Sexy Bad Boss

by Misti Murphy

“Let me put this bag on the stairs, and then I’ll get us all a drink.” On her way to the kitchen, she says, “Oh, James, how did you manage while I was gone? Any issues?”

  Lots of them, actually. No, just one. He’s standing behind the couch, like a lion, waiting to pounce on its prey.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m fine. But I could definitely use a drink. Wine.” I’ll be damned if I’m going to share my favorite blended scotch with this kid.

  “Alex loves Johnny Walker Blue Label.”

  Of course he does.

  Myra leaves the room and Alex makes himself comfortable in my lounger. “She’s terrific,” he says, leaning forward, like we’re confidants. Like I want to hear anything this kid has to say. “We’ve become great friends. And I can tell you that you’ve really underutilized her.”

  He and Myra are great friends already? How much longer before they become more?

  “I’m torn,” he says. “I’m glad she’s leaving because this is a great opportunity for me, but I’d love to work with her.”

  You and me both, kid.

  Like he’s Odysseus and she’s a siren, Alex’s attention shifts to the entry into the dining room, and we both watch Myra as she returns, carrying a tray upon which rests a bottle of booze, three glasses, a small ice bucket, and a plate of assorted cheeses, slices of summer sausage, and a pile of water crackers. Alex leaps from his seat and insists on taking the tray from her. I stifle a groan because, first, I can’t do that, and second, I didn’t even think to do it.

  While Alex pours drinks and thanks me profusely for sharing such a wonderful blended scotch with him, Myra lifts the cat and settles in its place with it in her arms, purring so loudly the neighbors two streets over can probably hear.

  “The thing’s been here all day,” I tell her. “I let it out back a couple times, but it hasn’t tried to leave once.”

  “Why would it try to leave?” Alex asks while offering me a drink.

  “She isn’t James’s,” Myra says, placing the cat on her lap so she can take her glass from him. “We don’t know who she belongs to. But it’s obvious she’s well taken care of, so whoever it is likely misses her.”

  Alex settles in the lounger again. “We should make some flyers, pin them up around the area. I think there’s a website you can post found animals on. Call the Humane Society and see if anyone has reported her missing.”

  “Myra already did that,” I snap, barely refraining from adding, “Damn it.”

  “Well, I didn’t think to call the Humane Society and I had no idea there is a lost-and-found website,” she qualifies.

  “How many blocks did you cover?” Alex asks, leaning forward again, watching her with an earnestness that’s a little over the top. Okay, a lot.

  Myra glances at me. “Three.”

  “Maybe we should print more flyers,” Alex says. “You and I can go a few more blocks out. Cats tend to wander, you know.”

  “No,” bursts out of my mouth and everyone, even the cat, turns their focus to me. I take a gulp of scotch to stall for a moment, and then I add, “Abby’s on her way over.” Yes, that’ll work as a reasonable excuse to avoid finding Simon’s owners. Or letting Myra wander the streets alone with Alex.

  “Your niece?” Myra asks, wrinkling her brow, like the idea of Abby coming over here is odd. Which I suppose it is. She’s probably been here only three or four times total, and Garrett doesn’t live all that far from me. But I’m never here. I’m usually in the office. Plus, no one seems to think I’m very good with kids.

  As if on cue, the door opens and Abby rushes in, with Garrett and Erin following behind. Erin’s wearing this slinky red dress that would look damn good on Myra and my brother’s dressed in—are those leather pants?—and a black, V-neck T-shirt. It’s a far cry from his usual, gaudy garb.

  “Uncle James,” Abby calls out, running toward the couch. “Daddy says I get to hang out with you! But he wouldn’t let me bring Ducky because he says I’m not going to believe this but you have a—you do have a kitty!”

  She lunges for the cat in Myra’s lap, which is precariously close to my broken ankle. I tense, expecting a painful impact, but Alex swoops in and plucks her out of the air before it happens. She lets out a squeal as he places her on the floor on Myra’s other side, far enough from my foot that I can expel the breath I was holding.

