Like a Boss

Chapter 3

T he next morning, I walk into Fox Technologies nursing my tall cappuccino like it’s my lifeline. It took me half the night, but I did it. I got everything Mr. Fox wanted done, and I totally aced it.

I vaguely listen to Hannah as she suggests we go out Friday night for drinks with a few coworkers. “Sure, Han, sounds fun.”

She latches on to my arm while I almost trip over my heels. When she touches my forehead, I shrink away. “Quit it.”

I laugh quietly, looking around the office to ensure no one saw.

“Sorry, I was just making sure you felt okay.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” I mock, stopping outside my office.

“I’ll see you for lunch?”

“If I’m allowed out of my prison, then yes,” I tease, half joking.

Hannah smirks. She turns to leave but stops. “Oh, nice shoes.”

Looking down at my shoes, which have been dubbed “the shoes,” I can’t keep the banter from my tone when I reply, “They keep me on my toes.”

“That they do,” she responds with a wink.

I wave her goodbye and use my butt to open the door, as I have a coffee tray in one hand and my briefcase in the other.

“Well, that’s one way to open a door.”

I shriek, almost dropping my loot. “Jesus Christ! You need to wear a bell around your neck,” I exclaim, entering the office foyer and ignoring the eagle eyes of my boss. He looks exceptional in a navy pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt, and, gasp… a blood-red tie.

“Are you suggesting I’m to wear a collar, Ms. Young?”

Shrugging, I hope I appear unaffected. “Sure, if that’s your thing.” I brush past him as he leans against my desk, watching my every move.

Willing my shaky fingers to stop betraying my nerves, I go about setting up, pretending he’s not there. “Oh, here you go. Here is your tall blonde roast, no milk.”

“Thank you.” He accepts the coffee appreciatively.

However, that appreciation soon turns to annoyance when I see him lift up the cup to read the name scribbled on the front. In big red letters, the name ‘Jackass’ can be clearly seen.

He peers over at me, cocking a brow.

“Oh.” I fake innocence, barely biting back my smile. “They must have misheard me.”

He doesn’t believe a word. “Indeed.” He continues standing and staring at me while I fluff around my desk, unsure why he’s still here.

His cologne is doing things to my hormones, and I swallow. “Is there anything else?” I ask, using my notepad as a barricade between us, as he’s making it more than obvious he’s currently undressing me with those striking eyes.

He cocks his head to the side. “Yes, there is. Follow me.” He turns on his heel and walks into his office, leaving the door open.

Into the lion’s den, I go once again.

“Shut the door,” he commands when I enter. He is leaning against the edge of his desk, arms and ankles folded. He is a picture of perfection, but underneath that perfection, I can sense things are about to get messy.

I do as he asks and wait for him to speak.

“How do you like your job?” he randomly queries.

“I—” My voice gets caught in my throat. I clear my throat twice before answering. “I find it challenging, but I enjoy a challenge.”

He raises a brow. “How is it challenging?”

Trying not to scoff at such a ridiculous question, I put on my best professional face. “Well, look around,” I say, sweeping my hand to his office. “You like control. You demand perfection. I just hope I can deliver because I really want this job.”

He nods and pushes off the desk. “Do I make you nervous, Ms. Young?” he asks as I clutch my hands behind my back.

I lie. “No, sir.”

“How do I make you feel then?” He takes a step closer while I force myself to stand my ground.

I don’t know in what aspect he’s asking, so I answer professionally. “You make me want to be the best that I can be. I want to please you.”

Those sensual lips tip into a knowing smile. “And you have.”

I gulp.

Taking another step closer, he stands self-assuredly as I squirm. I hate his confidence because it turns me on. I love to hate this arrogant beast in front of me.

“What do you think of my office?”

I know there is a reason for the twenty questions, so I play along. Looking around, the only words that come to mind are wearisome, colorless, and dull, but I shrug. “It’s… great.”

He laughs and I jolt, startled to hear the uncommon sound. “Great.Great is such a noncommittal word, Ms. Young. What is exactly great about it?”

