Like a Boss

by Sylvia Pierce

  Ellie holds my gaze, her lips red and swollen.

  Neither of us says a word, and it truly is fucking perfect.

  Until the spell breaks.

  I see it the moment it happens, the sudden shift in her eyes from content to concerned.

  Ellie sits up on the blanket, and I follow, trying to gauge a situation that has me unmoored. I’m out of my element, not sure what the right call is, only knowing that I want her to be okay.

  “I… I’m sorry, Jack,” she says, suddenly even more anxious than she was at her apartment yesterday. “This isn’t… We can’t…” She motions between us, nearly knocking over an open bottle of sparkling water, which I save before it topples into my lap. “This can’t happen.”

  “It can’t,” I say, not sure if I’m agreeing or asking a question.

  “Right. I mean…right?”

  “Right.” I wave a hand, as if to erase the last fifteen minutes. As if I could.

  “Ian texted to see what I was up to today,” she says, “and I didn’t tell him we had plans. That’s weird, right? We’re friends.”

  “We are,” I say carefully.

  “And adults.”

  “That, too.”

  “So why am I so nervous to tell Ian about this? Well, not this…” She blows out a breath through pursed lips. “I don’t mean this, like we’re a thing. Which obviously we’re not. I just meant—”

  “Your brother thinks you have a crush on me.”

  “Wait. What? He told you that?” She glances my way for a split second, then dodges again, picking at a thread in the blanket. “Ugh! I’m going to murder him!”

  “So, you don’t?” I try not to sound deflated, but I’m not sure I’m successful. “Never?”

  Ellie groans. “Fine, maybe I had the tiniest crush on you when you and Ian were in grad school. But that doesn’t count. You were my older brother’s hot friend. That’s textbook crush bait.”

  I fight the urge to grin, and lose. “So, you thought I was hot?”

  “Must’ve been the drugs,” she mumbles.

  “That one time you smoked pot in your entire life.”

  “Pot has lasting effects, Jack.”

  I drag my thumb across my lower lip, the sweet taste of her still lingering. “So, back to the part about you thinking I’m sexy…”

  She still won’t meet my eyes, but behind the shimmering curtain of her hair, a shy smile plays on her lips. “Yes, you’re good-looking. It’s not like that’s a secret. Unlike the location where I’m going to hide Ian’s body after I murder him in his sleep.”

  “Slow down there, Dexter.” I laugh, nudging her knee with mine. “You know he loves you.”

  “I know. I love him, too, even when he’s annoying me.” Ellie sighs, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “Which is why I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize his reputation. The same goes for yours.”

  I choose to believe she’s talking about her article, and not that explosive kiss we just shared.

  “I know what I signed up for,” I say. “And Ian and I both trust you to handle this appropriately, and to help us figure out where we went wrong so we can make it right.”

  “That…means a lot.” She turns to me, her eyes guarded, but that shy smile still tugging at her lips. “I should probably go. I have things to take care of at home.”

  “Me, too.” I reluctantly pack up the rest of our picnic gear. “I guess this means Dude 101 is over.”

  She flashes me a grin as we head out of the park together. “So that’s it? I passed the course?”

  “With flying colors.” I give her shoulder a quick, totally appropriate, just-friends squeeze. “Skip the cheese platter, keep your sock stuffed in tight, and you’ve got this, El.”

  And you’ve got me, wrapped around your dainty, sticking-up-in-the-air-when-you-eat pinky finger.

  It’s true. Crushing on Ellie back in the day was one thing—something we apparently shared. Lusting after her was another. But now, after that kiss? After the way she made my heart slam against my ribs as the world spun away?

  This can’t happen…

  Her words echo in my memory, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a door slams shut and bolts itself twice.

  I try not to flinch at the finality of it.

  She’s right.

  It can’t happen. It won’t happen.