  “I gotcha covered, boss,” Alex says, winking at me and then skirting the couch with his arm extended. “Hi there, I’m Alex Darling, James’s new admin. You must be Garrett Frost, his brother, the famous golfer. I’m a huge fan.”

  Apparently the muted clothing isn’t going to provide enough of a disguise that Garrett won’t be recognized at the concert.

  Alex turns his focus to Erin and offers a blinding smile. “And you must be the new fiancée. I saw the announcement on the Golf Digest website this morning. I have to say, Garrett sure chose well. Really well.”

  “Oh, he’s a charmer,” Erin says, laughing up at Garrett, who’s eying the kid like he isn’t quite sure what to make of him.

  That makes two of us.

  Alex shoves his thumb over his shoulder. “That your daughter?”

  “Yeah,” Garrett says.

  “I love kids. I’m great with them, too.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Garrett mutters, and I want to hug him. Or at least give him a fist bump.

  Alex laughs like he wasn’t just insulted and beckons them into the house, offering up my Johnny Walker Blue Label. The amber liquid in that bottle’s dipping awfully low.

  “No, we’re good. We have dinner reservations. Hey, James, is it cool if she spends the night? We’ll come grab her as soon as we get up in the morning.”

  What the hell am I supposed to do with a toddler overnight? What time does she go to bed? Where will she sleep? Is she potty trained? Am I supposed to read to her before bed?

  “I love sleepovers,” Alex enthuses and this time even Myra arches her eyebrows. “When I was a kid, I used to spend the night at my aunt and uncle’s house all the time.”

  “Was a kid?” Garrett says.

  “Of course she can stay the night,” Myra responds, standing up and retrieving the small, purple rolling bag from Garrett’s grasp. “She can sleep with me. And we’ll make pancakes in the morning. I wonder if we are savvy enough to make Mickey Mouse pancakes?” She gives Abby an inquiring look.

  Abby has her arms around the cat and its back legs are hanging almost to the floor, but the thing doesn’t appear to mind. She butts her head against Abby’s chin and the little girl lets out a delighted giggle.

  “I love Mickey Mouse pancakes. Erin makes them all the time. She uses blueberries for the eyes and raspberries for the nose and mouth.”

  “I’m not sure we have any berries,” Myra says.

  “I’ll run and get some,” Alex offers up.

  “We’ll make due,” I snap.

  “All right, we’re out of here. Have fun, folks.” Garrett and Erin retreat and I wish Alex would follow.

  Instead, he crouches next to Abby and asks, “Have you had dinner yet?”

  She nods. “I ate before we came over.”

  “Cool. Sounds like it’s time for dessert. I wonder if your uncle has anything sweet in his kitchen?”

  Her eyes widen. “Like chocolate chip cookies?”

  Nope, not gonna find those in my house. Not that I have anything against chocolate chip cookies. In fact, I love them, but only if they’re homemade. Which means the only time I have them is when I visit my parents or Myra happens to bring them to the office.

  “Myra makes amazing chocolate chip cookies,” I spontaneously spout.

  “Oh yeah?” Alex says, giving her the side-eye. “So do I. Should we have a contest? Abby can be judge. Winner owes the other a drink one day after work.”

  What? No! That’s a guaranteed date, no matter who wins! “I want in on this.”

  Myra and Alex give me identical surprised looks, which is a little bit annoy
ing since Alex has no freaking clue if I can bake.

  “Yay,” Abby says, clapping enthusiastically. “Let’s make cookies.”

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Eleven

  MYRA

  What on earth is happening here? James baking? The man is brilliant at brokering deals, not so much in the kitchen. In fact, he can’t boil, steam, sauté, fry, or bake. For heaven’s sake, he’s burned toast to a crisp, charred bit of coal more times than any man should.

  Abby skips ahead of us with Simon at her heels as we enter the kitchen. James wheels his chair along behind them, while Alex and I take up the rear of this cookie expedition. Alex’s grin lights his eyes, and he’s all white teeth and enthusiasm that’s semicontagious. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it, Abby?”

  “Uh-huh.” She pulls herself up onto a seat at the counter and swings her little legs. Simon perches on the stool next to her and butts its head against her arm until she throws both around its body. “I love cookies. Kitty does too.”

