The Boss Upstairs (Orchard Heights Book 3 (standalone))

by Roya Carmen

  I sit back at my desk and get ready to be creative, but all I can think about is him.

  I might just have the best job in the world.

  “Can I make you a cup of tea?” I ask Patricia.

  “No, I should probably head out soon. Roger and I are going out for dinner tonight.”

  I follow her to the entry hall. “That’s great. You deserve it. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for Ethan and I.”

  She smiles. “You’ve thanked me a thousand times, Gretchen. You should have help. Raising a chid is never easy, especially when you’re doing it alone.”

  My heart warms. What would I do without her?

  “I worry about you sometimes.” She shrugs into her jacket. “You’ve been grieving Donovan for a long time, and I really think it’s time for you to move on. You taking on this new job is a step in the right direction.”

  I stifle a smile, brought back to the last spanking Weston gave me. If only she knew what I was really up to. She probably wouldn’t approve. “Are you sure I can’t pay you?” I ask. “I feel bad.”

  “I told you I don’t want your money,” she insists. “I do this for you and Ethan. And besides, I love spending time with him.” She grabs her oversized purse and readies to leave.

  I give her a hug. “Thanks again.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  As soon as she leaves, I get busy in the kitchen. Butter pasta and homemade chicken nuggets are on the menu tonight. As soon as the nuggets are in the oven and the pasta is boiling, I check my phone.

  I smile when I see another email from Mr. Boss Man.

  Dear Gretchen,

  Today was another wonderful day. I would like to make a formal request for dinner. I know a great place you might like. How do you feel about Greek food? Saturday night?

  I also have another request, of a naughtier nature. I’d love a pair of your panties as a keepsake, so I may smell you even when you’re not with me. Any pair you can spare, but preferably something sexy. And preferably worn and unwashed. ;)

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Hanson

  I stifle a laugh. Damn, the man is dirty. It’s a good thing we have an agreement, but I don’t remember this kind of request being included. I feel a little playful, and I instantly reply.

  Dear Mr. Hanson,

  I would love to have dinner with you. And I love Greek food. What kind of attire should I wear?

  As for your second inquiry, I don’t believe this kind of request was included in the agreement. It will need to be amended before I can give you the requested item.

  Best,

  Your naughty little grasshopper.

  16

  I dash to my bedroom in search of the perfect pair of undies. I have quite a selection of sexy panties, which I haven’t worn until very recently. I find it challenging to part with any of them. Many of them remind me of Donovan. Quite a few of them are also part of panty-bra sets. I finally notice the pretty pink lacy ones I bought on impulse one Valentines Day. I’ve always found them a little tight and uncomfortable. Perfect.

  I quickly remove my day clothes and slip them on, along with my pajama pants. He’s requested them to be worn, and that’s exactly what I’m giving him. Ethan pops his face in the closet, curious.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask him.

  “Hungry,” he cheers.

  The kitchen timer goes off, and we both scurry off. “Stay out of the kitchen, Ethan,” I warn him. “Mommy’s making pasta.” He’s only two, but we’ve already had the conversation about the scary pot of boiling water.

  I finally settle at the table with him, exhausted, and the dichotomies of my life suddenly occur to me. Perhaps it’s the reason I love being with Weston. Sure, it’s a huge turn-on, but it’s not all about sex. In my every day life, I have responsibilities; a small child to take care of, meals to make, bills to pay, and a condo to keep clean. But when I’m with him, I can forget all about my responsibilities. He’s the one who takes care of me, who coddles me. Abigail was right. He’s my naughty Daddy.

  And I love every second of it.

  An hour later, Weston replies to my email.

  Grasshopper,

  Why must you be such a little troublemaker? I will amend the agreement first thing in the morning.

  The restaurant is casual. Wear what you are comfortable in. You will be beautiful in anything, I’m sure.

  Sincerely,

  Weston.

  P.S. Looking forward to your undies.

  I smile so hard, my face hurts. The cynic in me suddenly rears its ugly head. This feels too good to be true.

