My Jealous Boss (Alphas in Charge #3)

1. Laura

LAURA

My boss’s eyes roam my body as soon as I enter the office. They search me in a way that most might call “checking me out” but I know that’s not it. There’s no lust in those navy eyes. Only judgment.

Whatever.

He can judge my clothing all he wants. That’s what he does best, right? Judges every move that I make?

It’s a miracle he hasn’t fired me so far.

After nearly a year of his constant criticism, I’ve realized that Troy Dixon must keep me around for morale.

Picking me apart every day is how he gets a mood boost. It practically gives him a hard-on when he spots a mistake in my notes, or tells me that the temperature of his latte is one degree too hot or cold.

That’s probably how he has sex, too. Giving a real-time critique of the model-like women that he uses to warm his bed.

Boobs, six out of ten. Butt, four out of ten. Blow job technique, two out of ten. Needs major improvement. I’m putting you on a performance improvement plan. See my post-coital writeup for more details.

I realize too late that I’ve accidentally let out a snort of laughter when Troy and his colleague, some marketing executive from the eighth floor, look up from the presentation they’re poring over.

“Something amusing about our online sales metrics being down year-over-year, Miss Jenkins?” Troy asks me.

His stiff, formal tone makes me feel heated in all of the wrong ways. He always calls me Miss Jenkins when he’s irritated with me. The fact that it turns me on is probably why I try to make a point to irritate him at least a dozen times per day.

Not that it’s difficult to irritate him.

“No,” I reply quickly, putting the tray on the table and backing away.

Troy always requests water and coffee service when he has an important meeting. In a way, it’s kind of nice. Kind of hospitable. Troy Dixon is capable of being downright warm at times…to the people who matter.

And I learned very quickly after starting this job as his executive assistant that I am definitely not “people who matter.”

I can feel his eyes on me as I turn my back to exit his large office.

It’s more than a corner office; more like a whole half of the floor office, spanning the entire south side of floor eighteen with room for a massive hardwood desk, a conference table, and bookshelves filled with more books than any human being could reasonably read in a lifetime.

I’ve always thought that was pretentious; keeping all these books around that you haven’t read. Just for posturing, to impress the people who come in and out of here.

The only redeeming qualities about my boss are physical.

Everything else is the opposite of attractive to me.

From his cold, demeaning way of speaking to me to his stuck up, rich-guy way of doing business.

I could never imagine myself actually dating a man like Troy.

We’d have nothing in common. Nothing to talk about.

Yet I’ve imagined myself sleeping with Troy more times than I can count. Even when I try to avoid thinking about him after work, the images invade my brain like a virus. It’s not like I ever set out to mentally undress my stupid boss. It just sort of…happens.

All of the time.

While I’m driving home from work in the afternoons. In the shower while I wash my hair. In bed when I’m trying to fall asleep. Right now, when I should be annoyed with him.

I’m nearly to the large glass door that separates his office from the rest of the floor when he speaks again.

“One more thing, Miss Jenkins.”

My fingers freeze on the doorhandle, clenching it so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

I’ve had my resignation letter drafted for months. I only need to stick it out at this job for a full year. It’ll look better on my resume that way. My one year anniversary of working for Troy is in only a few weeks, which means I only have to play nice for a little while longer.

It’s the responsible thing to do. But holding my tongue has never been a strength of mine, and as time goes on, it’s getting harder and harder to endure my boss’s disrespect with a smile on my face.

I turn on my heel.

“Yes, Mr. Dixon?” I ask in the nicest, most professional tone that I can muster.

He looks me up and down again. It’s humiliating. What’s so offensive about my outfit today, anyway? I wore black slacks and a white silk top. Nothing colorful or revealing. The only thing that sparkles is the clip in the back of my hair, and surely that can’t be such a big deal.

Yet he’s glaring at me with those navy eyes as though I just stomped into his office banging a drum, wearing a sequined bodysuit and a top hat.

“We’ll need those scones, too,” he says icily. “Or…did you forget?”

As a matter of fact, I did forget.

“Of course not,” I say with a smile, looking from him to the executive sitting in the high backed leather chair beside him. “I like to warm them in the oven, so it takes a couple of minutes. I’ll be right back with those.”

He knows I’m lying. I dare him to call me on it, but scones aren’t terribly important to Troy Dixon and neither am I.

So he gives me a curt nod and turns his back to me.

As though I’m not even important enough to acknowledge with a thank you.