  They’re both so cute, and maybe I do have a slight touch of baby fever, or perhaps toddler fever. Or James fever, after this afternoon. I certainly have gotten warm in the face and other places each of the million times it’s crossed my mind since.

  “I don’t think it does. Cats don’t eat cookies.” James tells her, getting as close to the kitchen counter as possible. He lets go of the wheels with a humph. “Can I get a hand please, Myra?”

  “This one does.” Abby giggles. “You’ll see.”

  “There’s not really enough room for a competition in your kitchen, James.” I have no clue if Alex can bake, but surely he has the potential to show up his new boss. And that, coupled with how hard it will be for James to work in the kitchen with his injuries, is enough for me to try to put an end to this competition before it begins. What is he trying to accomplish with this display of bravado anyhow?

  “I’ve got it.” Alex jumps to James’s aid before I have a chance. Wrapping an arm around James’s chest, he lifts him onto his feet.

  “I asked Myra to help,” James gripes.

  “It’s just as easy for me to aid you,” Alex continues to help him onto a stool.

  “That’s not the point.” James scowls, deep grooves carved across his forehead. “I didn’t ask you to assist me. I asked Myra. Just because she thinks you can take her position doesn’t mean you can. Besides, I didn’t ask to be helped out of the chair.”

  “Yes, but we can take the chair back into the living room and there will be plenty of room for baking cookies this way.” Alex wheels the chair out the way we came.

  “He has a point. There’s not enough space for three chefs in this kitchen. How about I bake the cookies and you talk to Alex about his ideas?” There, maybe I can save him from burning down his kitchen and firing his new assistant all in the same day.

  “Nope. Abby wants a cookie competition, don’t you, Abby?”

  “Please.” She claps her hands, which makes Simon blink and meow since Abby’s little hands are so close to the cat’s nose.

  “See. So let’s get to it. Winner has to buy the loser a drink.”

  “All right.” If he wants to be shown up by his new assistant, who am I to get in the way?

  “Okay.” Alex slaps and rubs his hands together as he moves to the pantry. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

  While I collect bowls and measuring cups and wooden spoons, Alex surprisingly wrangles the ingredients we need for this crazy competition. Although maybe it’s not so shocking that someone as organized as James would have all the staples of his favorite cookie on hand, just waiting for me to put my hand to baking. We’re both so good at anticipating the other’s wants, we’re practically symbiotic. In everything except how I feel about him. But maybe that’s changing. He was jealous this afternoon. Is that why he’s putting himself through this baking ordeal?

  “Abby.” James lowers his voice to a conspirator’s level. “Do you want to be on my team? I’ll let you lick the spoon.”

  “Yay!” She bounces on her seat, beaming.

  “Great,” he says, and then I swear I hear him mutter under his breath, “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  An hour later, I’m done with the whole freaking rivalry between James and Alex. The range hood fan whirs loudly, sucking what’s left of the smoke out of the air. Two plates of cookies sit in front of Abby, who is now dressed in her pajamas. The third lot, James and Abby’s effort, lie in a charred, crumbly mess at the bottom of the sink as Alex whistles a funeral dirge under his breath. James is irked, his whole body vibrating with tension while he glares at his assistant. How the two of them are supposed to work together is beyond me. Worse, I can’t quite blame James for being irritated, even if he’s overreacting.

  “Why don’t you try a cookie?” I push the plates closer to Abby.

  “Two,” she says. “I have to try two.” Then she wrinkles her nose. “But I’m not going to try Uncle James’s because they’re burnt.”

  “That’s right.” I smile at James, an attempt at sympathy I’m not sure he notices. “Which means that either Alex or I have to buy your uncle a drink.”

  I hold my breath and purse my lips as the little girl bites into first one cookie and then another. Alex, it turns out, can bake, but I need to win to save James from an uncomfortable date with a man he doesn’t have the patience for in his current state. I’ve never seen him act like a testosterone-filled bull before, bumping heads and puffing up his chest like he wants to beat on it and remind us all that he’s the boss.

