Sleeping With My Boss: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (A Dirty Office Romance)

by Adams,Claire

  "Maybe that's the whole point," Echo said looking back down at her computer screen as she sighed and said, "I give up. None of this stuff makes any sense."

  "I thought that, too," I replied.

  "That it makes no sense?"

  "No, that my father married Eva precisely because she's nothing like my mother," I said.

  "Do you remember her well?" she asked hesitantly.

  "Very well," I nodded. "She was kind and smart and beautiful, and she knew how to calm my father down when he'd fly into one of his rages."

  "She sounds like she was amazing," Echo said looking up at me with soft eyes.

  "She was," I affirmed.

  "You must have loved her very much," she said as she tilted her head to one side and smiled warmly.

  Looking at her, I wanted to walk over to the table and lift her up out of the chair so that I could kiss her deeply. Instead, I simply nodded and looked away afraid that she'd see desire written across my face.

  "My mother was a kind person, too," she said as she closed the computer and stood up. "She used to take us girls on some amazing adventures when we were young. I know now that she did it to keep us out of my father's way when he was unable to control his depression and anger, but at the time it felt like such a grown-up thing when she'd take us to the city to have tea and cookies, or to browse in the stores on Michigan Avenue."

  "My mother covered for my father, too," I said. Echo looked at me expectantly, but I didn't know what else to say. I didn't want to betray my father's memory and cause her to see him as someone different then the man she knew, but I did want her to know about my mother.

  "It's okay, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," she shrugged. I could tell she was a little hurt by my withholding of information, but I felt trapped, and so I said nothing more. She looked at me for a long time before she nodded and said, "I'm heading to bed, then. What time do we need to leave in the morning?"

  "By nine, to get to the funeral on time," I replied.

  "I'll be ready," she promised as she climbed the twisty stairs and went silent.

  #

  I finally fell asleep sometime after midnight, but it was fitful and I was awake again before dawn. I'd hung my dress blues on the shower rod the night before hoping that most of the wrinkles would be gone by morning and that if they weren't, that a hot steaming shower would do the trick. Echo had understood the futility of this, and had pulled out her ironing board and iron before going to bed and left them sitting in the kitchen.

  At four in the morning, I stood pressing sharp creases into my dress pants with a hot iron as I thought about what I would say to Opie's parents. He'd talked about his family a lot, in fact, so often that I frequently threatened that if he didn't shut his pie hole, I'd fill it with my boot. He'd always gotten a laugh out of that, as he'd tell me how much he loved the taste of overcooked leather.

  "Fuck!" I yelped as the edge of the iron made contact with my fingers. I quickly ran them under cold water in the sink and stood cursing myself for not paying attention to what I was doing. Once the initial pain had subsided, I finished my task and set the iron on top of the fridge to prevent further injury.

  "You okay down here?" Echo yawned as she descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen.

  "Yeah, fine. Sorry I woke you up," I said sheepishly.

  "No, I was up before you started scorching your skin," she grinned as she pulled out a tube of burn ointment from a drawer and handed it to me. "Coffee?"

  "Love some," I said as I moved out of her way and tried to pretend that I hadn't noticed that she was wearing only a thin pink nightgown and that there was nothing underneath it. She'd piled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun making her look even lovelier than she had the night before. "I'm going to shower, okay?"

  "Have at it," she said as she measured coffee grounds into the filter and flipped the brew switch. "It's going to be a few before this is ready."

  In the shower I looked down and muttered, "Please behave today," as I looked at my stiff shaft jutting out at an angle from my body. I wanted to take care of it, but I knew that if I did, it would only make things worse. It was better to let myself suffer then to encourage the idea that some real relief was immanent.

  Fifteen minutes later I was standing on the balcony watching the first rays of light begin to wake the city as I sipped the first of many cups of coffee I was sure I'd be drinking that day. Echo had wrapped a throw from the couch around her and was sipping her coffee with her eyes closed, as if she was drinking in the very essence of the day.

  "So, where are we headed?" she asked startling me for a moment.

  "To the Bronx," I replied. "Opie — er, John Michael was from a big Irish family. He was one of the middle ones, so there will be lots of younger kids there, eight, I think."

  "Wow, that's a big family," she said her eyes widening.

  "He had five older siblings," I said watching as her eyes got even wider.

  "I can't even imagine," she said shaking her head.

  "From what I understand the funeral will be held at Saint Frances and then we'll all go back to the house for the memorial," I said.

  "No one goes to the burial?" she asked.

  "His parents will go and probably some of the close relatives," I said. "But the outsiders will wait at the house until they get back. At least that's what John Michael told me an Irish funeral in his family would be like."

  "I see," she said as she stared out at the street. "It's such a horribly sad thing to have to do. Bury a child."

  "Agreed," I nodded not knowing what else to say. She turned and looked up at me and my heart began to pound. Her messy hair and sleepy eyes looked so sensually inviting, and all I wanted to do was scoop her up and carry her inside where I could pull her hair free and push her nightgown up so that I could explore the naked body underneath it. Instead, I swallowed hard and looked down into my coffee cup.

