, and it gives me a strange sort of hope, making me feel I’m much stronger than I thought, that I’m made of more durable stuff than I’ve been led to believe.

  Who knew feeling like you’ve hit rock bottom could be so illuminating and empowering?

  Plus, job interviewers can’t press you for personal info, so it’s not like he’ll find out…

  “What happened to your husband?” Jaxson asks.

  He delivers each word smoothly and calmly, but his sentences are infused with both fire and ice somehow. A hot fury is simmering beneath his collected composure, belying the cold distance in his eyes.

  He definitely hasn’t forgiven me for what I did to him, and I get the sense he’s not actually far from erupting one way or another.

  He probably wants to rage at me, but knows he can’t. And he shouldn’t—it was all such a long time ago, and this is certainly not the right time. He has to remain professional or else I could report him.

  “No offense, but I believe that question is a no-no for job interviews,” I say while maintaining a pleasant expression. I think.

  He raises one eyebrow as he patiently waits for my response, silently dismissing my objection.

  I sigh in defeat. “We’re divorced, Jaxson; Charles is in jail now, and he’ll probably be locked up for a while. He... he ruined me.”

  I’d been unsure about whether to call Jaxson by his first name or ‘Mr. Pace,’ given the circumstances, but he’s no longer playing by professional rules, so why should I?

  I fully expect him to continue that personal vein, to pound me with questions about why I left him, why I never looked back, why I couldn’t even bother to check in on him all this time, considering how close we were and how much we loved each other. I expect him to finally rage at me once he gets all the answers he seeks—telling me how much I devastated him, how happy he is to see how far I’ve fallen, that it serves me right for what I did to him.

  But instead, he says, “So it’s just you now?”

  I nod, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  Okay, that’s it.

  My composure finally breaks as indignity takes over.

  “What the...? No, Jaxson,” I say angrily. “How dare you ask me such a question on this interview? It’s illegal! Why, I have half a mind to…”

  “You’re hired,” he says calmly, and I could swear his previously impassive face now has a hint of amusement.

  It takes a few seconds before I manage a weak “Excuse me?”

  “I have a position for you here. Unless you’re not interested?”

  He knows damned well I am—in more ways than one. My face is still burning, and it’s not just in shame over my clothing, my artificial accessories.

  Jaxson knows I’m battling a carnal interest; he has always been smart, and he can only be sharper now, considering where he seems to be.

  I can see the satisfaction, the laughter behind his eyes at my pitiful position, but I nod my interest, following up with a quiet “Yes, I am” after he puts his finger to his ear and tilts toward me as if hard of hearing.

  God, this is so humiliating.

  “Then you’re hired,” he repeats flatly.

  I’m fascinated by the apparent disappearance of his simmering rage—which was understandable considering our history. But its replacement—this slight amusement—is baffling.

  He thinks it’s funny that he got me so upset?

  Whatever floats his boat, I guess; the important thing is that I did it—I got the job!

  I take another calming breath before managing a quiet “thank you,” a surge of relief rushing through me.

  The corner of my mouth has even been tickled into a slight smile again as things start to look brighter.

  “Oh, don’t thank me yet,” Jaxson says rather ominously, his voice dropping an octave and sending my core buzzing again, zaps of electricity coursing through my body and concentrating on my heated nether lips.

  I had forgotten all about the low hum between my legs since first spotting Jaxson in my excitement about the job offer.

  I may not know what he’s getting at exactly, but the heavy hint in his voice, the intense look in his coldly focused eyes…

  My tiny hopeful smile drops.

  2

  Jaxson

  Candace Jennifer Brown is in my office, practically on her knees, begging me for a job.

  I never thought I’d see the day.

  I always knew she was too good for me, even after she chose to be with me instead of someone of a similar calibre, but the day she left me behind—after all we’d been through and been to each other—the way I saw our relationship, including my lofty image of her, shattered.

  She probably thinks I’m enjoying watching her brought so low, that I’m getting some sort of perverse satisfaction from the tables having turned, but her husband’s failure doesn’t amuse me. She is nowhere near the put-together debutante she once was, and seeing her sitting there, trying to hide the run in her stockings doesn’t give me any satisfaction at all.

  What amuses me is that she probably thinks I hired her for the job she applied for—a reasonable assumption, no doubt.

  But she has no idea.

  I’m actually imagining her in scenarios that would probably have her running screaming from my office if she knew.

