Chapter 2
Casey
“It’s professional. Right? It’s professional?”
I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror on the back of my bathroom door.
Natalie’s sitting on my bed. I have approximately a half hour before Mr. Whelan’s driver will be outside my house, and there’s no way he’ll be anything but exactly on time.
Nobody works for Boss Bastard long if they’re ever anything but prompt.
“It’s got to be.” Natalie looks as confused as I feel. “You said he picked up the vibrator?”
“He turned it on.”
“Seriously?” She shakes her head with pure wonder. “Was it hot?”
“No! It was terrifying!”
“Right, scary, but it’s Declan Whelan. I mean, the man’s absolutely insane and probably a sadist, but he’s beautiful. Like, I’d let him burn me with cigarettes if it meant getting to lick his toes kind of gorgeous.”
I stare at her, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t kink shame me.”
I groan and turn back to the mirror. “It just doesn’t make sense. He saw the lingerie and the vibrator, and he knew it was all mine. Then I spilled my soul to him, gave him this pathetic speech about feeling lonely, and instead of firing my ass—”
“He made you make dinner reservations. Seriously, the more you tell me the story, the crazier it sounds.”
I think back to that moment when he held the vibrator up and switched it on.
He didn’t seem angry, more confused if anything.
And there was that other look he gave me, the hungry one, laced with desire and lust. A look I didn’t even think he was capable of.
But for the first time since he hired me, it felt like he was seeing me as more than a glorified coffee-fetcher and note-taker.
He was looking at me like I was a woman.
I mean, I am a woman. Twenty-five and in my prime.
In theory, anyway. Men still treat me like I’m hideously disfigured even though Natalie swears I’m pretty.
And I think she’s right. I have thick auburn hair, nice lips, and a solid figure.
I’m on the short side and I could probably lose a little extra weight, but it’s all in my boobs and my butt, so it’s not a huge deal.
That just makes this all so much more confusing.
“It’s got to be a professional thing,” I say with more confidence. “Mr. Whelan wouldn’t cross that line, right?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not capable of it.” She hesitates, tapping a finger against her lip. “Well, I mean, I’m sure he’s capable of it, just based on his tight suit pants—”
“Natalie!”
“But he’s Boss Bastard, right? With the emotional range of a broken refrigerator?”
“Exactly.” I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. “But what if it’s not?”
That question hangs in the air between us and she doesn’t have an answer.
It’s why I’m wearing this black, knee-length sheath dress, in theory safe and suitable for work, except it’s got a neckline that dips down just on the wrong side of low, showing off slightly too much cleavage.
I’ve never worn it before. Never had a reason. It’s serious enough that I wouldn’t take it on a normal date, but too revealing for a work event.
But this is neither of those things.
I can’t be on a date. Not with Boss Bastard. But Mr. Whelan would never take me to Dolce Vita, the most trendy and expensive restaurant in New York City at the moment, not for a work reason. He’s way too cheap for that.
Nothing about this situation makes sense, and my outfit reflects it.
I put on a pair of strappy heels. Again, they’re not exactly screaming fuck-me, but I wouldn’t walk around the office in them. I keep the jewelry minimal, just small pearl studs, but I finish the whole outfit off with bold red lipstick.
Natalie raises her eyebrows when I put it on.
“Sexy and confident,” she comments. “I like the choice.”
“I want him looking at my mouth and not at my tits.”
“He’ll be picturing himself going to town on either end, I bet.”
“Natalie!” I throw the lipstick tube at her. She laughs, batting it aside. “This is professional.”
“Then what’s with the tits? And the lacy bra?”
“Hedging my bets. He said to wear something venue appropriate, and it’s Dolce Vita.”
“Good point, but still.”
“We’re just going to discuss work stuff, that’s all it is. I bet I’ll get there and he’ll have some other girl at the table. He’ll probably ask me to take notes.”
“God, can you imagine?” She laughs lightly, but her smile quickly fades. “Oh my god, do you think that’s actually going to happen?”
“I mean, it’s totally possible.”
“I’ll kick him in the teeth if he puts you through that.”
“Honestly?” I sit down next to her with a groan. “I’d prefer that over the alternative.”
She gives me a consoling pat on the leg. “What if this is a date though? What are you going to do?”
“Freak out, probably.”
“Are you going to call him Declan?”
“Wow, can you imagine? I’ve never used his first name before. It’s always Mr. Whelan or sir.”
She grins and waggles her eyebrows. “I bet he loves hearing you say sir.”
“Stop it. Not helpful.”