  "There's more if you want it," she said mistaking my sudden interest in my cup for a desire I wasn't feeling. She stood up and said, "I'm going to go shower and get ready so we can be on time."

  "Good call," I said as I turned and looked out over 13th Street and wondered how long I could maintain my mask of neutrality before the cracks began to show. I decided that after today's ordeal it would probably be a good idea to start looking for another place to stay.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Echo

  We arrived at the church not long before the funeral mass was to begin. It had taken the whole cab ride to the Bronx for me to calm down after first seeing Ryan in his full dress uniform. He looked was crisp and professional, and the uniform looked like it had been tailor made for him from the way it emphasized his broad shoulders and cut in slightly at the waist. His crisply creased pants touched the top of his highly shined patent leather shoes, and made me wonder how he'd gotten them that shiny.

  On the left side of his chest he wore his ribbons and a pin that looked like a fork going through an eagle, and when I'd asked him about it, he smiled and said, "It's the SEAL trident. I'll be using it during the funeral."

  "To do what?" I asked.

  "You'll see," he said. "I'd hate to spoil the surprise."

  In his uniform, Ryan exuded a silent authority that I hadn't seen before. It was incredibly sexy, and when he gave me the once over before we left the apartment, I felt myself blushing as he nodded his approval.

  I'd chosen a plain black wrap dress that showed off my figure but had a respectable v-neck and a pair of black stiletto pumps that were comfortable enough for sitting or standing, since I didn't know how much of either we'd be doing. Around my neck, I fastened a silver chain from which hung a small silver medallion of Saint Philomena that my mother had given me when I turned twelve. I hadn’t worn it for years and figured that if there was ever a time to wear such a thing, this was it.

  We didn't talk much during the cab ride. I got the feeling that Ryan needed time alone with his thoughts in order to
figure out what he was going to say to John Michael's parents. I left him alone and looked out the window watching the city scenery rushing by and wondering why Ryan had wanted me to accompany him to something so personal and private.

  At the church, he got out and signaled to me to wait so that he could come around and open the cab door for me. It was a chivalrous gesture, and one that I wasn't used to, so when he took my hand and pulled me up toward him, I looked into his eyes and felt a wave of emotion sweep through me.

  "Thank you," I said as I quickly looked away and then took his offered arm and walked into the church. The outer sanctuary was filled with people milling about as they waited to be escorted to their seats. There were a few other men dressed in military uniforms standing around the edges of the room, and when Ryan entered they gathered together in a small group shaking hands and exchanging stories about where they'd been stationed before returning to New York.

  When we were finally escorted into the sanctuary, we were seated toward the back. I was relieved to be able to watch the mass from a distance rather than participating in it. I breathed deeply as I looked at the flag draped casket that sat just below the altar. Inside it was one of many young men who'd lost their lives as they served their country. The tragedy of it was further underscored when John Michael's family was escorted up the aisle to the front pew. His mother wept openly while his father sat in stony silence as the altar boys led the priest up the center aisle to begin the mass.

  It was a long mass and by the time the priest got to the homily, I was starting to feel overwhelmed by the low moaning and intermittent sobs that were coming from the front pew. Ryan reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing softly to reassure me as the priest talked about memories of John Michael as a young altar boy and how the Morgan boys could often be found hiding behind the priest's vestments listening to portable radio on Yankee game days. A light wave of laughter ran through the congregation as they acknowledged the tragic celebration of a life ended too soon.

  At the very end of the mass, the priest called on the members of the various SEAL teams to come forward. Ryan squeezed my hand one more time before he stood and stepped out into the aisle to join his brothers. I watched as they marched forward in formation, stopped, saluted and then each SEAL took reached up and removed the Trident pin from his dress coat. Then one by one, each man walked up the casket, laid the Trident on top with the pins facing down, and with a strength that came from somewhere deep inside the grief and love, pounded the pin into the top of the coffin with a striking blow of the fist. Like the rest of the congregation, I gasped as I heard the first fist hit, but as I watched each man, I realized that it was an act of love and devotion to brotherhood. I made a mental note to ask Ryan about it later.

  When he returned to the pew, he sat down next to me and stared straight ahead as the priest said the final prayers and blessed the congregation. I knew better than to interrupt his thoughts, so I simply walked next to him as we exited the church and waited for him to tell me where we needed to go next. One of the other SEALs signaled to us to come with him, so we hopped in his car and headed for the family's house just a few miles away.

  We parked a block away from the house and walked to a white two-story home with a neat front yard surrounded by a white picket fence. There were rose bushes blooming in the front yard and the front door was wide open with people spilling out onto the small lawn. We followed single file up the walk, the SEALs holding their dress caps under their arms as we entered the house and found John Michael's mother seated on a settee in the living room. There were women bustling around pouring coffee and pushing food on guests, but mostly they were keeping an eye on Mrs. Morgan making sure her glass was never empty and that she was never left sitting alone. These women knew how to manage grief.

  I reached out and took Ryan's arm gently pulling him toward Mrs. Morgan. He looked down at me for a moment and then nodded. I turned to go, but he gripped my hand tightly and whispered, "Come with me, please?" I nodded and followed.