  I smile at her, and I’m positive it doesn’t look friendly.

  “Welcome aboard, Ms.…?” Does she still go by that douche’s last name?

  “Brown,” she says to my baffling relief. “I never officially took his surname; I couldn’t bring my
self to, for some odd reason. Which is a good thing, considering all the documents I would’ve had to change back to my maiden name but don’t have to. A small win, I guess.”

  She has relaxed a bit, relieved at the prospect of getting a regular paycheck, perhaps, and I suddenly find myself enraged again but keep my cool—just like the moment I first saw her in the waiting area. I suppressed the urge to scoop her up and grip her tightly to my body in joyous greeting; instead, I let the part of me still resentful of her abandonment of me reign while ignoring the root of the other impulse.

  “You start tomorrow,” I tell her.

  Her eyes widen, and I briefly wonder if she’s about to tell me she can’t do it for some reason.

  I doubt she has much else going on, considering her current state—no husband, no kids, clearly broke…

  “Sure!” she says. “I just... what is it I’ll be doing exactly? We didn’t really discuss any particulars.”

  “Didn’t you say you thought we’d be a great fit? Considering the job description?” I add quickly so she doesn’t catch on that I meant exactly what I said in as dirty a way as possible.

  She suddenly smiles a little, and an alarming warmth takes over my chest watching her eyes light up.

  “You always did have a great memory,” she says affectionately, the gentle compliment momentarily disarming me.

  She is still heartbreakingly beautiful, and those fake, convenience store nails and non-designer clothing and shoes fail to dull it.

  I clear my throat.

  “I’ll have an outline of your tasks tomorrow. They’ll probably vary from the basic description we put out, so you will most likely be asked to perform duties outside of your expectations.”

  “Oh? Is that so?” she asks, and I hear every unspoken word as she tries hard to maintain eye contact with me.

  I grin, and whatever expression I’ve made unnerves her again—her knees subtly coming closer together, her gaze shifting to the side.

  “Do you trust me?” I ask gently.

  She squirms a little. “I don’t know. Can I?”

  “Why wouldn’t you be able to, Candace?” My voice is still deceptively gentle.

  “You know why,” she says quietly.

  “Let’s say I don’t—enlighten me.”

  She shakes her head, looking a bit harassed.

  “Because of what...happened between us. Because of what I did to you.”

  “And what do you think you did to me, Candace Jennifer Brown?”

  Her gaze drops to the fiddling fingers of her hands gathered on her lap.

  “I broke your heart,” she says so softly, I almost didn’t hear her.

  But there it is.

  I wanted her to say it since I was so sure I’d gotten over it, but her words have the effect of partially removing a scab, and I’m suddenly aware of a part of me in great danger, a deep wound suddenly reopening.

  But how can this be? That wound had healed and scarred so long ago.

  I now regret bringing the whole thing up—particularly having it verbalized by the perpetrator herself.

  “Let’s say you did shatter me. What bearing do you imagine it has on this moment? Clearly, I’m a professional, and that was quite a while ago.”

  Candace slides a skeptical sideways glance at me—one calling bullshit without words. One so familiar, so endearing, I find myself smiling genuinely, unable to stop it.

  “Well, I know it’s silly,” she says, “but I can’t help but feel you might want some kind of revenge. But you’re right—I should have nothing to fear. I know you, and…”

  “Do you, Candace? You know the old me, and I’m not that guy anymore.”

  This time, she smiles, despite my warning tone.

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t trust you,” she says. “That my instincts are right and you’ve got nefarious plans for me—plans that’ll somehow make me feel even worse about what happened, topping the humiliation and ruin I went through that eventually brought me here, practically on my knees before you…”

  I miss the rest of her words as a double flare goes up inside me—one in my chest area and one in my groin.

  The one in my groin is easiest to process—the words she’d spoken had been particularly inspiring, conjuring up a delightful image.

  Turning the figurative into the literal appeals to me, and if she thinks that what she said isn’t literally going to happen, she’s sadly mistaken; I’m tempted to have her kneel in front of me right now.

  The only thing stopping me is the rush through my chest.

  I can’t make sense of it—it’s a mix of emotions, but one of them is definitely anger, although the target is unclear.

  I sense it’s too risky to examine further at this time; I can’t let Candace throw me off my game—and what a game I have planned.

  She thinks I should have mercy on her? Pity her because of her current state? She thinks I should take into consideration the immense suffering she has already gone through?

