The Love Boss

by Aurora Peridot

  “Ok, but let me know if he does anything inappropriate. I can cover rent for a month or two if you need to quit.”

  I hugged Emily. I didn’t want it to ever get to that point, but knowing she had my back made me feel far warmer than the two cocktails had.

  “Thanks Em, you’re the best.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, smiling.

  Chapter 7 – Edgar

  I pulled up to my office around 8:30 and saw an irate woman in front of my door. I was a bit surprised that Bernadette had come back. Most of the assistants I hired never made it to day two. She must be hard up for the money, I thought as I climbed out of my car.

  “I thought you wanted me here at 8:00 sharp?” she asked as I approached the door.

  “I lost track of the time,” I said as I unlocked the door to my office.

  “Maybe I could get a key to the office, so I could start working even if you are running late?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “There is just too much confidential material in my office. I can’t have it unsupervised.” She shot me a look and I immediately regretted the word choice. It made me sound so condescending. But I tried to ignore it. After all, this was my office. “But I will try to give you a more accurate time to arrive,” I finally conceded.

  “That would be really helpful, thank you.” She had already started in on her task of organizing my magazines before I had even started up my computer. She was diligent, I noted.

  It had been a successful night. After Bernadette left, I had created a fake dating profile under the name of ‘Samuel’ and added a picture of a male model and began to message the wife of a current client, who was also on the dating site. After only a few flirtatious interactions, she was eager to meet me somewhere discreet for ‘fun of the carnal variety.’ People could be so predictable it made me sick. I printed off all our correspondences and would deliver them to my client. One more marriage down the drain. I used to feel guilty about that, but not anymore.

  I was so wrapped up in getting the email ready to send the client that I forgot Bernadette was still in the office until she spoke.

  “I’ve finished sorting your magazines. What should I do next?”

  I looked up at her, really noticing her for the first time this morning. Her hair was again in a bun and her glasses sat on her pert, little nose, behind them her green eyes looked at me expectantly. She was wearing a dark green dress that came to her knees, and though modest, it did show off her curves nicely. For just a moment, I wondered what those lovely curves would look like out of the dress. I wondered if she had a wild side when she literally and figuratively let her hair loose.

  “Well?”

  I startled out of my daydream. Why was I thinking about her like that? She was working for me. And besides, hadn’t I sworn off women? They were nothing but heartbreak and trouble. I had learned that the hard way.

  “Yes, you can start filing invoices.” I gestured to a filing cabinet in the corner which I had purchased years ago for just that purpose. It was dusty from disuse. Of course, I hadn’t been filing invoices. Instead, there were haphazard piles of invoices and receipts, and maybe even payments strewn about my office. I had the intention of filing them . . . at some point. I collected a few files and dumped them in front of the filing cabinet. Bernadette looked at me incredulously.

  “Do you have a system in place you’d like me to follow?” she asked skeptically.

  “Nope,” I said lightly. “Just whatever you think will be more organized.”

  “So, anything that isn’t random piles around your office?”

  “Sure, start with that.” I was about to leave her to it when there was a knock at the front door.

  Bernadette got up and answered the door. In walked my next client. I hadn’t met her before, but I could easily tell she was here for my help. She fit the type. She was clearly a trophy wife a few years past her prime as arm candy, maybe in her early forties. She was pretty, but in a fake way—fit, but she’d clearly had plastic surgery: collagen lips, breast implants and so much Botox her face looked frozen. Her platinum hair was carefully curled and she wore designer sunglasses and an expensive workout outfit paired with jeweled high heels.

  The woman tottered in on her high heels and walked past Bernadette to address me. “Are you Mr. Rake, private investigator?” she asked. Her voice was breathy and I imagined she had used it to seduce men in the past.

  “Yes, I am,” I said, coming forward to shake her hand. I noticed a huge diamond ring and matching diamond-encrusted wedding band below it on her left hand.

  “My name is Chloe Coleman. I need your help.”