“Um…” My brows knit together. “The view?”

“The view,” he repeats, appearing to be deep in thought. “I suppose you’re right. The view is rather great . Anything else?”

I don’t know what he wants me to say. He’s toying with me, and I don’t like it.

“There are no wrong or right answers. Just your honest opinion.”

Honestly, there is nothing great about this sterile, orderly office. Personally, I like disorder. This is way too much methodical for me. So I remain quiet, deciding that’s the better option than being caught out on a lie.

“Your silence reveals there is in fact nothing “great” to be found in here. Would you mind sharing what you find offensive?”

Is this another trick question? Is this a test, and if I fail, I’ll be on the first bus out of here?

Deciding to be honest, I meet his confident stare. “It’s just a little too controlled for me, sir. You can’t even see the floor in my bedroom,” I share, opting to leave out the fact my floor is the living room floor.

“Oh? So you like disorder and chaos?” His words are dripping in innuendo as he saunters around me.

“Why are you asking me this?” I ask, turning to look at him over my shoulder.

“Because, Ms. Young, I’m trying to understand why you would feel the need to bring your disorder into my office.”

“My what?” I instantly look down at my clothes. Did I miss a button on my blouse?

“Obviously my office is not to your liking because you felt the need to redecorate.”

“Redecorate?”

When he stops in front of his bookshelf, I get it. I can’t believe he saw it already. I was expecting at least a week for him to notice and by that time, anyone could have done it. But now, I’m caught red-handed.

I lower my eyes, feeling my cheeks heat. I can see the glow reflecting off his polished Italian loafers.

I don’t know why I did it. I just wanted to ruffle his perfect feathers. Just like I want to run my hand through his slicked-back hair and free his imprisoned locks. What a boring, unsatisfied life he must live, where everything has a place. I can’t help but wonder where my place is. He makes it clear a moment later.

“If I wanted to redecorate, I’d hire a fucking interior designer,” he barks, his jaw firm. “Do that again, and you’ll be looking for another job. Understood?”

He’s serious. It was meant to be a joke. But the hard look in his eye reveals Mr. Fox doesn’t appreciate the humor. He is as anal retentive as he acts and sounds.

“I said… do you… understand?” he asks, speaking as if I’m an imbecile.

Not appreciating his tone whatsoever, I bite back, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go get me another coffee. One without the juvenile antics, if you could.”

I stand stunned, but I don’t know what I expected. The man has gone through personal assistants faster than I can say ‘Fuck you, Mr. Dylan Fox, and the godlike complex you embrace!’

“That’ll be all, Ms. Young,” he says when I remain rooted to the spot.

My eyes fill with hot, angry tears, but I bite them back as I refuse to show weakness. I nod, and he turns his back to me, placing his hands in his pockets.

What a dismissal.

Walking over to his desk, I refrain from throwing the scalding coffee in his face as I snatch it off the polished surface. I hold my head up high as I walk past him. He doesn’t turn, nor does he acknowledge I’m there.

Well, fuck him. I refuse to allow another man to treat me like dirt.

I take a quick peep over my shoulder to ensure his back is still turned. It is. With bated breath, I speedily reach for a hideous glass ornament of a duck, which is perched on the filing cabinet and totally out of place, as I didn’t take him for a duck lover. Without delay, I turn it around and smile smugly.

I contain my laughter and exit the room.

The rest of the week is just as bad as the start, and when Friday rolls through, I welcome it with tequila and limes.

“I promise, as soon as I can afford my own place, Han, I’ll be out of your hair,” I assure her, tossing my dirty clothes into my makeshift hamper.

Hannah’s small apartment is barely big enough for her. But that’s the price she’s willing to pay for an apartment with a view.

“It’s fine.” She waves me off, pouring us shot number three. “I like you and your messiness.”

“At least someone does.”

“I still can’t believe you screwed with him that way, and you’ve still got a job.” She tosses back a shot, making a pained face the moment it goes down.

When she passes me mine, I relish in the burn. “Fire me for what?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “For touching his precious books? I’ll sue his ass for unfair dismissal.”