  This can’t possibly last.

  I have the weirdest boss in the history of bosses.

  I’m signing the new agreement. He’s amended it to include:

  Boss Man may request specific items of clothing and any other items belonging to Grasshopper. Sharing of such items is up to Grasshopper’s discretion.

  As soon as I’ve signed, I reach into my briefcase, and hand him the pink lace undies. His smile is impish as he brings them to his face and sniffs them thoroughly.

  Such a dirty, dirty man. I understand now why we needed this agreement.

  “Thank you,” he says. “Now get back to work, Grasshopper.”

  I grin. “Okay, Sir.”

  He seems to love working me up, and then shipping me off. What a tease.

  I don’t see another trace of him until lunch time, when he whips around the corner, all smiles, and asks me to join him. “I have leftover chicken parmesan… how ‘bout it?”

  “Yes… would love to.”

  I quickly save my document, and follow him to the kitchen. I help retrieve plates and silverware as he heats up the food. We’ve already kind of fallen into a routine of sorts, and I find it reassuring. I never know what to expect from him in the bedroom (or should I say office) but lunch time is a constant I can rely on. I like constants.

  I pour us some water, and we dig into our plates.

  “So… how are you enjoying my panties,” I whisper, toying with my pasta. “Sexy enough?”

  He laughs. “Definitely sexy enough. I’ve inhaled them thoroughly, and set them aside for future enjoyment.”

  I shake my head, and wonder where he keeps them. Weirdo. “I never realized you were a panty sniffer, Mr. Hanson.”

  He digs into his chicken. “There’s a lot of things about me you don’t know, Grasshopper.”

  “I find it rather peculiar, especially considering how you are about germs, with all the Purell and wiping surfaces and stuff,” I tease but ponder my comment for a second. “I suppose if we were all like you, we’d all be better off.”

  He sighs audibly. “Yep. It’s the reason I’m never sick, Grasshopper.” His lips suddenly curl up. “And I don’t sniff just any panties. Only those of the woman I… care for.”

  Damn.

  “Fair enough.” I say. “Did you sniff your wife’s panties?” I tease. I just can’t let it go. I’m having too much fun with it.

  He shakes his head. “I did… at the beginning. Bridget always had the most beautiful undergarments. All her clothing was top of the line, and her shoes too. Red bottoms and studded Valentinos were favorites. I suppose they still are…” His words trail off.

  “Well, if you can afford it… why not,” I say. “I’m more of a Chanel woman myself, but I don’t have much. Donovan left us in good shape, but I’m not stupid. I know I need to save for retirement, for Ethan’s education and wedding.”

  He smiles. “Wow… you’re thinking way ahead. I like that.”

  “I need to. I need to be responsible for my boy.”

  “That’s great, Grasshopper.”

  “How about your mystery woman? Did she like fancy shoes too?” I don’t know why, but I want to know everything about her.

  He shakes his head. “No… she was a simple woman. She liked vintage clothing, and she collected brooches. She didn’t have much money. She was a kindergarten teacher.”


  Oh great… she was a saint.

  He smiles again. “She didn’t like it when I bought her expensive things.”

  I laugh. “She sounds weird,” I joke.

  He reaches for his glass of water. “You… you’re funny sometimes.”

  I shrug. “I try… not as funny as Rosetta.”

  “Yes… I kind of miss her.”

  “So… you and Bridget broke up because of this mystery woman,” I go on. I just can’t let it go. I’m shameless. I’m just so curious about her, I can’t stand it.

  “Mirella was her name,” he reminds me. “And yes… she had a lot to do with it, but essentially, we separated because Bridget was deceptive.”

  I nod quietly, completely riveted.

  “She deceived me more than once… I found out after the fact, and when I did, I couldn’t stay with her. Not even for the children.”

  “What?” I ask. “What did she do?”

  His grin is wide. “You are a very nosy grasshopper.”

  I stare down at my plate, ashamed. “I know… I’m sorry.”

  He digs into his pasta. “No worries.”

