Crazy for the Boss (Crazy in Love Book 1)

by Ashlee Mallory

  Oh, Lord. James and her in downtown Eureka? People were going to have a heyday when they saw them.

  But it couldn’t be helped.

  “All right. But there have got to be some ground rules.”

  He raised his brows and waited.

  “First, this is a small town. People talk. And I won’t have them gossiping for the next millennium about Quinn Taylor’s playboy boss who swept into town seducing the entire female population. So try to keep the flirting to a minimum.”

  “I didn’t realize you think so highly of my prowess that you believe I could seduce every female in the entire town. I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be.” She paused for a moment, trying to keep her train of thought, made more difficult by the fact James looked almost absurd lying there on top of her mom’s pink floral bedspread. Absurd and…incredibly sexy.

  Stop it, Quinn. Rules. Get back to the rules.

  “Second, as nice as it may be to have your own chauffeured car, there’s no way you’re going to drive around town in that thing. It’s just too…pretentious.”

  “And how, pray tell, am I going to get around?”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight, so you’ll just have to settle for old Bessie. Finally, rule number three. You know that old saying, whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Well, for the duration of your stay, make that whatever happens in Eureka stays in Eureka. Meaning whatever humiliating thing you might see that in any way involves me, you must promise to never ever mention it again after you leave tomorrow. Never.”

  “Really?” he asked, sounding far too interested. “Did you have something in particular in mind?” She gave him her most pointed stare, letting him know she wasn’t kidding on this point. “Okay, got it. It’s all already forgotten.” A sentiment ruined by the slight grin. “Anything else?”

  She bit her lip and considered this. “I reserve the right to amend this agreement at any time, but for the time being, just behave.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Chapter 13

  A little later, Quinn pulled old Bessie into a parking space on Main Street and hopped out. At the sidewalk, she turned and waited for James, who was climbing out a little more reluctantly.

  She wouldn’t laugh. Not again. Not after finally convincing him that, in the flannel shirt and the brown Timberland boots, he didn’t look like a cross between the Brawny guy and Elmer Fudd.

  Only…

  He kind of did. Even if in a sexy but nerdy way.

  Not helped by that oversized parka that was probably more appropriate for a Siberian Eskimo, but her mom had insisted that he wear it so James didn’t get sick, and he was trying to comply. Which was kind of sweet of him.

  “Go ahead. Laugh. I can already see it in your eyes that you want to,” he said.

  She bit her lip and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak without doing just that.

  “Well, I think it’s safe to lose the coat.” James slid out of the parka and tossed it into the cab before shutting the door.

  “It will be our secret,” she said and waited for him to join her before continuing on to the first store.

  He reached the door first and stood, holding it open for her. Which gave her a few seconds to appreciate the rugged way the flannel shirt, rolled up around his forearms, hugged every inch it covered, particularly his broad chest and shoulders that seemed to barely be restrained in the fabric. Or how, even dressed like the Brawny guy, James was still a looker, if the two women who were eying him inside the store were any indication.

  “Why, Quinn Taylor, who’s your new beau?” asked Maxine—who couldn’t be a day under eighty—from behind the counter.

  Quinn was beginning to realize that maybe she should have added a large sign around James’s neck pronouncing him not her boyfriend to head off the inevitable conjecture and comments. Wasn’t gossipmonger Mandy supposed to have spread the news by now she was in town with her boss?

  “Beau? No, he’s not my beau…he’s actually—”

  “Quinn and I work together. I’m James, by the way,” he said, taking Maxine’s hand and then her granddaughter Jessica’s, who looked a little moon-eyed as he did so despite the burgeoning belly of her ninth month of pregnancy.

  “I heard from Sabrina that there was a problem with the order, and you wanted to run through a couple other options with us?” she asked, trying to bring everyone back on task.

  “Oh, yes. For the anniversary party.” Maxine grabbed a binder that had been on the counter and flipped through it, stopping at a page. “Same thing happened back when your parents got married, if I recall correctly. Your mom had wanted hydrangeas but we couldn’t get them in in time, so it was peonies instead. I’d warned her then that getting married in February, what with the chaos of the carnival, was going to cause some problems. But she’d had her heart set.”

  “Really? Hydrangeas?” Maybe this could still be salvaged. “What are the chances that we might be able to pull those off instead by tomorrow?”

  “Well, I’m supposed to be getting a shipment in the morning. Let me call my supplier and see what we can arrange.”

  With her grandmother in the back making the phone call, Jessica turned her attention to the two of them. “So how’s it going in San Francisco? Your sister mentioned you’re working for some egocentric billionaire playboy who has you working twenty-four seven.”

  James immediately turned to look at her.

  Crap. Crap. Why had Sabrina mentioned this to anyone?

  “Oh, really? Well, you know how Sabrina is. She tends to embellish everything. It’s really not as bad as all that. I am here after all. But tell me, how are you doing? When are you due again?”

  That seemed to do the trick as Jessica began reciting some of the details about heartburn and morning sickness for the next few minutes. It was a huge relief when Maxine came out to confirm they could make the substitute without problems, and they were on their way.