“He’s fired people for a lot less,” she reveals, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Really?”

“Yes, which makes me believe under his tough exterior, he’s all gooey soft for you.”

Letting out a sarcastic laugh, I declare, “Soft? Did you not hear me when I detailed how he made me his personal slave all week?”

“Well, forget about him.” She waves further talks of Mr. Fox off. “It’s the weekend, baby, and we’re going to not remember it.”

When she holds up two shot glasses, I drop the basket and happily reach for one. “I’ll drink to that.” We toss back our tequila, both opening and closing our mouths in distaste.

“Okay, let’s do this!” I slam my glass on the counter.

“You’re not wearing that are you?” Hannah pulls a face while sucking on a lime.

“Yes, why?” I look down at my jeans, Chucks, and off-the-shoulder black tee.

“I may or may not have mentioned to Ken that you were coming tonight,” she playfully reveals, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Who?”

“Ken,” she repeats, but it’s not ringing any bells. She throws in another clue. “The hottie I introduced you to at lunch yesterday.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about. Did I even eat lunch yesterday?”

Hannah bursts into fits of laughter. “Yes, although you were hacking into your steak like you were envisioningit to be someone’s face.”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Oh yeah, now I remember.”

“Who, Ken?”

“No, the steak,” I clarify.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Throw on that little black dress which shows off your assets,” and she winks.

Rolling my eyes, I reply, “No offense, Han, but the last time I listened to you and showed off my assets, I got screwed, literally, by my boss, who just happens to be a pig. Actually, pig is a compliment, as I actually like pigs.”

Hannah is holding back her smile.

“What’s so funny?” I prop my hand on my hip.

“You so wanna fuck him.”

I throw a lime at her. “Fuck you.”

The club we’re at isn’t exactly the place I’d usually choose to go to, but shots are two dollars, so I’m not complaining.

Turns out, I do remember meeting Ken. I’m actually surprised I forgot because he’s gorgeous. With curly brown hair, hypnotizing jade eyes, and a killer smile, he’s someone most women would fall over to talk to. Not to mention he’s polite and not at all cocky, but as he’s talking to me about his goals and dreams, I feel my eyelids grow heavy as I smother yawn number ten behind my hand.

What is the matter with me?

Ken is exactly the type of man I should be interested in, but I’m not. That thought has me tossing back another shot.

Hannah nudges me with her knee, and I lean in close. “So, what do you think of Mr. Dreamy Eyes?”

“He’s great.” I bite my lip to stop my smile. “Great is such a noncommittal word, Ms. Young.”

Ugh, get out of my head! But secretly, I like that all thoughts lead back to him.

“That goofy smile reveals you think someone else is a lot more than just great.”

The loud dance music drowns out my groan. “What is the matter with me, Han? I’m messed up. He’s a complete jerk, not to mention a complete control freak, but whenever I’m in his presence, I feel… alive.”

Hannah doesn’t reply, but I sense her bewilderment over this situation as she sips her cocktail.

“Scott was safe,” I continue, needing to say this out loud. “And I felt grounded, but with Tiger”—I lower my voice so our colleagues won’t hear—“I feel like I’m breaking all the rules… and I like it.”

Hannah pulls back, grinning. “Who would have thought little Baylee Young is a rule breaker.”

“Yes, I’m surprised, too.”

“Whatever will your grandmother’s parish down in Louisiana say?”

“Shh!” I giggle, placing my finger over my lips. “Jesus will hear you.”

Hannah chuckles, and we guzzle back another shot. The booze has lightened me up, and this is the first time since Scott that I’ve felt happy.

There are about twenty fellow employees here tonight, and I’m proud that I’ve spoken to most. They’ve all asked what it’s like working for Mr. Fox, and I’ve been as diplomatic as I can be. Consensus is everyone thinks he’s an uptight asshole who needs to loosen up. But it’s to be expected that a thirty-one-year-old, successful businessman would be a little neurotic.

I’ve tried to subtly ask what his back story is, but no one knows, as he doesn’t openly share his personal life. I make it a point to investigate later.