  He never answers my question, leaving me to wonder, and driving me absolutely insane in the process.

  I wish Boss Man were an open book, but he isn’t. And for someone as curious as I am, that’s a very hard pill to swallow.

  “What do you think of this one?” I ask Ethan, holding up the army green dress. It’s a simple cotton button shirt dress, nothing too sexy. I certainly don’t want to give Samuel the wrong idea. We’re just friends.

  “Pretty,” Ethan says. When I ask him about the blue one, he says “Pretty” again. And when I show him the brown one, he shakes his head. Yes, I’m taking fashion advice from a two-year old.

  “Mommy’s going to dinner tonight,” I tell him. “And tomorrow night too. Mommy is very popular all of a sudden.”

  He grabs one of my shoes and knocks the chunky heel on the floor. This is one of his favorite games.

  “But you’re still my number one man,” I tell him. “Samuel is just a friend, and Weston is Mommy’s boss,” I explain, despite the fact that he can’t possibly comprehend a single word I’m saying. “But he also makes Mommy feel good… makes her heart beat really fast, like it used to with Daddy.”

  Another pang of guilt hits me. I hate it.

  I stare at the red dress hanging on my door. It’s casual but sexy, and I have the perfect cardigan to wear with it. That’s my Saturday dress.

  “Auntie Abby is coming over to look after you tonight,” I tell him. “And tomorrow, auntie Claudia is coming over. Don’t you have the best aunties?”

  He laughs at my words. He always laughs. He has such a happy, sweet disposition, just like his father did. I’m a very lucky mom that way.

  Technically, Claudia and Abigail are not his aunts, but I’m sure he will always think of them that way. They’ll hopefully be there to watch him grow up and become the man he is destined to be.

  The small restaurant is busy, a popular Mexican food joint. It’s kitschy. Paraphernalia from Mexico line the walls, and the tablecloths are red and green, but apparently the food can’t be beat. I’ve ordered the fish tacos and can’t wait to dig in.

  Samuel is looking nice tonight in dark pants and a black pullover. He may or may not have made an effort. I can’t really tell. I know I certainly haven’t.

  “It’s so nice to get together like this,” he says. “Without Charmaine and Bernadette and all them sad saps.”

  I laugh. “Well, it is a grief group,” I point out. “They’re allowed to be sad.”

  “You know what I mean… it gets depressing,” he goes on. “Yeah… your husband died. He was eighty! Get over it!”

  I’m a little taken aback by his attitude. “Why do you go then?” I ask, playing the devil’s advocate.

  He downs a sip of his frozen Margarita. “Because of you… mostly,” he confesses. “I like hanging out with you.”

  I’m not too keen on his answer. I’ve already told him this was just friendship, and I’m hoping he understood. “Oh, I see. You’re trying to slowly extract us from the group by inviting me to dinner,” I joke. “I’m on to you, buster.”

  He laughs. “Something like that.”

  We chit chat for a while, and the fish tacos are amazing. I’m having fun until his questions become slightly inappropriate. He asks me if I’d had sex since Donovan, and I tell him the truth. No. I don’t mention the spankings or my boss.

  He also asks me about Donovan’s passing, and I tell him he died in a car wreck. I don’t elaborate. Only my most closest friends and family know the exact circumstances of Donovan’s death. It’s not something I talk often about. And if I were about to confess all my sins, it certainly wouldn’t be to him.

  He confesses that he often feels guilty about his daughter’s suicide. He regrets not being there for her, being too harsh with her, too impatient. I feel for him. I can’t imagine what he must be going through, and I want to be a good friend. I tell him not to blame himself. She was clinically depressed and wasn’t taking her medication. He and his wife did what they could at the time. They got her the help she needed, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.

  The evening ends well as we fall back into an easy camaraderie. Turns out, he’s a very funny guy. He insists on walking me to my car, and he lingers a little too long before giving me a goodnight hug. His embrace is a little more familiar than I would like, but I let it go, because we’ve shared a lot, and it’s completely normal for us to be close.

