Chapter 18
Spencer
W hat in the actual fuck?
My boss is coming over.
I’m trying to wrap my head around the conclusion of the conversation I just had with Nathan.
But it’s really hard to focus because the butterflies in my stomach have erupted into synchronized choreography in my gut.
Those fluttery little creatures are telling me he has ulterior motives.
Never once in my entire professional career has a boss asked to come over this late at night.
Not even under the guise of an urgent work project.
I could’ve easily said no. Mr. Billionaire, who people bow to with the snap of his fingers, could’ve told me to report to the office, or could’ve demanded he stop by and confiscate my work laptop for the data. But no. He asked. And he’s bringing dinner.
My phone lights up the darkened living room as a text from Nathan populates.
Bosshole
Sorry, terrible memory sometimes. Charlie’s orange chicken—you said spicy or not spicy?
The butterflies are ricocheting off the walls of my stomach now because not even I can deny it.
The only time a man cares to get the details right is when he’s trying to make a good impression.
So here we are, with my ass of a boss turning a new leaf.
This man is a professional shifter going from toad to prince, every other day.
Me
Not spicy.
Bosshole
Got it. Be there in twenty.
I shake out my fingers, releasing a trembling breath. Okay, okay. It’s fine. I’m fine. Butt on carpet, back against the couch, I stretch my arms overhead, trying to relieve my body of some nervous tension. And that’s when I get a little whiff of the pits. Uh-oh.
Okay, it’s really not bad. It’s what any woman smells like after working a twelve-hour day—not exactly powdery fresh. But my hot boss is coming over and I need to smell nothing short of a bubblegum-candy meadow. I recheck my phone. He said twenty minutes. Shit!
Scrambling on to my feet, I haul ass to the bathroom and nearly topple over Charlie, who, with the worst timing in the world, has emerged from her bedroom wearing her pink, unicorn fluffy robe, carrying not one, but two bubble bath bombs, one in each hand.
Briefly, I’m distracted because those suckers cost about five dollars a pop and I’ve told her time and time again— use sparingly. This girl is going to bankrupt us on glitter and bubbles. “What do you need two for?”
“This one is strawberry, this one is banana,” she says, holding up her left hand, then the right. “I’m going to have a strawberry-banana-smoothie bubble bath. May I borrow your pink, gel eye mask? Also, would you be a lamb and make me an iced chai tea latte? Not too much whipped cream.”
“No!” I shriek.
“To which part?” Charlie screws up her face, offended by my outburst.
“All of it! No chai tea, no eye mask, and no bath. I need the shower right now.”
“Um, no. Dibs. I already have all my bath stuff ready. You can take a shower when I’m done.”
“In three hours?” I ask, completely aghast.
“Perhaps.” She shows me a wicked smile. “Why do you need a shower so bad?” She leans in and sniffs me. “You smell like you normally do.”
I think she’s insulting me, but I don’t have time to dissect that. “Charlie, my boss will be here any minute to work on a very important project. He’s bringing us Chinese food. Isn’t that nice?”
“Orange chicken?”
“Yup. So please, please be a sweet sister and let me hop in the shower before he gets here. You can take your bath after, as long as you like. Just make sure to lock the door and get fully dressed before you come out.”
I have never seen a creepier look on my little sister’s face. A sinister smile curls the corners of her lips. “How come you wanna smell so good for your boss? I thought he was a butthead.”
“Charlie, please .” The clock is ticking, and I don’t have time to explain how sometimes you can want to punch a man right in his jaw, while simultaneously wanting to see him and his generous bulge in his tight, black briefs again.
“I don’t know,” she singsongs while taking a menacing step toward the only bathroom in the apartment.
“I’ll tackle you if you take one more step toward that bathroom.”
“I will scream and make a very big scene,” she deadpans.
“All right, I don’t have time for this. Name your price.”
“Anything?” Charlie cocks her head to the side, smile still crazy, looking like the Riddler right before he tricks and backstabs Batman.
“Not more pets, but otherwise, anything. ”
“I want Drunk Elephant.”
I blink at her. “Come again? You want to get an elephant drunk?”
“No.” She rolls her eyes the only way an eleven-year-old can, needlessly dramatic.
“Drunk Elephant. It’s a skincare line. Holly Garcia in my geography class says her skin is so glowy because she uses sunshine serum drops and a polypeptide cream.
But she said I probably couldn’t afford those things even though I need them because my skin is so dull. ”
These are the new grade-school insults? It used to be fat, skinny, flat-chested, or whispered sneers about acne. Now we’re stooping to dull versus glowy skin? Good God, bullying has really leveled up.