  “Certainly. Please, have a seat,” I said, gesturing to a chair across from my desk. I sat down in front of my desk.

  Chloe lowered herself into the chair and I saw Bernadette look as us, not sure what to do. I wasn’t sure either, not used to having someone else sit in on my consultations. I looked at her and shrugged. She waited a moment and then set to work on the filing cabinet. Chloe Coleman didn’t seem to even notice her.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Coleman?”

  “How did you know I was married?” she asked.

  “Well, you have come to my office for assistance, and the majority of people who do that are having difficulties with their spouses. Plus, you are wearing a very large diamond ring on your left hand.”

  “Ah, right,” she said. “Yes, I am married and I need your help with my spouse. I think my husband, James, is cheating on me. And I need proof.”

  “And what makes you think Mr. Coleman is being unfaithful?” I asked.

  Mrs. Coleman took a moment to collect herself. I waited patiently, trying not to look restless.

  “He said he had a business trip this week. He was supposed to meet with business associates in New York. But I noticed he took his passport with him. I thought that was an odd thing for him do, only traveling to New York. I didn’t say anything, thinking maybe he was just concerned, you know what airport security is like these days. But it kept bothering me, so I called the St. Regis, where he always stays when he’s in New York, and they didn’t have a reservation for him. At that point, I got very concerned. I called our credit card company and discovered some recent charges to a couples-only resort in the Bahamas called Pleasures. Then I called that resort, and there was a guest staying there named James Coleman.” Mrs. Coleman didn’t look like she was about to cry, instead there was steel in her eyes.

  “It sounds like you did a fair amount of detective work on your own and have your answers. What do you want from me?”

  “I want undeniable proof. Everything I’ve discovered implies an affair. I need hard evidence of his infidelity. I’m not an idiot, Mr. Rake. If, or actually when, I tell James I want a divorce, I’m going to need more than a hotel reservation as proof of his affair. If I want to have any hope of a decent alimony, I’m going to need more than that. I want photos.” I could tell she was trying to suppress her anger and hurt with determination. She was clutching her handbag so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

  “It’s going to be expensive,” I warned her. “My fees to acquire photos are not cheap, and there will be travel costs to get to this resort.” My warning was only a formality, and we both knew it.

  “Money is not an issue,” Mrs. Coleman said, without a moment of hesitation. “I need those photos and I don’t care what you have to do to get them.”

  “In that case, I think we have a deal.” I held out my hand and shook hers. I went over a few logistical details with her and had her sign a preliminary contract before escorting Mrs. Coleman out of my office. I let her know that I would be in touch once I had photos for her.

  After she left, I went back to my computer to start making arrangements.

  “What are you going to do?” Bernadette asked.

  “Get evidence, of course. That’s what I am paid to do.”

  “But how? That guy is off in the Caribbean at some resort. Are you
going to wait till he gets back?” Bernadette was so naïve. I thought it was cute.

  “And waste time until Mr. Coleman gets back? Of course not. Especially when this travel is on the client’s dime.” I continued to look up flights to the Bahamas that would leave tomorrow.

  “Oh,” said Bernadette, catching on. “You’ll be flying out to that resort? What do you want me to do while you’re gone?”

  I smiled, maybe a bit maliciously. I was enjoying this moment. “Bernadette, you’ll be coming with me, of course.” Her jaw literally dropped open. Before she could argue, I added, “It’s a couples-only retreat, weren’t you paying attention? I simply can’t show up there on my own.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bernadette started.

  “It is the best idea,” I said, cutting her off again. “I need someone to act as my spouse or partner or lover or whatever. You’ll need to be here at 9:30 sharp tomorrow morning. We’ll have a flight to catch.”

  “I am so not acting as your lover.”

  I just looked over at Bernadette and smiled.