  “Alex, you make good cookies.” Abby chews thoughtfully. “Chocolate-y.”

  “Of course they’re chocolate-y,” James grumbles. “They’ve got chocolate in them. The same as Myra’s, and ours. If someone had been watching the oven, maybe we’d still be in the competition.”

  “My fault entirely,” Alex agrees. “Myra told me you were progressive and would be open to my ideas. I was just trying to assist you to the best of my ability.”

  “Mmmmm.” Abby’s eyes widen and light up as she chews on a bite of one of my cookies. “These are my favoritest. They taste like ooey gooey chocolate, but better.”

  Both men drop their conversation to look at Abby and then snatch up a cookie each. James chews thoughtfully, while Alex takes a bite and then holds the rest of the cookie up to his face. “What’s different? I thought we made the same cookie.”

  “Secret ingredient.” I pretend to zip my lip and stow the key in my pocket, which makes Abby giggle until cookie crumbs fall out of her mouth.

  “Come on, Myra, tell us,” Alex pleads. “These are some of the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I don’t know how you expect me to survive without your cookies, Myra.” The rigidity with which James has been holding himself since his cookies turned to charcoal eases off as he chews. “No one makes my favorite like you do.”

  “That’s it. You have to tell me what you did.” Alex flaps his cookie in the air. “For the boss’s sake.”

  “No,” I say at the same time James does. I catch his eye and get a little lost in the way he’s looking at me. Does he like my cookie that much? My pulse flutters, and I slip my hand to the base of my throat as heat blooms under my skin. Is it wrong that I love the way he looks at me like I’m important to him, that I imagine I’m more than just an asset?

  “Your job description doesn’t include baking cookies, Alex.” There’s no irritation in the way he talks to the kid this time. It’s just matter of fact. “And your ideas aren’t terrible, but your delivery needs work. You’ve been with the company for less than twenty-four hours. How about we learn to walk before we fly?”

  Alex chews thoughtfully then nods once. “Okay.”

  “Now, I would like my chair so I can retire to the living room.”

  Alex leaves to retrieve James’s chair, and I scoop Abby out of her seat. “It’s time for you to brush your teeth and go to bed, do
n’t you think?”

  “Dad lets me stay up until midnight,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder and yawning.

  James and I share a glance. Maybe this kid thing isn’t so awful, if you find the right person to share it with. Maybe if James and I... I push those thoughts right back where they belong. One step at a time. “I don’t think so.”

  “Myra’s right.” James squeezes her hand as we pass him to say goodnight. “Bedtime for you.”

  “Good night, Uncle James, good night, Alex,” she whispers as we pass him bringing in the wheelchair.

  ***

  Abby talked me into reading a couple of bedtime stories before she fell asleep with one arm flung over the cat, who had curled up and started purring the minute I got Abby into bed. By the time I came back downstairs, Alex had left and James was on a call, so I headed into the kitchen.

  The way James ordered me to drop my panties and then treated me to what might easily be the best orgasm of my life has been playing on my mind all evening. So has the fact that I didn’t get to hear what he was going to say before Garrett interrupted us. I desperately want to know what it was. Now we’re alone again. Pretty soon his phone call will end, and I’ll run out of dishes, and then what? How do I tell him something I haven’t been able to find the words for yet?

  “What are you doing?” James asks from the entry to the kitchen while I scrub another plate and set it in the rack.

  “Figured I’d clean up the kitchen while you were on the phone.” I dunk another plate into the hot suds and swipe the cloth over its surface.

  “You were engrossed in those dishes. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking about how much I’m going to miss nights like these. Not that they happen a lot.” I deposit the plate in the drying rack and reach for a mixing bowl. “Before I came to Frost Inc., I had this idea that I’d start my own cookie business.”

  “You would have been great at it.” There’s something, a roughness, to James’s voice that isn’t usual.

  “Not then. I didn’t know enough. Baking and business are not the same.”

  “That’s true. They aren’t.” His biceps and forearms flex as he wheels closer. “But you would have made it work, Supergirl. You have the head for giving people what they want before they know what it is. I’m just glad you chose me instead. Well, Frost Inc.”