  And by this time next month, this whole mission will be nothing but a distant memory, shoved into a box with the Cheetos incident and dancing in Ellie’s apartment and kissing her on the Great Lawn and the time I almost—almost—let down my walls with a woman who felt oh-so-perfect in my arms.

  Chapter 8

  Ellie

  With my rock solid new dude walk, acceptably masculine dining skills, and budge-proof mustache, come Monday morning, I should be feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. And if that kiss in Central Park were removed from the equation, maybe I would be.

  But the kiss is an unavoidable fact. The kiss happened.

  I kissed Jack Edward Holt.

  And he kissed me back. And it was the best kiss of my entire life, but we both agreed never to do it ever again.

  Now I have to pretend that’s no big deal while also pretending to be Eric the friendly stockbroker you want to confess your deepest, darkest work frustrations to.

  I’m beginning to think I should have majored in theater instead of journalism.

  Mercifully, the first familiar face I encounter is a friendly one. Lulu, looking as rosy and upbeat as ever in a pink silk shirt and black ruffled skirt, waves to me across the lobby and hurries over with a big grin.

  “Good morning,” she says, beaming at me as we head for the elevators. “Karaoke was so much fun on Friday! I’m glad you came.”

  “Me, too. It was the highlight of my weekend. Thanks for the invite.”

  She waves a breezy hand. “Any time. And who knows, maybe next time we can convince you to sing.”

  I smile just the right amount, barely disturbing my mustache. “Maybe. Now that I know your crew is kind to the tone-deaf.”

  “Absolutely. Kindness first. Laughs second. That’s what I always tell my kids.”

  I step into the elevator, moving to the back to make room for the people behind us. “How many kids do you have?”

  “Three wild little boys.” Her eyes go wide as she blows out a long breath that ends in a laugh. “They were at their dad’s this weekend. I used to get sad on his weekends, missing them, but karaoke changed all that. I also joined a book club.”

  “I love to read. What’s your latest book club pick?” I ask, barely having to remind myself not to sound too enthusiastic.

  I really am getting the hang of restrained corporate manliness.

  Now if I can manage not to blush or stammer like a teenager with a crush when I run into Jack, I’ll call this day a win.

  We chat books up to the fifty-eighth floor and part ways at reception, Lulu heading to her desk on the far side of the room while I settle into my assigned spot among the other junior brokers. I make a mental note to ask Lulu how long she’s been at the company and if she’s ever applied for a management position, before diving into the emails waiting in my company inbox.

  I’m digging deep on the portfolio specs for a potential client—a little shocked that Jack is trusting me to put together a proposal for a major league baseball player, considering my experience with real life finance versus business school financial theory—when a slim hand lands on my shoulder, making me jump.

  “Hey there. Eric, right? Didn’t mean to scare you.” A tinkle of laughter fills the air as I turn to see S&H’s hiring manager. Blair is wearing a tight red suit-dress with matching red lipstick and a smile far friendlier than anything I saw from her during my time in the office as Ellie. “I’m Blair Keneally. Sorry I didn’t get to welcome you last week. Or vet you before your interview.”

  “Nice to meet you, Blair.” Ignoring her subtle dig about my rapid hi
re, I take the hand she extends and shake it quickly, but firmly, hoping she won’t notice how feminine my hands are. That’s the one thing I can’t change with makeup or glued on hair.

  But Blair is clearly focused on other things. As soon as I release her hand, she leans in close, perching on the edge of my desk as she playfully wrinkles her nose. “I have to confess I get a little frustrated when wild cards knock my picks out of the park. But I’m sure we’ll get along great. I have a good feeling about you, Eric.” She cocks her head to one side, sending her silky blond ponytail sliding over one shoulder.

  “Oh, um, well, thank you.” I shift uncomfortably in my chair. Lulu and the other women in the office have been friendly, but this is the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of obvious flirtation.

  She is flirting with me…

  Right?