“Are you going to dance?” Ken asks into my ear. His closeness and warmth startle me, and I pull back.

“No. I’m an awful dancer, and not to mention, I think I’m drunk.” Looking at the table littered with empty shot glasses and bottles, I amend, “Actually, I don’t think, I am.”

“That’s okay. I won’t let you fall.” Before I can object, he places his hand on my lower back.

With no other choice, I cast him a strained smile. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He smirks his award-winning smile and leads me to the dance floor.

A group of us begin dancing, with Hannah in the middle, tossing her hair from side to side. An upbeat dance song plays loudly on the speakers, sending the vibrant crowd into a dancing frenzy.

I hobble awkwardly, feeling ridiculous, as I don’t usually listen to Top 40. Ken must see my uncomfortableness because he subtly shuffles in front of me and begins giving me my own personal floor show. He’s got the moves, and I can’t deny he looks hot. So when he places a hand lightly on my hip and draws me close so we’re inches apart, I don’t shy away.

I’m a lot shorter than he is, so he dips low. “Having fun?”

I nod.

“I would really love to take you out one day.”

Pulling back, I resist the urge to clear out my ears. “What?”

He smiles, guiding my hips to continue moving to the music. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

“No, I’m not…” But this is too soon. I squash down the inner voice which is screaming at me that it wasn’t too soon to sleep with your boss.

“Hannah told me you broke up with your ex-boyfriend months ago.” His heavy breathing gusting against my neck is suddenly making me itchy.

“I did, but…”

“But I’d really like to get to know you better. No pressure, of course.” He leans in close, his lips pressing against my cheek.

I feel like I’m suffocating, and his heavy-handed cologne suddenly makes me gag. I pull away so quickly, I’m certain I’ve given myself whiplash. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the restroom,” I explain when he looks at me, baffled.

“Oh. I’ll come with you.” When he attempts to slip his hand into mine, I shrug away and out of his hold.

“It’s okay. I won’t be long.”

He reads my brush off loud and clear, but smiles.

Pushing my way through the sweaty, gyrating bodies is quite a mission, and when I finally break through, I breathe out a sigh of relief. After the awkward PDA, I need a drink, but the bar is crammed full with a line of thirsty patrons. Not wanting to make a liar out of myself, I decide to hit the restroom and then sober up with a few gallons of water.

It’s so impossibly loud in here; my ringing ears thank me when I reach the restrooms. Of course, the line is a mile long, but I happily wait as I need a breather from Ken and his getting-to-know-me speech. He’s known me for all of five seconds. Why is he asking me out? His forwardness has just confirmed that I’m not interested in dating any time soon.

However, I didn’t have any qualms about having sex with a complete stranger. What does that say about my morality?

My bag vibrates against my leg, so I open it up, thankful for the distraction. I search for my phone, in beliefs it’s Hannah, asking where I’ve gone. I gag on my tongue when I see who the text message is from.

Are you having a pleasant evening?

That single phrase sends my senses into overdrive. Why is Mr. Fox texting me?

I stare at the screen, unsure of how to respond.

I am, thank you. I’ll have the notes you requested for Monday’s 9 a.m. meeting on your desk by 7:45 a.m.

I have no idea why he’s texting me. I assume it’s work related.

Thank you. Where are you?

I raise an eyebrow.

I’m out.

Anywhere special.

Not really.

Such noncommittal answers. I’m disappointed, Ms. Young. Next thing you’ll tell me is the place you’re at is great.

I gulp.

Why is he making small talk? He’s so confusing. It’s like he can sense I’m trying to have a pleasant evening without him.

I’ll have you know the place, and the people I’m with are really great.

What people?

Just people.

Stop being so vague.

Stop being so nosy!

I press send before I talk some sense into my heated brain.

Just when I think I’ve overstepped a line, my phone dings.

Where are you?

You’ll never find me. Have a nice weekend.

This is getting me nowhere, and he’s ruining my high.

Try not to make any decisions you’ll regret when sober.

Squeaking, I duck low and look around me. The girl next to me almost certainly thinks I’ve lost my mind.

