Boss Undercover: Part 1 (Boss Undercover Series)

by J. S. Badham

  Boss Undercover

  PART 1

  J.S. Badham

  Boss Undercover: Part 1

  Copyright © 2018 by J.S. Badham.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: August 2018

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-420-4

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-420-9

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my loving parents, family and friends. You never stopped believing in me.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter One

  ZACK

  “When can I see you again?” A deep, sensuous purr left the back of her throat. She laid hidden beneath the duvet covers, twirling a single lock of hair between the pads of her finger and thumb. Her tender lips pursed together as she ran her painted nail across Zack’s naked back, playfully drawing circles to tempt him back to bed.

  He quivered gently, painfully distracted by her sensitive touch, yet he gritted his teeth and bent over to gather his discarded clothes from the floor.

  He said nothing, allowing silence to linger within the room, a frustration to the stranger wrapped like a present in the bed and whose long sigh shook each corner of the room. It didn’t receive any sympathy from Zack; he was more bravely concerned with slipping on his dark blue linen shirt, to escape his own nagging conscience, that hungered to tumble and twist back into the embrace of the sheets.

  “Zack?”

  Again, he made no effort to reply. He guessed she was disappointed from the sound of her gentle sigh.

  She exhaled. “Zack?” Then she sat up, sliding her arms gradually around his neck, each inch of her body pressed up against him. It was driving him crazy.

  “What?” he gently said, brushing her fingers away from his face; her persistence was beginning to bug him.

  “I asked when I might be able to see you again.” Her hot breath crept above the edges of his collar. “You could stay, you know?” she whispered, dangerously dropping a wet kiss below his ear lobe.

  Zack turned, pitifully clasping both her hands, as he exhaled. “You know I come when I please. I don’t like to trouble myself with complications, sweetheart. It was a one-night stand. End of.” Then he let them loose, placing his own hands back in his trouser pockets.

  “I hate hearing that,” she confessed, a shower of red locks shimmering down onto her naked shoulders as she shook her head.

  Zack shrugged loosely. “There’s nothing more to say,” he muttered, planting a stiff kiss onto the right side of her cheek.

  Zack headed out from the bedroom towards the front door. From behind, he could hear the sudden scuttle of feet trying to keep up.

  “Zack!” she called out breathlessly as she stopped short near the bottom of the staircase whilst anxiously tightening a black silk robe around her petite frame. Specks of last night’s mascara clung beneath her eyes, her hair was static in places, and that plea within her expression should have beckoned him to stay.

  But he did not reply. He left the apartment complex, the cold wind nipping on his bare cheeks, calming, slightly, the killing headache he felt moments before. He was also grateful she hadn’t followed him out when he dared to look back. He was certain she got the memo.

  His silver convertible sat on the opposite curb, just as he remembered.

  It was ten in the morning. Several people wrapped up in scarves and hoodies were congregated around a car’s boot, lifting off the bags of shopping stacked up near enough to the roof, some curiously watching Zack as he got into his fancy car, where he obnoxiously revved the engine. He was trying to leave an impression on the residents tucked up in their terraced housing all up and down the narrow road. Vanity made him gag at the sight of people carriers and two-door cars as he drove past them; it was something he’d never be caught dead in.

  Zack switched off the radio, contemplating yesterday’s disaster. It was supposed to have been a celebration of corporate businesses: the champagne flutes, the four-course cuisine, the enchanted small orchestra conducting a piece in the background, and the unlimited serving at the bar. Oh, it was all there, only Zack’s appearance took the cherry off the top.

  He was directed to a table full partly of wannabe Santas, greying, coarse-bearded, late middle-aged old men, blabbering on in their comical tones whilst toasting to their success. He was the youngest, sandwiched uncomfortably between two tall, plump men laughing hysterically and slamming their fists inappropriately at times on the surface, knocking the dishes and cutlery out of place. He could have also sworn darts of spit fell into his soup, as they talked around him as if he weren’t there.

  “I heard that!” Some fifty-year-old Asian gentleman howled with laughter. “Utter garbage!”

  “Oh, who cares about renewability? The government thinks they can impose that on us!” one of the Santas agreed, laughing as he patted his egg-shaped belly.

  That was when Zack’s existence became known. He could remember meekly tuning in, opining his thoughts, and gathering a deadly look from each male representative. “I’m going to optimise it. You don’t know the scale of profit to be made,” he’d stated, confidently sitting up but anxiously turning a spoon between his fingers.

  “Oh? Oh! Looks like we have a pansy here, gentlemen. All for green!” someone cackled on the right edge of the table.

  “No, what keeps the world spinning is money-grabbing resources. Fossil fuels!”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  Laughter embraced the rest of the conversation, the clink of flutes kissing the brim of each glass and waiters and waitresses madly rushing around to collect or refill empty glasses, completely sucked dry by each participant around the table. Zack had barely finished his first.

