Like a Boss

by Sylvia Pierce

  Jaw clenched and sweat breaking out on my forehead, I wiggle around the corner toward the senior executive lounge. There’s a bathroom in there, and Eric is new enough to pretend he has no idea he isn’t supposed to be trespassing in SeniorExecVille, right? I near the door and am about to reach for the handle when an older gentleman I vaguely recognize emerges with a delectable-looking sandwich.

  Feigning great interest in my watch, I lean against the wall near the lounge door, cursing beneath my breath as I hear Rictor holding court from within about his Au Jus and roast beef sandwich preferences. If it were anyone else but him, I might be able to sneak in undetected.

  But Rictor won’t let this go. Rictor will shame Eric on principle, to show him his place, and not give a damn if Eric has irritable bowel syndrome or something that necessitates the use of a stall over a urinal.

  Seriously, what are the rest of the underling men in this joint going to do if nature rings bell number two instead of number one?

  I’m concerned for them, I really am, but at the moment I’m more concerned about peeing my pants.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain will distract from my bladder’s banshee howl long enough for me to get downstairs to the street, buy a coffee, and get a token for the lavatory from the militant, bathroom-defending woman who runs Cup of Joes, I walk-squirm down the hall. I’m nearly to the T-intersection that will lead to the exit, when Jack swings around the corner.

  The moment he sees me, his brows snap together in disapproval. He glances over his shoulder before crossing quickly to where I’m hugging the wall. “What’s wrong? What happened to the walk? You were doing so well.”

  “That was before the only stall in the men’s bathroom was broken,” I whisper, toes squirming inside my too-large men’s dress shoes as I clench my thighs together, briefly wondering how absorbent my tube sock really is.

  Jack’s eyes widen in immediate understanding. With another quick glance over his shoulder, he takes me by the upper arm, half dragging me down the hall, unlocking his door, and guiding me into his private office.

  And there, across the room, near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking lower Manhattan, is the door to Jack’s private bathroom.

  Thank.

  God.

  Without another thought, I rush for the door, slamming it behind me as I flip on the light.

  Several minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom limp with relief to find Jack leaning against his desk with an amused smile on his face.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “So much better.” I sigh, shoulders sagging as my eyes roll heavenward. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I put a call into maintenance about fixing the stall ASAP. In the meantime, use the senior exec lounge. I’ll make sure all the guys on the team know it’s free for their use.”

  “Thanks again,” I say, sufficiently recovered from my emergency to become aware of the fact that Jack and I are alone. Very aware. And also a little nervous. “So, um, good meeting this morning.”

  “Yeah,” he says, lips curving on one side. “You’re killing it, El. Are you sure you don’t want to come work for us for real? Give up the glamorous life of a work-at-home journalist and help us make even more ridiculous amounts of money?”

  “Ha! Um, no…” I smile too wide but figure it’s acceptable to let my guard down now that we’re alone. “But I’m flattered. And glad I haven’t let you down.”

  “No, you haven’t,” he says, sobering. “But what about things on your end? How’s the broker workload meshing with your article sleuthing?”

  “Fine. Though I’d like access to Blair’s records if possible. My sixth sense is tingling… She tried to pawn off her workload on me this morning.” I give a small shake of my head. “She said she wants my outsider’s perspective on potential candidates, but something about it felt like a set-up. Or at least a test.”

  “Yeah, she doesn’t usually ask brokers for hiring input.” Jack runs a hand through his dark, wavy hair, and I can’t help but flash back to the park yesterday. His lips on mine. My fingers sliding into those silky locks…

  “Blair’s a good manager, though,” he insists, pulling me out of my reverie.

  “If you think so.” I swallow the urge to tell him about spotting Blair in Ian’s office. For all I know, she’s got every right to be in there, and I don’t want to sound like a petty underling with a grudge.

  “My guess is she’s miffed about me fast-tracking your hire and is looking for a fight,” Jack says.