“Babes, listen to me.” Forgetting the urgency for a moment, I grab my baby sister by both her shoulders.
“The only kind of woman who comments on another woman’s skin, hair, nails, weight, is someone who is really insecure about themself.
Holly’s face may be glowy, but her personality sucks.
And you, little sister, are beautiful.” I stroke her cheek with my thumb.
“Your skin is baby soft and has plenty of shine. One day, you’re going to get acne, there’s no stopping it.
But guess what? You’ll still be beautiful inside and out.
So the next time Holly tells you that your skin is anything other than radiant, know that she’s talking about herself. Not you. Okay?”
Charlie drops her head and stares at her toes. “Okay.”
“How about instead of a complicated skincare regimen you definitely don’t need, we do a spa day instead. Tomorrow. We’ll get our nails done, maybe a facial. Sound good?”
“Mani and pedi? And can I get gel polish? Ooh, and can Claire come?”
“Fine, fine, fine , Charlotte. Yes to all. Now please, let me hop in the shower.”
“Hold on,” she grumbles. “Let me get you a couple shower fizzies so your shower smells extra good. I like pairing strawberry and vanilla.” She disappears into her room.
“A couple?” I call after her, knowing the shower fizzies are even more expensive than the bath bombs. “What do you mean ‘a couple’?”
Tween bath products. Highway-freaking-robbery.
I slip out of Charlie’s room with an empty paper plate in hand. She inhaled her food, leaving me feeling guilty that I don’t buy her enough of the “good stuff.” I wonder if she’s suffering because of my incessant dieting. I make a mental note to have “fun food Fridays” from now on.
Nathan isn’t where I left him. He slinked on to the floor in front of my laptop on the coffee table. He has one knee hiked, the other leg outstretched. He even took off his socks and shoes. He’s so sexy when he’s relaxed.
My boss arrived about fifteen minutes ago with too many takeout bags. He was obviously confused and thought he needed to bring enough Chinese food for the entire defensive line of a professional football team.
“Is your sister hiding because she doesn’t want to meet me?” Nathan asks.
“No. Not at all. I bribed her to leave us alone.”
“With what?”
“Unlimited screen time, and a promise to take her and her bestie to a spa day tomorrow, which I can’t afford.
” I still have one more week until my salary advance hits my bank account.
Even then, I shouldn’t use that money for treats.
Half is for paying off my credit card and other living expenses.
The other half is to replenish Charlie’s trust fund.
I’ll need to work at least another few years before I can fully replace what Jesse wasted.
Nathan is smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I still feel bad taking over your apartment.”
Placing my hand on my hip, I raise my brows. “Do you want me to demand she and Spike come out?”
“Spike?”
“You two met, remember? Our guinea pig.”
He’s trying to act unbothered, but his body visibly stiffens. “Forgot about that thing. They can stay in there.” He points to Charlie’s door as I burst out in laughter.
“Terrified of guinea pigs. That might be my favorite thing about you, boss.” Well, second-favorite thing, but I’m not telling him what his taut muscles do to me.
“Terrified is a strong word,” he says plainly before changing the subject. “I’m scouring this table, and you did a fantastic job, Spencer. I’m really pleased. Thank you.”
I curtsy. “All in a day’s work. Well, a week’s work. Anyway, you get it. Thank you. ”
“For what?” he asks.
I lift my shoulders barely an inch and release them in a tiny shrug. “For saying thank you.”
His eyes drop to the cheap carpet like he’s ashamed. “I’ll do that more. Promise.” He’s wearing a smile when he looks up. Patting the carpet next to him, he asks, “Ready to dive back in?”
“Yep. I just need to find my phone. I have the voicemail numbers stored in there.” I pat myself down as if I accidentally stashed my phone in my sexiest, black, matching camisole-and-capri pajama set. Obviously I didn’t. The silk set has no pockets.
“Here, I’ll call it.” Nathan pulls out his phone and dials.
It’s right when my phone rings from between the couch cushions that I remember how he’s stored in my phone.
Unfortunately, Nathan has the same realization almost simultaneously.
Unwedging my phone from the cushions, he peers at the screen. Then his jaw drops.
“You found it,” I murmur uncomfortably.
He levels a stare. “Just so I’m clear, is ‘bosshole’ a combination of boss and asshole?”
I lace my fingers together and twiddle my thumbs. “I mean I wouldn’t say asshole per se.”