How would he know I’m faced with a decision? And how does he know I’m drunk?

There is no way he’s here, I reason. This is not his scene. And besides, it’s not like he’s interested in me and my movements. He’s hardly spoken to me all week. I toss my phone into my bag and quickly make a beeline for the door as I need to get out of this stifling room.

The moment I push open the door, I bump straight into someone, and déjà vu hits me so hard I almost fall to the floor. The same warm hands steady me, the same perfume assaults my brain, and the same feelings overwhelm my entire body. I feel like I’m going to explode.

Peering up, I see the impassioned indigo eyes of my Tiger. He looks incredible, and suddenly, nothing else exists but him. I trip over my tongue, not knowing what to say. But he fills in the silence by abruptly pushing me up against the wall, caging me in with his arms up by my head.

I’m dazed, surprised, and so unbelievably turned on; I don’t even know what to do. Anyone can see us out here in the long open corridor, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Found you,” he growls, lowering his lips to my ear. “The question is, now that I’ve found you, whatever should I do?”

I can think of only one thing. And so can he.

I reach for him the moment he reaches for me, and we frantically meet halfway, smashing our lips in a union of wanton desire. This kiss is not sweet, nor do we take it slow. We’re all tongue and teeth, but a kiss has never been more perfect. Our first kiss is everything I thought it would be and more.

I tug at his T-shirt, desperate to feel his flesh against mine, but he reaches for my hand and slams it above my head. The dominant move drives me wild, and I thrust my chest against his. He fists his free hand into my loose hair, securing a firm grip, angling my mouth to suit his demanding tongue.

I’m enclosed in Tiger’s cage, and I never want to be set free.

I’m swept away by his rough, lust-filled kisses, I can hardly breathe, but who needs air because before this kiss, I was barely living. His supple lips seal firmly over mine, his fierce tongue fucking me passionately, reminding me of the inferno his tongue left between my legs. The memory has me whimpering into his mouth, shamelessly demanding an encore. But he abruptly ends the kiss.

Pinning me with a no-nonsense stare, he states, “Talk to the Ken Doll again, and he’ll be looking for a new job.”

I cry out when he audaciously presses his knee against my core.

“Such sweetness, Bluebird, but yet, such fierceness too.” He thumbs my trembling bottom lip.

He called me Bluebird. He does care.

The fact leaves me needy, and I swoop forward for another kiss. But he’s still restraining me. I groan, which elicits a laugh from him. He is enjoying my frustration.

Not caring how desperate I sound, I gripe, “You’ve been mean to me all week. How about you cut me some slack?”

“Me? Mean?” He fakes shock, a trace of a grin lighting up his handsome face. “Ms. Young, I’m utterly offended.”

“You’re an utter pig,” I retort, fruitlessly pulling from his grip.

He chuckles deeply, untroubled by my insult. “What I’d like to do to that smart mouth of yours.”

“I dare you,” I challenge, feeling my heart race. For once, he looks speechless. “What’s wrong, sir ? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’d rather you have it,” he grunts before swooping forward and slamming his lips over mine.

I’m breathless, needy, and pretty sure my kisses are resembling a fourteen-year-old, inexperienced schoolgirl with how much tongue I’m using, but I don’t care. I’m kissing the man who I’ve wanted to strangle all week. Even now, his bossiness is infuriating me, but I let it slide because I would rather die than stop kissing him.

As our kiss intensifies to pornographic proportions, he loosens his grip on my wrist and places my hand between us, boldly brushing over the enormous hard-on poking into me. He bites and sucks my bottom lip before pulling away.

“Let’s get a hotel room.”

His words douse my high and I pull away, stunned. “Excuse me?”

What’s wrong with his house? I know for a fact he only lives about twenty minutes from here. So why rent a room?

Awful, horrible thoughts crash into me, and the truth of what I’m doing hits home. I’m just another Fox Fan he thinks he can use and abuse whenever his dick calls.

Well, no more.

He senses my mood shift immediately. “Bluebird?—”

But it’s too late.

“Don’t Bluebird me.” I tighten my hold on his privates.