“Would it be that terrible though? I mean, seriously, he’s hot as hell and rich as sin. The guy’s family is crazy connected. And I bet he’s into some seriously weird and fun bedroom stuff.”
I hold up a hand to stop her right there. “I’m not interested.”
“Are you sure? Knowing your track record, you should probably take what you can get, right? Boss Bastard is a terror in the boardroom, but between the sheets, I bet he’s—”
“Not interested!” I repeat, cutting her fantasy off. “I’m only going because he’s my employer and because I feel bad about the whole sex toys and lingerie mix-up. I’ll eat with him, we’ll discuss work stuff, and I’ll be home by nine sharp. It’ll be fine.”
“But what if it’s not?”
“I’ll text you, how about that? If you don’t hear from me by, let’s say, ten tonight, make sure you call and text like there’s some kind of emergency, okay?”
“I can do that,” she says slowly. “But are you sure? Declan Whelan is gorgeous, and besides—”
“And besides nothing. This is professional.” I check my phone. It’s time. I get to my feet, wobbling slightly. “I’ll text you soon, okay?”
Mr. Whelan’s driver leaves me at the door of Dolce Vita. It’s in a hip West Village neighborhood and looks like an old-style Italian restaurant had a baby with a Starbucks, which is apparently cool these days.
The hostess takes me straight back despite the crowd waiting around. I catch a few annoyed stares, but I don’t let them bother me. I’m used to a little bit of privilege from working for Mr. Whelan over the years.
Mainline Logistics is a successful and large shipping corporation. The company has a little piece of pretty much every truck that leaves or goes through the greater New York City region. As the CEO, that would make Mr. Whelan powerful enough, but I swear sometimes it’s more than that.
His name opens doors. More doors than should be available to a shipping guy.
Natalie said his family is connected, but that’s mostly a rumor.
He’s got a bunch of brothers and from what I hear, they’re all rich and successful in a bunch of different businesses scattered all over the city.
But it’s nothing more nefarious than lots of money flowing through Whelan bank accounts.
I find myself wobbling toward a small table in a very nice, quiet part of the restaurant. I slow, staring, and find Mr. Whelan is already waiting for me.
And for a second, I can’t breathe.
He’s not in his usual suit. I’ve never seen him without it before.
Instead, he’s got on an expensive and understated charcoal cashmere sweater with a collared shirt underneath, the top button undone, showing a bit of skin at his throat.
The sweater clings to his chest and arms like a glove, showing off his gorgeous musculature.
A new watch glitters on his wrist, likely more expensive than most cars.
He’s got on navy slacks, perfectly pressed, and brown Italian leather loafers with no socks.
I stare at a sliver of ankle. Natalie would lose her shit for that small stretch of skin near his feet.
I’ve never seen him so sinfully casual before.
The way he looks at me in return makes my heart nearly stop dead. His gaze rakes down my body, lingering at my mouth, at my earrings, at my chest and my hips. His expression softens and that hint of hunger returns to his eyes, but it’s leashed now, like he’s keeping himself under control.
He sits forward slightly, intense but also inviting.
The hostess says something as I seat myself, but I can’t hear anything at all. She places a menu at my elbow before withdrawing.
There’s already a glass of wine waiting.
“I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of ordering drinks,” he murmurs, his voice soft and melodious. I try to remember the last time he spoke to me without a sharp command and can’t come up with anything.
“Uh, thank you, Mr. Whelan.”
His lips tug upwards in the third smile I’ve ever seen from him.
It’s gorgeous and completely terrifying.
“Tonight, you may call me Declan.” He leans in, the smile getting bigger. “Or you may call me sir.”
Holy shit!
Is that a joke? Is he flirting? No, he’s not flirting; that was just normal professional colleague teasing. Nothing weird!
“Of course, Mr. Whelan, I mean, Declan, sir.”
He leans back, swirling his glass of wine, watching me carefully. The man exudes pure confidence and power. He sits like he could buy this place and have it emptied out in seconds. Like if he wanted to take me right here, right now, out in the open on this table, nobody would dare try to stop him.
It’s masculine and dangerous. I’ve never been the subject of this much of his attention before, and it terrifies me.
“Please, take a look at the menu. Get whatever you like. And if you aren’t sure, I’d be happy to choose for you.”
“Ah, no, thank you, I’ll take a look. Thank you, Mr.—” I clear my throat and drink some wine. “Declan.”
He nods coolly, his smile gone, and I hide behind the menu.
I’m sweating.
It’s terrible.