2. Natalie #2
I tried to clear my throat to hide my shock and wound up launching into a mortifying choke-coughing fit. He watched me struggle like I was a fish flopping around on dry land, until I finally managed to catch my breath.
Shit! The scenario was way worse than I thought. The smug, grinning asshole watching me nearly choke to death on my own spit was the actual, real deal owner of the company. James Alexander Branson the Second. Like, his signature was on the paychecks and everything.
And I’d nearly mopped his face off.
Shit. Shit-shit-shit.
I needed this job. I needed all three of my jobs if I expected to be able to afford my final semester at design school. But I wasn’t about to bow down to him, especially with the way he kept pushing my buttons, like it was nothing more than a game to him.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” James asked, the condescension dripping in his voice.
“Do you?” I snapped before I could stop myself.
My damn mouth was always getting me in trouble but at this point, I felt like I had nothing to lose.
The chance to make a good impression had long since come and gone.
So there wouldn’t be any point in bowing and scraping now, if I could even swallow my pride enough to try.
“You shouldn’t have lied about being an accountant. ”
“And you shouldn’t have assaulted my ears with that godawful screeching,” he fired back.
“You do realize that I was working, right?” I snapped at him. “I’m a dedicated employee but I’m not here this late for fun. The singing helps to pass the time when I’ve got more work than I can handle, which happens to be the case, oh, ninety percent of the time.”
He frowned, and for the first time I felt like it wasn’t at me. “Why isn’t Lucy here helping?”
I swallowed hard because I didn’t want to get my manager in trouble. I liked her. “She was, but I told her I could handle the rest of it on my own.” I shrugged. “She’s got kids and a husband at home…”
“And I take it you don’t?” James asked pointedly.
I straightened my back and gave him a withering look. “Do you?”
“Have a husband at home? No, and I don’t think my personal life matters in this moment—”
“Thank you for proving my point,” I said, cutting him off triumphantly.
“Now if you’ll leave, I can finish up for the night.
” He had to approve of that, right? He could go do his job, and I could go back to mine, and we could pretend that we never met.
It wasn’t likely our paths would cross again—not when they hadn’t up to this point.
He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “You’re done here, Reynolds. Just pack up and go.”
I froze. Hold on. That sounded sort of…final. And there was no way I could afford to lose this job. “But I need to finish…” I trailed off and gestured around the room.
“Did you not hear what I just said?” There was a scowl in his voice. “Go home.”
I stared at him in shock for a second. I…
I’d thought that maybe I’d get reprimanded—that I’d get sent to HR for Claire to drone a lecture at me, or that I’d have to go to an anger management class, or even that I’d have to—perish the thought—buy the boss a hideously expensive replacement shirt that I absolutely couldn’t afford.
But this sounded like I might actually be fired.
My stomach dropped. I couldn’t be fired.
I wanted to argue—hell, I wanted to beg—but one look at the stony expression on his face, and I knew that I’d be wasting my words.
I swallowed hard and then straightened my shoulders.
Never let them see they’ve gotten to you, I reminded myself.
It had been my mantra for too many years.
“Fine,” I managed as I turned on my heel. The suddenness of the move whipped my phone out of my shallow pocket, sending it skittering across the floor.
“Get your hand out from under my skirts this minute, you beast,” a female voice boomed over the speakers.
No. Oh my fucking God, no! My audiobook, In Bed with the Rogue, must’ve been cued up, and now it was being broadcast for Mr. Bossman to hear. I dove to my knees to grab my phone, but it danced just out of reach again.
“And why would I do that?” a deep voice countered.
“Because if you truly wanted me to remove my hand, you’d have slapped it away by now.
Instead, my lovely Penelope, you seem to be waiting for me to move my fingertips higher.
Hoping that I might travel from your supple calf to your silky inner thigh.
Am I correct? Does that blush upon your cheeks mean I may continue my journey? ”
“You…you may.”
A trembling sigh filled the room, and I wished I could disappear.
I didn’t dare glance at Branson as I finally managed to turn the damn thing off. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, head bowed.
I stopped with my hand on the knob, then turned back to face him. “There’s still a ton to finish. Are you sure I can go home?”
Even at a distance I could see the twitch of a grin as his eyes settled on me. “You may.”
His voice was deeper, smooth as scotch.
My mouth dropped open as it dawned on me. He was mocking my book, calling me out for reading romance! I bumped back against the door and left in a hurry, not bothering to respond to him.
Because all I wanted to do was get as far away from James Branson and his overbearing, judgey, miserably handsome face as quickly as possible.