  I hop into my car. “See you next week.”

  “I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s joking, or if he’s serious.

  17

  The feels. I totally have them. Last night, I picked out the green dress quickly, dabbed on a bit of makeup, and was out the door in a flash. Tonight is a whole other scene. I’ve changed my outfit three times. I’ve spent thirty minutes curling my hair. And now I’m curling my lashes.

  I care. A lot. I want to be pretty for him.

  Ethan studies me curiously as he works on his wooden puzzle on the floor of my bedroom. “Does Mommy look pretty?”

  His adorable grin is as wide as can be. “Pretty!”

  “I decided on the pink dress,” I tell him. “It’s more fun. The red dress was too fancy. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. This is just dinner out with the boss.”

  The door buzzes, and I’m a pile of nerves. I’ve spent all day tidying the place, hoping to live up to Boss Man’s very high expectations. His place is like a furniture showroom or a museum, not a thing out of place. I really don’t want to scare him off with the mess that is my life.

  My knees buckle a little when I open the door. He looks amazing in slim pressed pants, a paisley button shirt, open at the collar, and a cool brown leather jacket.

  Damn, the man knows how to dress to impress.

  His eyes linger over me, and he smiles sweetly. “You look lovely,” he says. “I love that dress.”

  “Thank you. Please, come in,” I urge. “I want you to officially meet Ethan.” He’s seen him around, in the elevator, but I’ve never officially made the introductions.

  Ethan is a little guarded when Weston approaches and kneels down to him. “Hey, little man,” he says. “How are you?”

  Ethan smiles. Thankfully, he’s a very friendly boy, and he’s over his playing shy phase.

  “What have you got there?” Weston asks. “A forklift?”

  Ethan looks down at his yellow toy, and then back up at the beautiful stranger.

  “You’re a Caterpillar man, I see,” Weston goes on. “I’m more of a John Deere man myself.”

  Ethan stares at him, riveted.

  I smile. “Ethan loves his trucks,” I chime in. “But I think all boys do at that age.”

  “I think I did too,” he says.

  “You should ask your mom,” I suggest. “I’m sure she remembers.”


  He smirks. “My mom and I don’t often talk, and besides, I guarantee you she wouldn’t remember. My nanny would though.”

  I decide not to explore the rest of this conversation. So he has a strained relationship with his mother. What about his father? Suddenly, I’m curious, but I let it go.

  The door buzzes again. I’m thankful for the interruption and I run to greet Claudia. I’m sure it’s her.

  Sure enough, she’s smiling when I swing the door open. She seems positively delighted when she spots Weston and Ethan behind me.

  “Hey, sweet boy,” she calls out. “Auntie Claudia is here.”

  He runs to her, and they embrace sweetly. It almost brings a tear to my eye. When Ethan finally lets her go, she stands and introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Claudia. We’ve met before of course.”

  They shake hands. “Yes, at the party.”

  She nods. He nods. It’s awkward.

  She perks up. “Well, it’s nice to see you again. We should all go on a double date sometime,” she suggests. “You and Gretchen and me and my boyfriend, James. It could be fun.”

  I shake my head, ill-at-ease. The man is my boss, not my boyfriend.

  “Yes, I’m sure it would be,” he says.

  For some reason, Boss Man doesn’t strike me as the most social person. “Well, we should probably get going,” I tell him. “You know the drill, Claudia.”

  She smiles. “Yes, I’ve been to this rodeo before.”

  “Well, it was nice to see you again, Claudia,” Weston offers very politely, and I shoot her one last smile as we head out. She throws me a thumbs up and a wink.

  The restaurant is very interesting, casual, with a cafeteria-style layout. The two opposing walls are rustic brick, and large copper pans hang against the back wall over the open kitchen. Dark Medieval-like light fixtures are suspended from the ceiling. The tables are marble, and are lined with contemporary leather chairs. Long wooden benches stretch along the brick walls and offer additional seating. Interesting, colorful contemporary art dots the walls, inviting discussion.