The Lie I Told the Boss

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Lane

I sip my scotch; my sights set on the sweet thing on the other side of the bar. He’s exactly my type; petite, twink-ish. Blond hair, innocent eyes, and full, pouty lips.

He’s the exact type of man I take home on nights like this—when I’m annoyed and need something to keep my head straight before I get myself into trouble.

When it comes to work, I’m calm and collected, always.

But I don’t like fuck-ups, and that’s exactly what happened tonight.

It’s difficult not to get frustrated when the fuck-up was due to someone not doing their job correctly, after they’d been trained for weeks and have been in the position for a year.

Nancy, my assistant—former assistant now—has already been dealt with. And I don’t mean that in the mafioso kind of way. She no longer has a job with my company, and in kinder words, was told she should consider a new career because she sucks at this one.

I’ve already let my office assistant know that I need a replacement immediately, but they should be better vetted than Nancy was.

I won’t deal with this again. Next time, I’ll clean house and fire them all myself.

I’ve already told Harriet, the office manager, that I’ll be doing the interviews for my new assistant to make sure it’s done right this time—but she better send me outstanding candidates.

I’m the CEO of a successful luxury pool and outdoor living company.

I don’t like being cruel to my employees, and typically I’m not.

I treat them all with respect, pay them above-average salaries, and give more vacation time and bonuses than any other company I know.

But I need to be firm at times. There’s a reason I made it to where I am, and it wasn’t by letting people fuck up.

This company is my baby. I have nurtured it from the very beginning and have proudly watched it grow.

I do the majority of my business locally and spend a lot of time at meetings with prospective customers, attending fairs, and touring facilities to give consultations.

Having a personal assistant is imperative to my success because of how much there is for a man in my position to do.

The man across the bar gets a phone call and stares at his screen as if he’s unsure if he should answer it.

He eventually does and holds the phone to his ear while his finger fiddles with the straw of his drink.

His expression goes from apathetic to interested, then relieved.

Then he’s enthusiastic, nodding and agreeing to something.

He ends the call, placing his cell on the bar and takes the last sip of his drink.

His demeanor has lightened, and he’s sitting a little taller in his chair now.

I bring my glass to my lips just as he makes eye contact with me. He holds my gaze. I smirk, tilt my drink just a little, then toss the rest of it back.

“Would you like another, Mr. Monroe?” Will, the bartender, asks.

“Please,” I answer, still holding the man’s stare.

I say man, but he isn’t very masculine. He’s young. Mid-twenties maybe. Just the right age to play with. Men my age aren’t into that, since they all want to settle down—or already are. That’s not quite what I’m looking for.

Will brings me another drink, smiling brightly—almost flirtatiously—as he puts it down in front of me.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Mr. Monroe.”

Winking, he turns away to move onto the next customer. As I reach for my glass, my gaze goes back across the bar, to where my eye candy is sitting. Only, he’s gone. Disappointment floods me. I was hoping to let off some steam in the way of physical activity tonight.

The Revere is a high-end gay bar, so I could have anyone in here I wanted, but my eye was on him. It’s unfortunate that he left, because no one else has caught my eye tonight.

“Hi,” someone says as they scoot in beside me. The voice is calm, even, and not very deep. I’m thoroughly surprised to see it’s the man from across the bar. “Saw you staring, so I thought I’d come over and say hello.”

“Staring is rude,” I say, reaching for my glass.

“Didn’t stop you,” he says with a cocky smile.

Narrowing my eyes, I take him in.

Definitely in his twenties. Light brown eyes, almost honey colored. His complexion tells me he spends a lot of time inside, but it somehow suits him.

“You’re not from the city,” I say.

“What gave it away?” he asks as he gets comfortable on the stool.

“Everything.”

He huffs, then reaches for his drink. The one that’s empty.

“Can I get you another?” I ask as I watch him suck his watered-down drink from the straw.

“Yes, you can.”

I gesture for Will, who comes over right away. I’m here enough for him to know who I am and that I always tip well. He gives me all of his attention, though it’s not all about the tips with him. He’s interested in me, but he is not my type.

“Can you get my friend here another of what he’s having?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Monroe.” He heads off to make the drink.