  Ugh. Why? I mean, I guess I’m not bad looking if you like a lanky dude with a mustache, but I haven’t been sending out any signals, and Blair doesn’t seem like the type who goes for a Tom Selleck circa 1970 lookalike.

  “You’re so welcome.” She reaches out, plucking a piece of lint from my shoulder and smoothing her fingertips across the fabric while I fight the urge to cringe. “In fact, I was wondering if you might be able to do me an itty-bitty favor. With all the vetting for the Portland office transition team, I’m behind on reviewing applications for New York. If I get you the files, could you handle that for me today?”

  I pause, waiting for her to say she’s kidding, that this is her standard first-week-at- the-office prank on the new guys. But she just keeps batting her perfectly made-up baby blues.

  My first inclination is to help, but just as I’m about to offer it up, a voice in my head chimes, WWDD—What Would Dudes Do? A dude at my level wouldn’t be so quick to take on extra work, no matter how flirty Blair’s being.

  I clear my throat. “I wish I could, but hiring isn’t my area of expertise.”

  “Of course not. I just thought you might be able to look over these resumes and see if any stand out. I’d really value your out-of-the-box opinion on this.”

  I pretend to consider her request—I’d kill to get a look at those files. But something about her approach is making my sixth sense tingle—and not in the good way.

  I shake my head, doing my best to appear sympathetic. “I’m pretty slammed myself. Jack’s sent me enough new client profiles to have me staying late every night this week.”

  Her smile brittles. “We’re all team players here, Eric. I’m sure Jack doesn’t expect you to get everything done this week. He understands that priorities are flexible in a dynamic work environment.”

  Wow. I can’t believe she has the ovaries to try to con me into doing her work. I’m about to apologize and offer another excuse, but then I remember that unnecessary apologies are on the dude no-no list. So, with a firm shake of the head, I follow up with, “No can do, Blair. Being the new guy, I think it’s best if I stay focused on the work I’ve been assigned. I’m sure you understand.”

  Blair’s pretty features scrunch into the “swallowed sour milk” expression I’m familiar with from Ellie’s original attempts to get information from her, when Rictor breezes by, snapping his fingers, “On your feet, Webb. All hands on deck in the conference room.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Dude.” Rictor arches a brow. “Falling asleep on the job already? DOJ put a kill order on the Sparks-GenCom merger last night, and the tech sector is taking it in the ass. Jack wants your input.”

  “Be right there.” Tamping down the zing I feel that Jack requested my input, I flash Blair a “duty calls” smile and slip around her, laptop tucked under my arm, hoping there might be time to ask Jack how serious he wants me to get with my client research after the emergency huddle.

  Is this just for show?

  Or is he actually expecting me to put my incomplete MBA to work?

  Either way, it’s flattering to have been trusted with important research for the company he and my brother value above almost everything else in their lives. For my brother, I like to think family comes first, and I know Jack, an orphan since his parents died, is devoted to his friends.

  But aside from that, it’s all business all the time for those two.

  That’s the only reason Jack spent half his weekend with me, after all—because he was afraid I would drop the ball and negatively impact his business. It’s something I would be smart to remember when I’m tempted to replay that kiss over and over in my mind like my favorite song.

  Attaching meaning to a workaholic’s moment of weakness would be foolish indeed.

  I hurry into the conference room in a manly way I know would make Jack proud if he were watching, but he isn’t. He’s focused on something one of the senior brokers is showing him on his phone, his handsome features arranged into his all-business face.

  The look remains as he calls the meeting to order with a quick, “Good morning, people. Looks like Monday’s in the mood to kick our asses. So let’s get right into it. We need to get ahead of the tech sector panic before our clients realize there’s a reason to be nervous.”

  His attention skims the room, hesitating ever so briefly on yours truly before moving on with a smile. “Hannah will start us off with a recap of what went down last night. Hannah?”