  Chapter 8 – Bernadette

  As I drove to Edgar’s office, I questioned what I was doing for probably the millionth time. It was insane that I was going to a tropical resort with my new boss to act as his lover. If David and I weren’t on a break, I’m sure I would have never even considered it. But something in me wanted this. I wanted to run away from my problems, even if it was just for a few days. And after all, Edgar had assured me that we would only be pretending to be a couple. We didn’t have to do anything of an intimate nature.

  I was surprised to see Edgar was at the office, as I had made a point to get there early this morning. What surprised me even more was what he was wearing. I was used to seeing him in button-down shirts and slacks. Ok, it had only been two days, but I had this image of him as a professional. Today, he was in khaki shorts and a truly garish Hawaiian print shirt.

  “What are you wearing?” I asked as I stepped into the office.

  “What are you wearing?” he countered, looking genuinely surprised.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked defensively. I was wearing a pale pink wrap dress with a matching cardigan and white flats.

  “Well, you certainly don’t look like a happy newlywed on her way to her honeymoon,” Edgar said, looking me over. I suddenly felt self-conscious of his gaze. He stepped close to me. He was only a few inches from my face and I could smell his cologne. It was a woody scent, and I felt strangely drawn to it. “You look like you’re about to go to work.”

  “I am going to work,” I countered, but my voice stuttered a bit. Edgar’s eyes grazed over my body and I suddenly wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on my body. I tried to force the thought away, but I couldn’t. I was mesmerized by his amber eyes. He picked up on the smallest details and I felt myself being studied by him. Instead of flinching away, I forced myself to stare back at him.

  “You clearly didn’t get the undercover memo,” he said, but his voice was soft, almost husky. He reached his hands out towards my face, and for a moment I imagined that he would pull me in for a kiss. Instead, he carefully pulled the chopsticks out of my hair, the ones that had been holding up my bun. My hair fell loose and I felt it graze my shoulder. He still looked critically at me. I knew I should have smacked his hand away and pulled my hair back up, but I suddenly didn’t want to. Instead, I stood still as he examined me. Slowly, he unbuttoned the first button of my cardigan and then the second. I stopped breathing. Part of me wanted him to keep going and the other part of me was frantically reminding myself that he was my boss.

  Before I could decide which part of me I should listen to, Edgar stepped back. His eyes were still on me, but he smiled. I suddenly felt very warm, even though it was cool in his office.

  “It’s an improvement,” he said, his voice still a bit husky. “At least you look like you can let your hair down.”

  “Very funny,” I said as he began to carry my small suitcase out to the parking lot. I felt a guilty stab of disappointment that his interest had been purely profession, but I reminded myself that I was on a job with him. “I can carry my own bag,” I snapped, too defensively.

  “Not on our honeymoon, you won’t,” Edgar said over his shoulder as he walked to his car.

  “We’re not really on our honeymoon. And we don’t have to act undercover yet.”

  “It’s never too early to get into character,” he said as he turned back and winked at me. “Now come on, darling, we have to get to the airport or we’ll miss our flight.”

  “Alright,” I said, following him to his car. “But I am not calling you darling.”

  “Oh, just give it time.”

  I snorted, but couldn’t stifle the fluttery feeling I felt when he called me darling.

  Chapter 9 – Edgar

  I could tell Bernadette was surprised to see me at the office before her. With my history of the last few days, I shouldn’t be shocked that she would think I’d always be late. She looked very pretty but far too formal in her standard bun and a sweater buttoned all the way to the top. I assumed she’d realized that an undercover job at a tropical resort would call for more casual attire, but she clearly hadn’t thought so. But hell, I had to admit that she looked beautiful. She reminded me of a Hollywood starlet from a black and white movie, curvy and elegant with fully, pouty lips. Though her outfit wasn’t overly revealing, her sweater was tight enough that I could make out the definition of her ample breasts. I imagined squeezing them in my hands and then sucking on them. I immediately reprimanded myself, reminding myself that this woman worked for me, and I would be professional towards her.

