Boss with Benefits (Madly Bad at Love)

1. Rachel

1

RACHEL

S omeone was following me.

I clocked the man at Columbus Circle, lurking near the subway platform just before I boarded the train. He wore a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and when I hopped off at Prince Street, he was right behind me.

At first, I chalked it up to coincidence. But five blocks later, I glanced over my shoulder and there he was—still trailing me. I weaved through the crowd, picking up speed on my skates.

Ever since I joined a Roller Derby league two years ago, my quads had become an extension of me. Skating through the city was my form of freedom. But right then, it was turning into a game of escape. And I couldn't seem to shake this guy.

It might have been my overactive imagination—I did have a knack for drama—but I zigzagged down a couple of side streets, making my way to the Bowery. A quick glance back confirmed my worst fear: he was still there.

He was older, hard to gauge how old with his green Jets cap pulled low and his stature on the shorter side. The gray tufts sticking out from under the hat added an extra layer of unease. I pushed off hard with my right skate, darting across the street, narrowly avoiding two honking cabs. The usual Manhattan chaos wasn't helping—I was held up by a flood of commuters spilling out of a city bus, blocking my path like a human dam. I glanced back again, and there he was, the top of his cap visible through the sea of people.

My destination was just ahead, the sleek glass doors of Dreamary's modern office building. I gritted my teeth and shoved through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks and muttered curses as I made it inside.

My skates nearly betrayed me on the slick marble lobby floor, but I bent my knees and leaned forward, managing to catch my balance just before hitting the elevator. The doors slid shut with a soft ding, and I finally exhaled, pressing a hand to my racing heart. I repeated the mantra my mom had drilled into me as a kid silently: I am safe. I am protected. I am a badass .

When the elevator dinged on the top floor, I glided out into the open-concept office. It was mostly deserted. It was Friday evening, and my best friend, Eva, had mentioned the company's summer Fridays policy. Apparently, everyone except the CEO clocked out early.

Eva was the reason I was there. She’d quit working at Dreamary a year ago but there was still a box of her stuff that she’d never picked up. The office manager had called Eva and told her if she didn’t get it by the end of this week, it was being tossed.

Eva called me frantic and asked if I’d grab it since she was out of town. So there I was. My mission thwarted for the moment.

I headed straight for the windows, my skates humming over the polished wood floors. Dreamary's office was all clean lines, glass walls, and the faint scent of overpriced coffee. I pressed my hands against the warm glass and peered down at the street below. And there he was, still loitering near the building's entrance. The simmering unease in my gut boiled over.

"Shit." I ducked away from the window, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of it. Maybe I was overreacting. Or maybe this guy was a real threat.

No way was I going to sit there like a helpless damsel. In a low squat, I glided toward the far end of the room, into the CEO's large office where Eva's stuff was meant to be stored, and promptly slammed into a stack of cardboard boxes.

"Rachel?" A deep voice cut through the silence from above me.

I flipped over, shoving a box off my legs, and there he was—Derrick Jacques, the CEO, in the flesh, staring down at me with those intense brown eyes that made women in all five boroughs forget their names. His gaze was locked onto my very exposed thigh, courtesy of my torn fishnets and the jagged hole running up the side.

For a split second, I thought he was ogling me like a perv. But then his eyes narrowed, and he asked, "Did someone do that to you?"

I glanced down and realized he wasn't checking me out—he was eyeing the orange-and-yellow bruise spread across my thigh.

"Yeah," I said, flipping to my knees to gather the scattered papers. "Happened during a Roller Derby match. Occupational hazard."

Derrick's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. I knew that look—the ex-detective in him was ready to pounce on whoever he thought had hurt me. But this was no time to get all macho and protective. I needed answers, not a knight in shining armor.

"Don't worry, boss man," I said with a coy grin, trying to lighten the mood. "It's all part of the game."

His frown deepened. "That doesn't mean I like it." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscles straining against his black Dri-FIT shirt. Derrick Jacques was all business, with the build to back it up. He had that rugged, street-hardened detective vibe, and damn if it didn't do things to me.

But it wasn't the time to get distracted. I straightened up, and just as I was about to make a snappy comeback, I caught a glimpse of the man in the Jets cap outside. He was still there, lurking under the streetlamp like some shadowy villain.

"No!" The word burst out of me in a shriek, and Derrick's hand instinctively reached for his waistband, like he was about to pull a gun. But of course, there was no gun there.

"What is it?" Derrick stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he followed my gaze out the window.

"That man," I whispered, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to stay calm. "The one in the Jets cap. He followed me here. And I'm pretty sure he was outside my apartment two days ago."

Derrick's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he processed what I just said.

"Sit down," Derrick ordered, pointing to one of the chairs in front of his wide desk.

"Sir, yes, sir, Mr. Jackass." I mock saluted him.

"What did you call me?"

"Uh, isn't that your last name?"

The side of his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh. "It's Jacques." Then he said it slower and more pronounced. " Hawk -Ez. Like hock a loogie or hockey."

"Got it. You are not a jackass." I swiveled around to sit, but both chairs were covered in piles of papers, coffee cups, balled-up trash, and God knows what else.

He cleared a spot, and I plopped down as he leaned his tall frame against the arm of the opposite chair to mine. "I haven't been able to keep my office in order since Eva left. I didn't realize how much she did to keep my work life in order."

To say Eva was fastidious would be understating her mad organizational skills. We’d been college roommates at Syracuse University, and her obsession with neatness was one of the first things we bonded over. I was impulsive and unstructured, but I liked my physical life ordered and mess-free. Eva liked order in every part of her life.

"When did you first notice him?" Derrick asked, grabbing a small notepad from his cluttered desk to jot down notes. He was OG like that, low-fi.

I only knew him peripherally from hanging out with Eva at the office, but I'd picked up on a few of his quirks.

"I'm probably overreacting," I muttered, crossing my arms defensively. "This is New York, after all. Weirdos are everywhere."

"Maybe," Derrick said, his voice calm but firm. "But a woman's instinct is powerful. Always follow it. Never let anyone tell you you're being silly or crazy."

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I met his gaze, feeling a sudden surge of vulnerability that I wasn't used to.

"Okay," I said quietly, the sass draining out of me. "You're right. I'm pretty sure he was outside my apartment building on Wednesday night. There was a guy across the street with the same hat, staring at me. And now this guy with the same hat is lurking outside Dreamary after I went inside. It can't be a coincidence."

I shuddered, remembering the way he had followed me, like I was prey.

"I agree," he said, picking up the phone on his desk. "I'm calling the local precinct. You're going to tell the officer everything you just told me."

"Wait, now?" I protested, but Derrick was already dialing, his expression leaving no room for argument.

As I watched him make the call, my heart still racing, I realized that for the first time in a long time, I didn’t like not knowing what was going to happen next. And for a woman who lived on skates and thrived on the unexpected, that was saying something.

"Stay right there," he said, and goose bumps raced up my arms. I nodded, a little breathless. "An officer is on his way."