  I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that Jack is so clearly unruffled by what happened between us yesterday in the park. But I’m glad he’s making good on his promise to give Hannah more responsibility. Not only has she got the room set up with coffee and healthy breakfast snacks, but she’s got a great handle on the merger situation, too.

  Soon we’re so deep in the market analysis weeds I don’t have time to think of anything except scrambling to contribute as best I can.

  “How is biotech reacting?” I lean back in my chair and spread my legs like I’ve seen the other guys do during these meetings. “If they’re holding steady, we might be able to balance out some of the tech losses in that sector. We can also look at the foreign markets.”

  Jack holds my gaze a moment, and I try not to squirm beneath his intense green eyes. “You think this merger news will sink tech for the long haul?”

  “Not at all,” I say confidently, surprised at how easily all of this is coming back to me. Just like riding a bike. Or kissing. Or kissing Jack…

  Focus, Ellie. Focus!

  “But this was a major merger,” I continue, “and before today we had no reason to think it wouldn’t sail through the regulatory proceedings. The market needs time to stabilize, and not all of your—our—clients have the patience for that.”

  Jack nods, though I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know. I suppose he just wants to show the rest of the team I’ve got the chops to be here. “What do you suggest?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas for emerging stocks we can pitch the nervous investors,” I say, “and I’m sure our client relations team can finesse the language on an email to ease everyone’s minds. I don’t anticipate S and H taking a big hit over this.”

  “You seem pretty confident,” Rictor says. “For a guy who’s been here all of a week.”

  I shrug. “There’s an old saying about the stock market, Rictor. And at the end of the day, every one of our clients embodies it.” I let out a low chuckle, gently stroking my mustache. “If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the Street.”

  Okay, I totally made that up, but most of my colleagues are laughing, including Jack. Even Rictor’s got a grin on his otherwise smarmy face.

  “Agreed, Mr. Webb. Thanks for your, ah, poetic insights.” Jack’s lips twitch with a smile so subtle I wonder if I’m imagining it, before he turns his attention back to the room at large. “All right, people. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Jack is so confident and commanding, steering this ship through the uncertain waters of triple-dip recessions and market instability, that I’m hanging on his every word. There’s something abo
ut a man in a crisp button-down with the sleeves rolled up, his strong forearms flexing as he writes on the whiteboard, taking control in a crisis.

  I’m so sucked in that I don’t budge from my seat until we’re dismissed with our assignments. The moment I rise from my chair, the effects of the coffee Hannah so graciously kept flowing hit me all at once.

  Note to self: don’t underestimate the power of a bold French Roast on your microscopic bladder.

  I cruise into the men’s room only to stop dead at the sign hanging on the one and only stall—Out of Order.

  “Shoot,” I hiss, eyeing the three urinals on the wall, trying to imagine any way I might be able to make that happen.

  I’m considering locking the main door to the bathroom when Frame and Wallace, two other junior account execs, push through it, talking animatedly as they head for the urinals. I turn toward the sinks, washing my hands as if I’ve already finished my business.

  But I haven’t finished, and the warm water rushing over my hands only intensifies the urgency building to critical levels behind my zipper. Trusting my gut—which says contorting myself into some insane position to align female anatomy with a male toilet isn’t the best call—I make a break for my brother’s office.

  Yes, it’s risky, but Ian has a private bathroom, and right now privacy is of the utmost importance.

  But when I reach Ian’s office, I nearly crash into the person rushing out of it.

  Blair.

  Her mouth presses into a firm line of pseudo-authority, but not before I catch the flicker of surprise—and guilt—in her eyes.

  “Something I can help you with, Mr. Webb?” She quips, narrowing her eyes in suspicion as if I’m the one who just got caught sneaking out of my superior’s office.

  I’m dying to know what she’s up to, but I don’t have time for her power games. One more minute and I’m literally going to explode.

  “Just doing a few laps around the office to keep the heart pumping,” I say, breezing past her with a chipper smile. “Sitting is the new smoking, Blair.”