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t look too hard. My credentials are a joke, Jack.”

  “Not true.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink. “I’ve made the necessary adjustments to your personnel file. On paper, you’re legit.”

  “Still. I’d rather fly below the radar with Blair.”

  Jack offers a sympathetic smile. “Her focus on you will fade soon enough—she’s got a lot of other priorities. But if you can gain her trust, she’d be a good resource.”

  “I’ve got plenty of resources,” I say.

  “You may have made some friends, but no one knows the inner workings of S and H like Blair. It’s why she’s got a corner office and six weeks’ paid vacation. Woman knows her stuff.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Does she know she’s making less than her male counterpart on the west coast…who’s dealing with a significantly smaller staff and has less experience and education?”

  Jack leans back against his desk, folding his arms across his muscled chest. “Do I even want to know how you came by that information?”

  “Probably not. But if I’m going to prove this is a widespread issue, I need more than hearsay. I really would like to peruse her files, to see who’s applied for various positions and who’s been granted interviews—not just management, but all levels.”

  “What are you hoping to find?”

  “Just following up on a hunch, looking to connect a few dots. I’m not going to publish confidential information—nothing that links back to individual employees. You could even strip out names—I’m only interested in gender. And I don’t need discipline records or worker’s comp claims or anything like that. Do you think you could make those files available to me? I’d rather not have to suck up to Blair, if I don’t absolutely have to.”

  He nods as he stands, moving away from his desk. “All right. I’ll need to run a script to pull out personal identifiers, but I can get you what you need.” He glances at his watch and lets out a sigh. “But I won’t have time until after closing bell. Can you stay late?”

  “Sure.” I follow him to the door and head back to my desk, trying not to feel disappointed that things are so…normal between us.

  What were you expecting, El? A red-hot make-out session after the morning meeting?

  No. Normal is good. Now I don’t have to worry about one silly kiss messing up our friendship or Jack’s relationship with my brother.

  Everything is great. I’m carrying my weight as Eric, getting good material as Ellie, clicking with most of my team, and I even manage to grab a sandwich from the break room before they’re all gone. It’s pimento cheese, however, so I opt for a crust-nibble and toss the rest in the trash.

  Unless it comes in a bag and goes crunch, cheese was never meant to be that processed or pimento-ed.

  I have strong opinions about treating cheese with the dignity it deserves, and therefore I am starving by the time five o’clock rolls around. By six, my stomach is pitching a fit, but Jack’s office door is closed and there are serious hard-at-work murmurings from behind it, so I cruise back into the break room. But the organic snack machine does not care for my credit card—it probably heard I eat Cheetos and is being judgmental—and without my purse I have nowhere to scrounge for change.

  “Oh, cruel world,” I mutter, sagging back against the wall.

  I’m being dramatic, of course, but by seven o’clock, the hunger pains aren’t funny. Neither is the lightheadedness or the cramping in
my hollow stomach. Finally, I’m forced to knock on Jack’s door.

  He answers with his phone to his ear and holds up one finger.

  I shake my head and mouth, “Starving.” My stomach echoes the sentiment with a long growl. Jack nods, holding up that single finger again before retreating to his desk.

  What happens after that is a bit of a blur, but the next thing I know, I’m sitting on the floor outside his office and Jack is shaking me awake with a worried frown. “Ellie? Jesus, are you okay? You scared me.”

  “What happened?” I ask, head spinning as I focus on Jack’s face.

  “You slid down the wall.” His fingers curl around the back of my neck in a way that makes me even more lightheaded. “I think you passed out. Did you eat anything at all today?”

  I smack my lips a couple times, trying to remember. “Not since breakfast.”

  Jack scowls. “Why not? What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that pimento cheese is vile, and the snack machine wouldn’t take my card.” I frown back at him. “I’m used to working right next to my fridge. It’s a learning curve.”