He wheezes while I rejoice in the sound. “You are a presumptuous asshole, and I need my head checked. I don’t even like you very much—actually, at all. Quite frankly, you disgust me. You’re bossy, moodier than a premenstrual teen and you have the worst manners—ever! I am not one of your whores, Mr. Fox.”

The moment I let his balls go, he sags in relief, but he looks angrier than a bear with a sore head.

“You want to pretend that you don’t know me. Well, that suits me just fine. Forget tonight, or any other night, for that matter, happened.” I’m so angry, I’m shaking.

He simply nods, the perfect poker face in place.

I was stupid to think he ever cared.

Feeling hot tears approaching, I push past him, disappointed when he doesn’t attempt to stop me. “Have a nice night, Mr. Fox. I’ll see you on Monday.”

I turn on my heel and leave behind something that’ll never be.

“Here, drink this,” Hannah coos, setting a peppermint tea in front of me. “It’ll help your stomach.” I appreciate the thought, but tea is not going to soothe my heartache.

I’m still so freaking mad. I have no idea how I’m going to be able to go in to work on Monday without unleashing my wrath on Mr. Fox’s smug face. I know this is my fault, but a small, stupid part of me romanticized that he actually liked me. But his actions last night proved otherwise.

The only person he cares about is himself and his dick! The thought gives me an idea.

“Pass over my laptop, Han.”

She nods and hands it to me as she sits down on the sofa. “What are you doing?”

“I need to find out who he is. Why he is the way that he is. I need to understand why he thinks he can treat me like dirt.”

“Um, because he’s a prick. Sometimes, there just isn’t an explanation. Just like Scott.”

This time, I don’t react as badly to his name being mentioned.

“I don’t buy it,” I stubbornly retort, powering up my computer. “I need the dirt on him. I need to know just who exactly Mr. Dylan Fox is.”

“He’s a womanizing jerk! I can’t believe he kissed you and was all like, ‘Bluebird, such sweetness.’” She lowers her voice in an attempt to sound like him, which is quite comical. “Then he’s all, ‘Hey bitch, let’s rent a room.’”

“He never called me bitch,” I amend with a smile.

She throws her arms up in irritation. “Whatever! He’s a walking contradiction.”

“Tell me about it.” I sigh, perusing through the minimal information I can find on him.

Most of the information is the same—attended NYU, successful businessman by age twenty-five, parents both alive, has two siblings, comes from money, blah blah blah—but there’s no dirt. No info on girlfriends—previous or current. No info on what made him the cold, heartless bastard that he is today.

I continue flicking through the pages while Hannah attempts to solve the riddle. “Maybe it’s the classic case of a kindergarten crush.”

“Huh?” I ask, looking up at her from my screen.

“You know, boys are mean to the girls they secretly like to hide their true feelings for,” she explains.

“He has no feelings.”

She shrugs. “Well, how about you test my theory out?”

My interest is piqued. “How?”

She taps her chin. “I’ve got an idea. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“Care to be a little more specific?” Just as she attempts to clarify, I shoot up and exclaim, “Oh, oh!”

Hannah leans over, anxious to see what’s got me so excited.

“There!” I jab at the screen. “This is the first picture I’ve seen of him with a woman.”

Hannah turns her head to the side. “Or Cousin It. You can’t see who she is. Is there a date on the photograph?”

Scrolling through, I see that there isn’t. But that doesn’t matter. “The clues are in the details, Han. Look at the way he’s shielding her from the paparazzi. The way his hands are protectively wrapped around her. The anger on his face. He loves this woman.” The revelation sinks low in my gut.

“You got all of that just by looking at this?” she asks, pulling a face at the screen.

“I need to find her. I need her to tell me what happened to make him such a monster.”

“Have you thought that she’s the reason why?”

“You’re right. That bitch.” I glare at the screen.

“Besides, the odds of you finding a slender, well-dressed brunette, without a name or face, are slim.”

Transfixed on the photograph, I know that she’s right. But at least I know he was human once because now, I’m just stuck with the monster.