  She better think again.

  It’s best for her to prepare herself for the many manifestations of my simmering wrath—an emotion I thought I’d long vanquished when it came to her, but I was clearly wrong, just as she is about me.

  She thinks I’m anything like that lovesick teenager who would have moved heaven and earth for her? She thinks she’s paid enough for what she did to me?

  Not until I’ve decided.

  The corners of my mouth go up again—wider this time—and no one in their right mind with working eyes would mistake what I’ve made for a real smile.

  “I won’t bring harm to you, Candace.” Nothing physical. “And no further public humiliation, so don’t worry about any of that. Now, what were you paid at your last job?”

  The figure she responds with almost makes me snort.

  “I’ll double it,” I say. “Look at you—already getting a raise. HR will be informed of your new rate. You will report to me every morning, and I’ll let you know your duties for the day then. Any more questions?”

  Her mouth is still hanging open from the salary declaration, and I suppose my generous offer has silenced any other questions she might have had. For now.

  “Yes, sir,” she says.

  Christ, I didn’t expect it, but those words falling so humbly from her full lips takes my cock to full mast instantly.

  I don’t care that she’ll notice it—I care only that she continues to use those delicious words over the course of her employment with me, that she utters them every day, several times a day. Fuck, it’s a goddamned job requirement now.

  I stand, indicating the impending end of our meeting and her eyes follow me up, up, up, then drop to my crotch where my cock is obscenely pressing against my clothing.

  I move from behind my desk to extend my hand to her for an official handshake, and though her pretty brown eyes are still locked on my raging hard-on, she stands and reaches out her arm to place her small palm against mine.

  But instead of shaking her hand, I pull her closer to me, not stopping until we’re pressed firmly against each other—her soft breasts against my hard chest, my erection poking her belly.

  She barely has time to gasp in shock before I crash my lips down on hers, claiming her mouth in a kiss I couldn’t stop myself from taking.

  She is breathless and panting hard when I finally release her, eyes wide and full of questions.

  My own heart is beating much faster, but I keep my cool on the outside.

  I disengage and head back to my desk, plopping down behind it and affecting a pose of returning to work.

  “See you tomorrow at eight?” I say, my attention on a sheet of paper.

  “Yes,” she says, accepting all job conditions as far as I’m concerned.

  I look at her sharply. “I prefer the way you said it earlier,” I say.

  She looks confused for a moment, then nods. “Yes, sir,” she replies, and my cock throbs again, but this time, she misses the show now that I’m b
ehind my desk.

  “Good girl,” I respond, turning my gaze back to the paper, waiting for her to make her way out.

  Once the door closes, I let out one hell of a breath.

  The torture has already begun, but not just for her, I realize.

  Dammit, that kiss kind of fucked me up.

  I was so sure this part of me—my overall reaction to her—had been destroyed, dead and buried somewhere, but it has made a stunning comeback.

  I’m not just unbearably hard, moved by her feminine curves and aroma—my heart is pounding in a way I haven’t felt in almost a decade.

  I need to be careful.

  My late grandmother’s words of warning suddenly come to me:

  He who digs a hole for another might fall in himself.

  I shake the words off.

  I’m pretty confident all these residual emotions just need an outlet, and my revenge on Candace will be exactly that.

  Once I’m satisfied in every possible way, I’ll be free of her hold on me at last.

  My ultimate revenge is emotionally binding her to me—having her cling to and want every part of me but being forever after denied.

  She’ll crave me for the rest of her life, cursing the folly of our early years, for ever letting me go when all I wanted was to live the rest of my days loving her.

  I wish I’d made her start right away—my cock could use the relief from that warm mouth of hers, and she clearly wasn’t going to be hard to convince to worship it.

  But part of me loves the idea of her going home and thinking I couldn’t possibly have meant anything she might have heard between the lines today; I enjoy the thought of her settling into a false sense of security then shocking her out of it.

  In the meantime, I’ll just have to handle things myself.

  I unbuckle my belt then unbutton and unzip my slacks.

  Sure, I can call someone over to deal with my hard dick, but now that Candace is back, I have no intention of settling for anything but her repentant pussy while she’s here—besides my own hand, of course.

  With the smell of her still lingering in the room, I close my eyes and pull my raging cock out, imagining a lot more than shoving it in and out of her mouth as I stroke myself until I’ve finally relieved the pressure.