“Mr. Monroe, huh?” the man beside me says. “Sounds important.”

“It is.” I sip my scotch and glance at him from the corner of my eye. “And what’s your name?”

“Tage.”

“Interesting name,” I say. “I never would have guessed that.”

“No one ever does.”

“But they try?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. They all think I’m a Zach or a Lucas or a Jackson.”

“Boring names.”

“Right. Doesn’t fit. I’m far from boring.”

His drink is placed in front of him. I thank Will before he moves on to make a drink for the person who took up Tage’s empty spot. The Revere is always steady. Not busy in the way there is a line, but in the way that the bartender never gets a moment to do nothing.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Tage lifts his drink, using the straw to mix it before taking a long sip. Judging by the color, I’d guess it’s vodka and cranberry. When he looks at me again, I see something else in those honey eyes. Mischief. This boy is trouble.

“How old are you, Tage?” I ask.

“Twenty-eight.” Older than I thought. “How old are you?”

“Forty-two.”

“Fourteen years…”

“You can do math,” I point out.

“I can do a lot of things.”

I smirk, reaching for my glass again.

“Well, you haven’t proven to me that you aren’t boring, but you have proven that you’re entertaining.” I take a sip. “Where are you from?”

“Boston.”

“Without the accent?”

“They sound uneducated.”

Now I laugh. “And you’re funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny. Where are you from?”

“Here. What takes you away from the east coast?”

“Work. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?”

“It’s a long story, and I’m afraid if I tell you, it’ll prove I actually am boring.”

“Hm,” I hum, taking another sip of my drink. I turn more fully to face him. “And what are you doing once you leave here?”

He holds my gaze intensely. “That all depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you ask me back to your place or not.” He says the words so confidently it almost makes me laugh.

“Bold,” I respond, finishing my drink and getting to my feet.

I take my suit jacket and carefully put it on, tugging it so it settles in the right place.

I take three hundred-dollar bills from my wallet and place them on the bar, pushing them across to the other side.

Will hurries over. “For both of us. Keep the change.”

“Thank you, Mr. Monroe,” he says gratefully. I doubt our drinks totaled even a hundred.

I put my wallet away and face Tage. “Are you coming?”

His teeth sink into the corner of his bottom lip as he gets up, leaving his half-finished drink. The armless shirt and skinny jeans leave nothing to the imagination. It’s not the typical attire of this place, but somehow, he makes it look chic and fashionable rather than homeless.

We walk out of the bar, the doorman holding it open for us.

“Isn’t it a bit warm for a jacket?” Tage asks.

“A respectable businessman always wears a jacket,” I say as I pull my phone out and dial Blake, my driver. The moment he answers, I tell him I’m ready.

“Cab?” Tage questions.

I smirk, not giving him a word. Thirty seconds later, Blake pulls up in the Escalade and hops out to open the door for us.

Tage gets in first, not looking as impressed as I expect.

Normally I get a reaction. An ooh or an aah.

Sometimes even a smile that tells me they’re really going to enjoy being spoiled for the night.

I follow Tage in. Blake closes the door and gets back into the driver’s side.

“Custom built,” Tage says as he looks around.

He takes the seat across from the door, while I take the one next to it. The back of the Escalade has been turned into something similar to a limo, allowing me to conduct business here when needed. It’s why I have it out tonight. I thought I was meeting clients, but as I said, Nancy was involved.

“You don’t seem impressed.”

He shrugs, giving me a cocky smirk. “I’m not into cars.”

Nodding, I say, “All right then. What are you into?”

“Bottoming,” he says firmly. “Especially for men like you.”

“Men like me?”

“With a lot of money, who want to be discreet, and won’t call me again.”

My eyes narrow. “Are you always so forward, or have you consumed more alcohol than I think? Because if you’re drunk, we’ll be driving to your house instead.”

“I had one and a half drinks tonight. I’m not drunk,” he says firmly.

“Well, at least I know I don’t have to work too hard then.”

“Only to make me come.” He leans back in his seat, giving me a knowing smile. He’s being bratty, and he knows it.

“We’ll see about that.”

Blake drops us off at the portico, then drives off to the garage to park the car and go home for the night. A nice surprise, I’m sure. He’d expected to be out much later tonight. So did I.