  The sun had forced its way through the clouds and was beating down warmly over them as they stepped outside. “The next stop actually isn’t far. Why don’t we just walk?”

  “I’m in no hurry.”

  She turned her face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth. “You know, that thing back there, abut you being an egocentric playboy billionaire? It was just Sabrina being colorful.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, I didn’t take any offense. I am sure that there’s some truth in that statement. I have something of a reputation and I have only myself to blame for that. As my grandfather would tell you.”

  She studied him, noting his easy smile as he said this, almost seeming unaffected by the fact his grandfather had a low opinion of him. “You and your grandfather seem to have an interesting relationship.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  “Well, you don’t seem to be under the impression that he thinks much of you, and to be honest, I don’t know if I can blame you, having heard him talk to you.” He glanced over at her suddenly and she grinned in embarrassment. “I might have heard some of your exchange back on my first day. When he’d warned you about not messing up or being out on your butt?”

  “My butt?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “Okay, so he might have said ass. Something about people looking for a leader and you had better deliver.”

  “I remember.” He stared ahead now, his face a mask almost.

  “Well, he must have some faith in you despite all that, or why would he have given you the reins of this company that he spent his life building?”

  “To prove to himself once and for all that I’m a grade-A failure?”

  It bothered her for some reason to hear James feel like the closest relative he had thought so little of him. “I’m sure that’s not true. Granted, having heard him myself, he certainly has a way about him—you know, sending little children screaming in terror the other way…”

  That seemed to earn a slight grin as he turned his blue eyes her way, but he
didn’t say more, just waited for her to continue whatever she wanted to tell him.

  “I really believe that there’s more to it. To him. This is the man who could have let you flit away your summers in Europe with your friends, but he insisted you come home instead. Learn the business. I think that speaks volumes. That he does care, even if he has a hard time showing it.”

  “You’re sweet. Naive but sweet. Cyrus did that as much to remind me how little control I had in my own life back then as anything. To remind me who was the boss. Believe me. There’s never been any gleam of pride or love in those eyes when they settle on me.”

  Her heart ached thinking about this man as a three-year-old boy, losing his parents, everything he knew, and being sent live with a cold, disapproving grandfather who likely had never shown him the slightest affection. What would that do to a man, a man who, as Quinn was getting to know, certainly was more thoughtful and considerate than he wanted to let on? He cared. Even if he pretended not to.

  “Your dad, he was Cyrus’s only child, is that right?” He nodded. “That couldn’t have been easy on him.”

  “Well, to hear Cyrus tell it, my father was as much a disappointment as I am.”

  “I can’t believe that anyone would be that…spiteful. I have to believe that he cared about your father or he wouldn’t have been so disappointed. And it couldn’t have been easy losing his son, no matter how their relationship was at the time of his death. He might have been afraid to let you in, afraid of hurting again.”

  “Cyrus Thornhill isn’t afraid of anything. Least of all some three-year-old boy who suddenly became his responsibility.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But I still think that he wants the best for you. That even if he won’t admit it to you or himself, he wants you to succeed. He wants you to love and care for his business just as he did.”

  “I already do.”

  She wanted to put her hand in his and squeeze, to offer him some comfort as she sensed the pain underneath his words. But she had the sense to realize that doing so would be entirely inappropriate.

  “Hey, where are we supposed to be going anyhow?” he asked, stopping suddenly as they’d reached the end of the next block, and the small city park lay before them.

  She looked around them, suddenly realizing she’d been so engrossed in their conversation, they’d already passed the shop she’d meant to stop at. “Dang. We passed it.”

  She whipped around, pulling her phone out to check the time. There was a missed text.

  “Sabrina sent me a text almost twenty minutes ago. Says she’s found a ride to the Derby match and will meet us at the rink.” Quinn noted the time. “We should still hurry, though. You can’t miss the opening of your very first bout.”

  “Good idea, considering I don’t think I can feel the tip of my nose anymore.”

  She glanced at him and noticed the end was fairly bright, and she laughed. “Okay, Rudolph. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

  For a moment, as they turned, their hands brushed against the other, and even through her leather gloves, the connection was alarming, to say the least. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and kept her gaze ahead.

  He was her boss. It was best to remember that.

  James had no idea what to expect when he and Quinn pulled up at a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Half the town must have shown up for the game from the looks of the parking lot and the crowds of people scrambling to find seats as close to the front of the oval rink as they could.

  It wasn’t even six and already the night was decidedly chillier than before. With some reluctance, he grabbed the parka from the seat and tucked it under his arm before following Quinn inside. This might be one of those times he’d have to forgo suave and cosmopolitan for practical and comfortable.

  “There’s Sabrina,” Quinn said and pointed over to where Sabrina was standing and flailing her arms. Sitting next to her was their mom, who also waved when she saw them. No sign of Quinn’s dad and James’s shoulders eased a bit.

  They made their way over to the women. The MC’s voice was nearly deafening as he roared the introductions for each player through the microphone.

  “Hi,” Sabrina shouted a tad over-exuberantly as they slid onto the second-row bleacher.