  He shakes his head with a sigh. “And you’re not used to working for a slave driver who keeps you at the office all night. This is my fault. Come on. We’re getting you food. Stat.”

  “But what about—”

  “I can access the company database from my place. We’ll get Chinese to go, make sure you have enough fuel to keep from passing out, and I’ll print the records for you before you head home.” I start to protest, but Jack cuts me off with a hand held in the air. “I insist. I’m not sending you out into the streets like this. If you pass out on a subway platform and something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  I shudder. “I have nightmares about passing out on the subway platform and smelling like pee for the rest of my life.”

  Jack cracks up, the sound of it filling me with longing. “All the more reason you’re coming home with me. My apartment is a pee-free zone. At least the, uh… Okay, not sure where I was going with that.” He offers his hand to help me up, his smile tentative. “So. You, me, Chinese, files?”

  “Okay.” I try to ignore the warmth filling my chest. But by the time Jack helps me to my feet, keeping his arm around me as he leads the way to my desk to fetch my briefcase, the warmth has spread.

  And the reason for the warmth is Jack’s touch and his concern and the way he stays close as we hit the street, clearly not caring what any passersby might think of him having his hand on another man’s back. The reason is the supersize crush I’m developing, which only gets worse when Jack proceeds to order an obscene amount of Chinese food in the name of “giving me leftovers to take to work tomorrow.”

  A man who kisses like the world’s about to end, is amazing in a crisis, and is serious about making sure I’m fed?

  Be still my beating heart…

  But it won’t be still. That’s my problem, and the reason I should take my food and go home—do not go up to his place, do not risk being alone with Jack again.

  Instead, I let him hold the door open for me and follow him to his elevator because some things—like men as smart, thoughtful, and drop-dead sexy as Jack Holt—are impossible to resist.

  Chapter 9

  Jack

  “This view is incredible!” Ellie leans close to the floor-to-ceiling window in my living room, peering out across the city. De-mustached and makeup free, she’s dressed in one of my well-worn Harvard sweatshirts and a pair of basketball shorts about five sizes too big on her, but it’s the best I could offer, considering she was dying to get out of her man-suit and I don’t keep a stash of ladies’ clothes on hand.

  I’m not gonna lie. Seeing Ellie in my clothes, knowing there’s nothing between the fabric and her skin? That image will get me through more than a few lonely nights.

  “If I lived here,” she says, still gazing out the window, “I’d never leave this spot. You’d have to hire a maid to dust and water me once in a while. It’s that beautiful. Don’t you think?”

  The sun went down an hour ago, leaving the glass and steel of Manhattan bathed in a muted glow. But I’m not looking at the buildings or the pink sky or the latticework of roadways below. Not anymore.

  Yes, I appreciate the view my open-plan penthouse apartment affords. It’s glorious day or night, summer or winter, rain or shine.

  But it doesn’t compare to the view tonight, the warm light shimmering in Ellie’s dark-chocolate hair, the endless sounds of the city muffled by the glass and the funky jazz playlist drifting from my speakers.

  “Beautiful,” I say softly. I hold up her coffee mug, steam curling from the surface. “Dash of cream, teaspoon of sugar, yes?”

  Ellie smiles, my reward for getting her coffee order right, and I hand over the mug.

  Dinner was easier. We were both starving, she was still mustached and manly, and we dogged the Chinese takeout straight from the containers, barely stopping for air.

  But now she’s fresh-faced and glowing, my clothes draped over her curves, her dark hair spilling across her shoulders, begging to be touched. And coffee? That’s one step closer to dessert, which, as far as I’m concerned, is one step closer to sex, which is almost certainly a terrible idea.

  Almost…

  Certainly…

  Ellie closes her eyes and takes the first sip, letting out a moan that goes straight to my dick.

  Fuck me.

  “Oh, Jack. Where have you been all my life?” She moans again, showing absolutely no consideration for what she’s doing to me. “I had no idea you could make coffee like this.”