  “Oh! Oh! I know you!” someone perked up, addressing Zack. “You’re Elijah’s son. Oh, that is a shame. Now, there’s a man who knows how to run a company.” He laughed. “And a party!”

  “He runs Bensons?”

  “That can’t be right.”

  “I thought Elijah just wasn’t coming tonight!”

  And there was the madness. After running the company for a year and a half, he was still not recognised as its new leader; it was his father they’d crowned the haloed saviour of Bensons. It made that night so very uncomfortable that he transferred donations towards the charity gala without knowing what he was bidding for and left, hopping on over to the city central bars and clubs, hoping for a stiff drink. That’s when he met her. He didn’t know her name, just that she sat al
l alone on a stool at the bar, incessantly complaining about some ex to the bartender. So, like the knight in shining armour that he was, he swept her off her feet, ensuring the next few hours were the best goddamn moments of her life, and to erase the evening’s terrible circumstances. It was just too bad she had the tendency throughout the night to open a floodgate of emotions, making it feel like an audition to match her ex than the meaningless sex he desired. Bon Voyage! He’d mentally crossed her name off the list.

  It was frustrating that sex was beginning to feel mundane. He desired something different.

  Zack took his car keys out of the ignition, the sound of the engine replaced by the empty silence of his garage. He was home. The pinnacle so far of this day. His home rested high above the city skyline, giving him full access to the animated scene below, a blissful thing knowing any ordinary coffee could suddenly be the world’s best coffee when consumed on the outside balcony, high up on a hill.

  He did not delay getting inside, dropping his blazer on the banister of the staircase as he made his way through to the central room, already craving a glass of liquor despite the madness of it being the early hours in the morning. Adjacent to the edge of the kitchen island counter, a glass display cabinet held Zack’s prized treasures, several bottles ranging from whiskey to gin. It was like a taste of heaven as he felt the heavy liquid snake down his throat, erasing the irritable headache and offering a first-hand rejuvenation, of feeling refreshed and ready.

  “A’ight, Zacky boy,” a familiar voice said, intruding Zack’s barely three-second peace. His feet shifted direction, his curiosity soon deflating at the sight of his friend, Kyle, exiting the exclusive penthouse lift at the bottom of the long hallway. He was a sight for sore eyes. Whatever made him decide to wear bright red chinos and a cream fedora didn’t surprise Zack.

  “How did you get in?” Zack asked, disinterested to even ask about Kyle’s stylistic choices. He placed his empty whiskey glass onto the counter. Kyle entered the central room, his vibrant red chinos pulling focus. It had this simple grandeur, cream walls, black marble floor skirting, and large white, leather snaking sofas either side, leaving a contemporary feel.

  Kyle smirked, his faint freckles tugging along with it. “I fucked your maid and she slipped the access key to the lift.”

  “Well, shit. At least you’re getting some better action,” Zack said, shaking his head as he returned to his empty glass and poured another drop.

  “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Kyle snickered, sitting down on the sofa and resting one leg casually over the other.

  “Don’t even ask.”

  “So, what? Shit event? Shit hook-up?” Kyle suggested, his smugness evident from the raised blondish eyebrow halfway up his forehead.

  “Both,” he replied earnestly, sighing as he sat down on the opposite sofa and kicked up his feet onto the glass coffee table.

  “Why? First, obviously, starting with the sex part.”

  Zack rolled his eyes. “Of course, that would be your first concern.” Consciously swirling the light brown liquid around in the glass, he explained, “It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t great. Where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “That mystery woman who will barge into my life and actually make me painfully hard again,” Zack muttered, swirling the liquid once more around in his glass.

  “Well, we could always set you up on Grindr,” Kyle sneered, slapping his hand on his ankle.

  “Fuck off,” Zack spat, flopping back into the sofa.

  “Oh. Yeah. I forgot,” Kyle said. He began dishing into his leather jacket as he took out his phone. Zack raised his head up slightly, peering through slitted eyes before flopping back in disinterest.

  “Here, check this out,” Kyle said, throwing his phone casually over to him. Zack grumbled incoherently as he took Kyle’s phone into his hands.

  “Neil Barracks writes that Zack Benson has ‘no potential to expand and runs the company like an amateur. Better yet…does he even exist? I don’t think anyone has even heard of him. Does Bensons Corporations need to go back to Nursey for some brush-up on its management?’” Zack read out aloud before tossing the phone onto the side of the sofa.

  “Hey, hey. There’s still more to read,” Kyle insisted. “This guy has got the hound dogs on you!” He played incessantly with the zipper on his jacket.