  He studied the rink, where the most recently called player was doing a turn around the perimeter before sliding back in formation with the team.

  You had to love their spirit, especially in thigh-high socks, short black skirts, and red tee shirts with the name Hellhounds blazoned across their chests.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” continued the MC, a heavyset guy with tattoos up and down his arms and a long grayish beard. “As some of you may know, we have with us tonight a special guest. Not just a former Eureka Hellhounder but also a three-time reigning champion jammer. Let’s put our hands together and give a warm Eureka welcome to our own”—James couldn’t help but notice how the guy was pointing directly at James’s companion, who was muttering something unintelligible under her breath—“Miss Quinn Taylor, or as she was more commonly referred to…Quinn the Ter-Quinn-a-tor!”

  Ter-Quinn-a-tor?

  James was aware of clapping and whistles that surrounded them and the fact that Quinn refused to meet his gaze, instead shooting a nervous grin and giving a quick wave to the crowd.

  Intriguing.

  He leaned over, but before he could utter a word, she hissed, “Don’t even think about it. Remember. What happens in Eureka, stays in—”

  But before she could finish that sentence, the MC continued his opening. “Now, I don’t know about you all, but I am curious to see if the great Ter-Quinn-a-tor still has what it takes to be called a champion. What I’m holding here, folks, is the same jersey that the Ter-Quinn-a-tor once wore to bring our team to the finals, and I think I speak for all of us in saying that we’d like nothing more than to see her get out here on the rink tonight and show us her moves. What do y’all think?”

  The applause was thunderous, and it was hard to miss the beginning of a chant as Quinn turned a deep shade of red.

  “Come on out here, Quinn.”

  She remained frozen in her seat, and he couldn’t resist nudging her with his shoulder. “Looks like you’re wanted, Ter-Quinn-a-tor.”

  Quinn seemed to come out of her stupor and leveled a glare at her sister. “I’m going to kill you.”

  Sabrina only smiled, not trying to hide her guilt.

  Reluctantly, Quinn stood and climbed down the bleachers to meet the MC, appearing ever much like the same prim and polished labor attorney he’d come to know these many months…not this Ter-Quinn-a-tor that the crowd was chanting for.

  Quinn leaned into the microphone. “Good evening, everyone. I’m flattered by the welcome. I really am. I’m afraid I didn’t come prepared to do any skating tonight. But I thank you all for your support just the same.” She held her hand up again and waved, trying to hand the microphone back to the guy.

  “Well, it just so happens,” the MC bellowed before she took two steps, “that we have a little more than your old jersey waiting in the locker room for you. Thanks to your family, everything you’ll need to get out there on the rink tonight is waiting for you in the locker room. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of a little challenge.”

  She returned to the mike. “Afraid? Uh, I hardly think so. It’s just a matter of not really being prepared for a match. Maybe next year.”

  Her answer was met with less enthusiasm from the crowd, a few of whom booed their disapproval.

  “You hear that, folks? I think the Ter-Quinn-A-Tor’s afraid that she’s lost her edge. And maybe she has. I mean, we all know that she’s a lawyer now, right?” The guy said lawyer like it was some sort of disease. “The only things she’s good at chasing now are ambulances.”

  James didn’t even bother to hide his grin as he watched his usually prim employee trying to tactfully find a way out of her current predicament.

  Hell, there was nothing he wanted more no
w than to see her kick those boots off and pull on a set of roller skates, and, feeling devilish as he did so, he started up the chant, “Ter-Quinn-A-Tor. Ter-Quinn-A-Tor.”

  Her sister chortled and her mom stifled a laugh. Quinn zeroed in on him immediately, her brows raised in annoyance. The crowd quickly responded with the same chant, “Ter-Quinn-A-Tor. Ter-Quinn-A-Tor.”

  Casting a final glare his way, Quinn threw her hands up in resignation and slunk off to the locker rooms with the chorus of cheers following her.

  James leaned over. “Do you think she’ll notice if I record it with my phone?”

  “Don’t worry,” Sabrina said. “I already have someone taping it.”

  Whatever James had been anticipating, however, hadn’t prepared him for the reality when, five minutes later, Quinn reappeared.

  A-mazing.

  Like the other girls, her red T-shirt had the word Hellhounds emblazoned across the chest, only instead of tucking it into her minuscule black flouncy skirt, she’d tied it at the waist, showing a bit of skin both in the cleavage area and also across her midriff. Her long, toned thighs were shown to perfection in the knee-high red socks that even the boxier kneepads couldn’t de-sexify. Quite the opposite actually.

  And then there was her hair.

  His usually conservative bun-wearing attorney had it down and in two side pigtails to allow the sturdy black helmet to fit over her head.

  Genuine pigtails.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, especially as she skated forward, smooth and sleek, a sexy little bombshell. She couldn’t possibly have any idea the effect she was having on him.

  Who was this woman?

  Especially when, as the whistle blew, the women all crowded together in a formation he was hard-pressed to understand. But Quinn was strong and determined, and it didn’t take her long to break through, even knocking a couple women out of her way with her hips before she practically flew around the rink.