  “One of my two talents,” I say.

  Ellie raises a brow. “What’s the other one?”

  Tearing off those shorts and burying my face between your thighs until you forget what fucking planet you’re on…

  I hold her gaze a moment longer, lost in the dangerous dream of what it might feel like to go down on her, to hear her scream my name, to feel her hands rake through my hair as she pulls me closer…

  “Fine, don’t tell me.” Her playful laughter drags me back to the moment.

  “Actually, there isn’t another one.” I step to the side, putting some much-needed distance between us, hoping she doesn’t notice the bulge in my pants. Unlike Ellie, I’m still wearing my all-too-confining work clothes, and my cock is hating me for it. “I’m really only good at the coffee. Probably why I’m still single.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” She smiles again.

  Forget that million-dollar view. I could stand here and watch this woman wear my clothes and drink my coffee and laugh at my dumb jokes forever.

  And if it weren’t for her brother, and the necessary boundaries of professionalism, and the fact that I have to interact with her daily without dragging her into the closest break room and devouring her lush mouth, I’d probably tell her as much.

  Alas…

  “That script should be done parsing the personnel data in about half an hour,” I say instead, smooth talker that I am. “Then we can print the files, go through everything with a fine-toothed comb, and see where we’re at.”

  “Really?” Ellie lights up, but then shakes her head, a frown pulling at her perfect, pink lips. “You don’t have to do that, Jack. I can take the files home. There’s a reason they call it investigative journalism. We investigate. All part of the gig.”

  “I’ve got a stake in this, too, remember? Besides—I know my employees. This will go a lot faster if you ask me questions as they arise.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate the help. And access to the files. And the dinner and coffee.” She downs the last of it then heads into the kitchen with her mug. “And basically everything you’re doing for me, when all I’m doing is making your job harder.”

  You’re making something harder, all right…

  “Every business has growing pains.” I follow her into the kitchen and drop our mugs into the dishwasher. “I’m grateful you’re her
e to help us through ours. You were right during your fake interview—S and H needs you.”

  This gets another smile. “You sure I’m not bringing down the property value around there? I know I talk a good game, but I’m not exactly the Wolf of Wall Street.”

  “Come on. A little more training, some on-the-job experience, your real identity… You’d be unstoppable. I meant what I said—there’s a place for you at Seyfried and Holt if you ever want to change tracks.”

  She lifts a wry brow. “Something tells me that partner of yours would disagree.”

  “Not if he saw you in action.”

  “He can’t, though. That’s the thing.” She blows out a breath and leans back against the kitchen counter, glancing toward the big windows in the living room. The jazz playlist that entertained us through dinner finally wraps up, and in the silence that follows, the mood feels suddenly heavy.

  “I talked to Ian last night,” she continues. “I gave him an update on my story, but I left out so many details. Major ones.” Her eyes flick to mine for a second, heat gathering between us. “I hate lying to him.”

  Guilt simmers in my gut, and I fight the urge to take her face into my hands. To kiss her. To give her an entire red-hot night of details we’ll never be able to tell her brother about.

  On the verge of making a move I can’t take back, I busy myself with the dishwasher. “It won’t be much longer. Soon you’ll be able to show him your findings and tell him the whole sordid, fake-mustached tale. He’ll have no choice but to bow down to your superior sleuthing skills.”

  After he kicks my ass for letting this happen.

  “You’re probably right,” she says, but from the corner of my eye I catch her shaking her head, absently playing with the ties on her borrowed basketball shorts. “But sometimes I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. I know I made the choice to switch gears in grad school, but even with all the catching up I had to do in the journalism program, I still thought it might work out.”

  “Hasn’t it?”

  “Not exactly.” Ellie shrugs. “I had this whole life plan—go to school, get a great job in business, make a ton of money, make my dad proud.” Her voice is so quiet, it feels like she’s making a confession.