  However, I still stared at her lovely curves for a bit longer than necessary while considering how to make her look more like a vacationing tourist and less like a sexy secretary. I dared to take out her bun and the first few buttons of her sweater. It wasn’t that she’d be revealing anything, her wrap dress wasn’t low cut. But seeing her let her hair down was thrilling. I felt like I had unlocked a piece of her. Feeling her soft curls in my hands gave me a sudden urge to pull her closer to me and kiss her. I forced myself to let go of her hair.

  I half expected her to turn away, to tell me to stop, but she didn’t. When I was close enough to take out her bun, I took a moment and just enjoyed the delicious smell of her. Her perfume was subtle but distinct with notes of lilies and freesia. As a love detective, it was my job to recognize different perfumes. I’d guess it was Dior. I wanted to lean in even closer, but I stopped myself. I reminded myself that she was my employee. And more importantly, passion would burn out and love would just burn you. Molly had taught me that.

  I drove us to the airport without saying much. Eventually, Bernadette got tired of the radio and turned it off. She looked over at me. I pretended not to notice.

  “What made you decide to become a P.I.?” she asked.

  “It pays better than police detective work,” I said, not looking away from the road. “I have a mind for puzzle, for figuring out problems. And since I wanted to be a detective, the private sector was naturally the best choice. I set my own hours and instead of being government funded, I am funded by wealthy clients who have too much money that they are willing to part with to prove their partner is cheating only so they won’t have to part with even more money when the divorce inevitably comes.”

  “Wow, that’s cynical,” Bernadette said, taken aback. “You really don’t believe there are healthy relationships, do you?”

  I sighed, my thoughts briefly going to Molly. “No, I don’t. Something always happens. Love is only as strong as the people in love, and people are weak.”

  “But don’t you ever believe that some people can make it work?” she pressed. “I mean, you have to admit, not everyone cheats.”

  I didn’t want to argue. Remembering how Bernadette smelled was still distracting me and I wasn’t even sure it was a good idea to talk with her right now until I go
t control over my wayward thoughts. I said, “If there are working relationships, they likely aren’t going to come and hire me, now are they?”

  “I guess not,” Bernadette reluctantly agreed. I could tell she wanted to argue the point, but couldn’t see how. I turned the radio back on and left it on until we got to the airport.

  As we were waiting in line at security, Bernadette suddenly looked worried. “Edgar, my passport!”

  “What about it?” I asked. “You haven’t forgotten it, have you? We’ll miss our flight if we have to go back for it.”

  “No, I have it here, but it has my name on it.” She looked terribly concerned, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Of course, it has your name on it. Whose else should it have on it?” I was desperate to know what was wrong with her. In a strange way, I wanted to comfort her distress.

  “But we won’t look like newlyweds, not with my passport name not matching yours.”

  I suddenly laughed. I laughed harder than I had in a while. I couldn’t believe that that had been bothering her.

  “Why are you laughing?” she asked, suddenly irate. “It was your stupid plan to pose as a married couple. Now what are we going to do?”

  “I appreciate your commitment to the role,” I said, having to subtly wipe tears from my eyes. “But do you really think we need to convince the airline? They don’t care. We only have to act like we’re married and madly in love once we’re at the resort.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.” She was blushing in embarrassment, but I had to admit it made her look adorable.

  “If you want, we could practice being madly in love right now.” She just stared at me. Suddenly, I was the one flushing in embarrassment. That was stupid. Why had I said that?

  “I don’t . . .” she started, but I cut her off.

  “Joking, of course. Just a joke. I wouldn’t want to act like I love you any more than I have to.” Damn, that sounded just as bad. I wanted to take it back, but couldn’t think of a way to do that without looking like my intentions were less than professional. I felt immensely frustrated. I prided myself on being cool and detached, it was a requirement of the job. And now, after only a few days I was saying awkward things to a pretty woman and acting like a total love-struck moron. I took a calming breath and reminded myself that I didn’t fall in love, ever. I said, “I mean, this is a job. And we should treat it as such.”