  “Yeah, well, maybe next time. I’ve had enough battering from last night.” Zack exhaled, closing his eyes. He had no intention of reading anymore of that article. But heck! At least someone was giving him recognition, even if it was the wrong kind. His transition to CEO had been smoother than he’d thought possible. There was barely any publicity. He had his suspicions that it was because he started raving about becoming more renewable as soon as he obtained the post, hoping to introduce projects that made blocks of homes, similar to projects like BedZED he knew of down in London, that profited off using natural resources. It was possibly the worst thought not being associated towards managing the company. Heck, he could even remember on one of his first days being mistaken as one of the interviewees being directed to the basement as a postage and mail sorter than the CEO. Not a good day for him, nor the receiving person on the other end.

  “Man, I’m starving,” Kyle declared as he rubbed his stomach and dropped his head back.

  “I haven’t eaten yet, so I can get Maria to cook us something. I’ll call her in—”

  “I do have feet, Zack,” Kyle scoffed. “There’s that major difference between us.”

  “What difference?” Zack asked, his brows furrowing together as he watched Kyle get up and head over to the large fridge, dead centre in the open-spaced kitchen.

  Zack could hear the distant sound of rummaging until Kyle called out, “Found something.” He returned with a packet of gammon slices, digging his fingers through them, hesitant before he was satisfied to shove a slice in his mouth.

  “You’re an idle bastard.” Kyle chuckled, then dropped another slice of cut gammon into the dark, hungry abyss.

  “Idle?”

  Kyle nodded. “Don’t fuck with yourself. You know you are.”

  “How so?” Zack scowled.

  “One.” He lifted his forefinger up. “Take a look around. You didn’t just get this from working your way up from the bottom. You got this because your family inherited a business that has lasted generations in your family,” he stated, sitting on the arm of the chair. “Two. You never cook. I remember you telling me how you lived on Michelin-star restaurant cuisines and hired a personal chef at University because you didn’t know how to cook. You probably don’t even know what a fucking spatula is.” Then he lifted his third finger up. “And you’re just a lazy bastard overall.” He smirked at the twist of surprise on Zack’s face.

  “I’m not idle,” Zack challenged.

  “Er, yeah, you are,” Kyle argued, shaking his head with disbelief.

  “I run a business, which I don’t see you doing. I’m not idle. I can do stuff. I think sex counts as one, pal,” Zack objected, narrowing his eyes at his friend, who was chuckling lightly to himself.

  “You’re so in denial, man. Heck, yeah, you own a business, but you practically only have to learn how to pick up a pen and sign your name and lecture here and there. Your employees do most of your work for you,” Kyle declared. He burped as he dashed the packet onto the coffee table. “Just imagine you trying to live a normal life. No quick money, cars, not even any fucking premium gammon.” He pointed to the empty packet he’d eaten seconds ago. “You wouldn’t last.” He smirked triumphantly. “I, on the other hand, would. I’ve been there, done that. Now, I have the luxury of putting my feet up because of the whollop of cash you put in my dad’s hand.”

  “I bet I could,” Zack blurted aggressively. “What could be so difficult?”

  “Bet, you say?”

  “That’s what I said. I could do it with my eyes closed. Heck, I could do all the work my employees do and still end up on top,” Zack pro
claimed, thrusting his empty glass in the air. “I bet it’s easy.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine, what?” Zack said, ever so puzzled.

  Kyle’s lips drew further apart as the ends rose. “Let’s make a bet then,” he challenged.

  ***

  UNKNOWN

  A malodorous scent lingered as Eva ambled through the pitch-black alley. Ahead, the distinct silhouette of a figure continued on through the darkness, still unware of Eva, who was hidden in the shadows. The figure eventually came to a halt, racing to stand beneath the poorly lit orange street lamp. Hidden behind a filthy dumpster, she could see the faint creases across the figure’s forehead and his troubled, hazel eyes. Holding her breath, she peered at the figure with suspicion as he turned to thump his fist on the battered, pastel green door. Steadily, she began to move up before taking residence at a second dumpster, where her view of the figure became much clearer. It was perhaps another ten seconds until the door opened inwards. She could barely hear a muffled voice, to which the suspect responded.

  “Y-Yes. I-I have…it,” the suspect stuttered, awkwardly fumbling with the inside pocket of his jacket.

  This was her chance. If only the guys back at the station knew what she had been following up. The Chief would surely have to offer her that promotion once she caught a photo of the notorious gang leader’s face. Holding her breath, she tried to concentrate on the muffled conversation, but unfortunately, whoever was standing opposite the suspect remained hushed. Eva held consciously onto her belt strap as she moved closer against the dumpster. From the corner of her eye, she could see what appeared to be a dispute between the two as the suspect shook his head, holding up his hands in surrender.

  Without warning, the suspect turned to run before the tip of a suppressor peeked through the door and clicked. The man collapsed onto the floor, a pool of blood flooding the ground beside him. Eva jumped back, hitting a discarded glass bottle. Scrambling to her feet, she reached for her walkie-talkie, while the figure she hadn’t seen earlier materialized, quickly approaching.