I pull my phone out and enter the code to unlock the door. The lock beeps, letting me know it’s been accepted. Tage follows me into the house.

“This feels further from the city than I’d expect you to live,” he says. “Being a big, important businessman and all.”

“It’s not my main residence. I have a penthouse in the city, but you can imagine why I wouldn’t bring a stranger I just met in a bar there.”

He pauses, staring into my eyes.

“No, instead you took me to a remote location.”

“You think I can’t defend myself?” I ask.

“I think it doesn’t matter, because that’s not why I’m here.

” He walks deeper into the foyer, his head going every which way as he takes in all the paintings and statues.

His actions say he’s interested, but the look on his face is almost disappointed.

Which throws me a little. I can’t get a read on him, and it’s quite interesting.

He turns on his heel to face me. “So, where are we going?”

I walk toward him, stopping an inch away. He’s half a foot shorter than me, so I have to look down into those honey-brown eyes.

“That’s your choice,” I say. “Do you prefer to be fucked on a kitchen counter or in a bed?”

“That depends on how long you’re going to last,” he goads.

“Long enough,” I say, feeling an inkling of frustration itching up my spine. Not in an angry way, but in the way that I want to put him in his place.

I’m not really into the BDSM stuff. Yes, I like a little pain with sex now and then. I enjoy rough fucking. But I don’t get off on the power dynamics. I like being in charge, but I don’t need someone to submit for me. I just want to fuck and have us both enjoy it.

A smile crawls across his lips. “I guess the bed then.”

I search his honey gaze, trying to figure him out. I can’t, and it’s annoying. “Follow me.”

I hold his gaze for a moment longer before moving around him and taking a right at the hallway, following it to the very end. I open the door on the left and gesture for him to go inside.

He looks around in the same way he did when he first walked in, as he makes his way over to the bed, turning to face me.

“Should I get your name, or is Mr. Monroe fine?” he asks.

I shrug off my jacket, laying it over the armchair in the corner, and I loosen my tie as I walk toward him.

“You can call me whatever you’d like. As long as you get that fine ass of yours on the bed.” I slide my tie off. “Right. Now.”

“Should I get naked first?”

“No,” I say. “Just get on all fours for me.”

He shrugs a shoulder, giving a look like whatever you say. And then he crawls onto the bed in the exact position I told him to.

With an arm around his waist, I tug him up so his back is to my front. I undo the button of his pants and use one hand to shove them down while my other arm stays tightly around him.

I run my nose along the back of his neck, taking in his scent. Spice and wood. Hints of citrus.

“How much prepping do you like?” I whisper in his ear.

“I want to feel it tomorrow.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Just enough to fit your cock into me without making me bleed,” is what he says, looking up at me over his shoulder.

I place my hand flat between his shoulder blades and push him back down, then step away to look at him. I don’t know what’s so hot about seeing a man on all fours, in my bed, with his pants pulled down just enough to use his ass. A man’s naked body is beautiful, but this? It’s dirty and I love it.

I grab a condom and lube from the end table. I lube up two fingers and waste no time sliding them inside of him. He tenses and moans, but it’s only a moment or two before he’s fucking himself on my fingers slowly.

I roll the condom on and replace my fingers with my dick, easily slipping all the way inside. We both let out a contented sigh when my hips meet his ass, and then I fuck him.

Slow. Deep. Hard. He moans and begs for more. Pleads for me to keep going. He’s singing a different tune now that I’m giving him pleasure, and it’s exactly what I expected from him.

“Boys with smart mouths like their holes filled,” I growl. “Don’t they?”

“Yes,” he cries out. “Harder. Please…”

I oblige, and now I’m getting close, so I find his cock with my hand and stroke him along to my thrusts. His cock throbs, growing harder. His hole pulses around my cock. He’s close. So close, and the thought sends a thrill right through me.

I pull him up against me again, going even deeper and stroking him faster. He claws at my arms, moaning loudly as I pound into him and tell him to come for me.

The second I feel his cum pooling into my hand, I detonate, releasing into the condom. I grind into him until we’re both spent and panting.

He falls onto his side, looking up at me with a smirk. “That was better than I expected.”

“And I’m not even done with you yet,” I say with a grin.