  "Ma'am," Ryan began. "I'm Lieutenant Ryan Powell, from SEAL Team Four, I was with your son on the mission."

  "Lieutenant Powell, please, sit down here next to me," Mrs. Morgan said as she patted the sofa. Ryan let go of my hand and sat next to her as I stepped back a polite distance and allowed them to speak privately. I couldn't hear what Ryan said to Mrs. Morgan, but I knew that whatever it was it was both upsetting and reassuring as she covered her mouth with her hand and leaned in as Ryan put his arm around her and patted her back as she cried. After a few minutes, an older man with a weathered face and a stoic expression joined them, and Ryan spoke quietly with him, as well.

  As I stood in the corner of the room and watched, I marveled at the difference between Ryan on my couch in jeans and a t-shirt, and Ryan in his uniform consoling John Michael's family. The latter Ryan looked like the epitome of the military warrior, and someone you could trust your son to serve with. He stood straight and tall as he listened to the Morgans talk about their son, and never once did he look away.

  When the Morgans had said and heard all they needed to, the two men shook hands and then Ryan saluted, turned on his heel and walked back to me tilting his head as he indicated that it was time to go. Ryan headed out to the front yard and stepped into the circle of SEALs gathered there drinking soda and trying to one-up each other with tales of their toughest missions. I stepped back and watched as he talked with each of them for a long time. When they were all through, Ryan worked his way around the circle hugging and backslapping each man before turning to me and nodding.

  I pulled out my phone and called a cab to come pick us up in front of the house. As we waited, I felt Ryan reach down and take my hand. I was surprised, but I knew better than to ask any questions. We rode home in silence and when we pulled up to my front door, Ryan handed the driver some money.

  "Nah, man," the driver said waving him off. "I know that was a military funeral. Consider it a small thank you for your service to this country."

  Ryan nodded, shook his hand and then followed me out the cab door.

  It wasn't until he'd changed out of his uniform, grabbed a beer from the fridge and parked himself on the couch that he said, "Thank you for going with me, Echo. It meant a lot to me."

  "You're welcome," I replied as I descended from my bedroom having exchanged shorts and a t-shirt for the dress. "Thank you for asking me to go with you."

  Ryan didn't say anything else, and as the silence became uncomfortable, I suddenly realized that there might be a message from Dr. Powell waiting in my inbox.

  #

  "You're welcome," I replied as I descended from my bedroom having exchanged shorts and a t-shirt for the dress. It was late afternoon, and I suddenly realized that there would be a message from Dr. Powell waiting in my inbox.

  I quickly hooked up the computer and pulled up my email program. I hoped that no one had discovered the bug I'd left programmed into my desktop at work because if they had, we'd lose all access to the TriCorp server and Alan's emails.

  "C'mon, c'mon," I chanted as I watched the program load. "Open up and show us what we've got, baby."

  "Wow, you're really into that thing," Ryan laughed. He'd stepped around behind me and could feel the warmth of his body as he leaned over my shoulder and watched the computer screen with me.

  It finally loaded, and I quickly input the requisite passwords needed to access the account, and slowly but surely the account loaded. Soon we were looking at a brand new email in my inbox. I clicked on it and up popped another note from Dr. Powell.

  Dear Miss Frost,

  If you are receiving this message, then things are rather dire and I may not be coming back. I don't wish to alarm you, but I do want to warn you that whatever information I am passing on to you for safekeeping should never, under any circumstances, be shared with Julian Baines. He is my business partner, but we have a distinct difference of opinion as to what should be done with my research project and how it should be al
lowed to be used. I am completely opposed to Julian's belief that we should sell it to the highest bidder as this project was designed with the intention of securing peace, not destroying lives.

  You are most likely wondering what is in the file I sent you twenty-four hours ago as you will not have been able to decipher it. I will not be giving you the key via email, but when the time comes, please know that the decoded files are on a hard drive waiting to be turned over to the proper people.

  I have hidden a set of keys to my lab in my office. These keys are the only way you to gain access to the lab as I've set the door on a system that will permanently seal off the lab if anyone tries to break into it. No one, except for you, knows this. You will find the keys where sentient beings display empathy.

  Please store these files somewhere safe and secure as I'm sure you've done with the previous files I sent you. Again, under no circumstances is Julian Baines to have access to any of these files! This is of the utmost importance, Miss Frost.

  Regards,

  Dr. Alan Powell

  Attached to the email was a file folder full of papers that were labeled with the author's last name, article title and publication date. I began clicking on them and reading the abstracts on the first page of each.

  "Oh my God," I murmured.

  "What?" Ryan asked as he tried to follow my rapid clicking through page after page. "What did he mean by where sentient beings display empathy?"

  "I don't know, he didn't explain it," I said as I pulled up a paper that Dr. Powell had written several years prior entitled "The Man in the Machine: Sentient Computers." The abstract detailed the ways in which biochemical properties might be able to be combined with logical programming to create a machine that could actually function in a human like manner. As I read, I was confused.

  "Ryan, this makes no sense," I said.

  "What?"

  "It makes no sense," I repeated. "Why would any one do research on something that can't possibly exist? Computers can only do what we tell them to do. They can't function like humans. That's the whole point."