Baby for the Bosshole Read online

  I debate my options. One, ignore Rick, run back to the office and stay there until he goes away. But I have a feeling that would only embolden him.

  Two, drag him away and talk some sense into him once he calms down. Make him accept that it’s over between us. He should realize losing control only encourages my boss to be more outrageous. One of the reasons Emmett is a difficult man to work for is that he doesn’t believe in de-escalation. When it amuses him, he’ll pour gasoline by the metric ton onto any fire. The man needs therapy.

  Three—

  “Hey, man. Are you ignoring me?” Rick glares at Emmett, trying to turn the focus back on himself. He isn’t totally stupid—he isn’t getting physically violent with Emmett, who’s both larger and taller. Rick isn’t really out of shape, but he doesn’t exactly exude male strength and power. “You think you’re better than me because you’ve got some money?”

  Emmett turns to me, his eyes lit with a devilish gleam.

  Oh no…

  “I assumed that my dominant personality was keeping him quiet, but I just realized that isn’t it. Remember that earbud prototype we were working on? The one for muting idiots? I put it in this morning. Based on its performance so far, I’d say it’s ready for mass production.” He smiles happily.

  I choke back a laugh. It’s unexpected, and Rick deserves it, but unlike Emmett, I’m all for de-escalation.

  Rick’s jaw drops, his face now completely scarlet. “Are you calling me an idiot, you asshole?”

  “No, I just think it’s cute the way you part your teeth down the middle.”

  I cover my mouth as horror and amusement tug me in different directions.

  Emmett pulls out his phone and starts texting.

  Rick takes a step toward Emmett. I grab my hideous ex-boyfriend by the arm and pull.

  “Come on,” I say through clenched teeth. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”

  He snatches his arm out of my grip. “What have I got to be embarrassed about? I’m not the one in the wrong here!”

  “Asking me to choose between you and my job was absolutely wrong. You knew I’d never choose you.”

  He looks like someone smacked him in the face with a rolled newspaper. “Never—? Of course you’d choose me! It’s not like you have a bunch of other options. Nobody wants a woman who works all the time and only thinks about herself and what she wants. I was trying to mold you—”

  “Into what? A Stepford wife?”

  “No! Into a better, caring human being worthy of living on this precious planet.”

  Wow. Talk about telling me how he really feels. “Oh, okay. So I’m not worthy of living on the planet the way I am now.”

  He tilts his chin up. “Amy, you’ve got enormous potential. Just a little guidance and work and you’ll be fine.”

  “I am so glad I dumped you. You’re a piece of work, Rick.”

  “You made me—”

  “No. I didn’t make you do anything. You’re just a pig, and I didn’t see that until now.”

  Uniformed security guards appear from the building and hurry over, looking at Emmett questioningly. He points at me.

  “Is everything okay, miss?” one of them says.

  “No,” I say, stunned that they’re actually working on a weekend and annoyed that they didn’t do something about Rick sooner. “This man is harassing me.”

  The security guards close in around a screaming Rick, who threatens them with the dire consequence of having the entire encounter posted on social media.

  Emmett gestures at Valerie. Under normal circumstances, I’d assume the boss was trying to get a subordinate to shut her mouth about what happened. But with Emmett, it’s hard to tell what he’ll do next to amuse himself.

  I start walking toward my car. I’ve had my daily limit of shitshow.

  “Amy, wait,” Emmett calls from behind me.

  I can’t hear you! I keep on walking, doing my best to pretend that the confrontation with Rick didn’t happen. What the world really needs is an earbud device that mutes bosses during personal time.

  “I got the video.”

  That makes me stop and turn around so fast I actually wobble a bit. “What video?”

  He waves his phone. “Valerie filmed the whole thing.”

  Oh no. “Did she upload it anywhere?”

  “No. I stopped her before she could.”

  A good deed deserves recognition. “Thank you,” I say. For this act of kindness, I suppose I can stop calling him bosshole or the boss from hell.

  “And I told security to deal with your ex-boyfriend if he shows up again,” Emmett says.

  “Good. Thank you.” I sigh. Hopefully, Rick won’t return for round two, but you never know when an ex will decide to be an unhinged, sexist butthole. “Where were the guards?”

  “They usually stay in the back on weekends, monitoring the cameras. Staffing is limited,” Emmett says. “Anyway, want to get a drink?”

  “Right now?”

  “No, a year into the future. Yes, right now. You look like you could use one.”

  “I’ll probably need a vat of alcohol to get over the trauma.”

  “That’s fine. I’m buying.”

  I eye him suspiciously. What’s the catch? He’s being way too nice, and that’s generally not a good sign.

  On the other hand, why not? I won’t turn it down, even though a little voice warns that there’s no free lunch.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amy

  The bar, located close to the GrantEm offices, is one the firm often uses for happy hours. It’s dimly lit and cozy without seeming small, and the guy serving us is a tall, morose-looking fellow named Satoshi. By the time he hands me my fifth cocktail, I’m feeling much better about the world. Emmett did good when he brought me here.

  And the best and weirdest thing? My boss is actually behaving like a gentleman. He hasn’t made a single suggestive comment. Nothing about us entering into a “merger” or how he’d like a chance to verify my “assets.”

  I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved. The fact that I’m conflicted probably means there’s something wrong with me. Or maybe all this alcohol is impairing my logic. In Greek mythology, the god of wine is also the god of orgies. There’s probably a reason…

  “You aren’t drinking wine,” Emmett points out.

  “I know.” And I’m not thinking orgiastic sex with Emmett, either. That is not happening. We’re both sharing that particular amnesia.

  Emmett frowns. “I don’t have amnesia.”

  “Not just you. Me too.” For some reason, that’s funny. “Our-nesia! Hahaha.”

  Emmett looks at me. “Good one. Maybe you—”

  “Maybe I should get my vision checked. Things are looking a little blurry.” Emmett isn’t blurry, but then, he’s sitting next to me at the bar. That’s important. He needs to pay for all this. He said he’d pay, and I’m holding him to it.

  “I was going to say, maybe you should make that your last drink.” A corner of Emmett’s mouth quirks up.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re already drunk?”

  “Am not.” I knock back the rest of my cosmopolitan. “Stop trying to cut me off. I’m getting my money’s worth. ’Sides, if I get shitfaced after only five drinks, it’s your fault.” My recent lack of drinking practice has lowered my tolerance. I’m going to file an HR complaint for violation of my work-life balance!

  “HR won’t care,” he says.

  “How do you know?” I blink up at him. “Hey, are you reading my mind?”

  “No. You just told me.”

  “Did not. Stop lying. I want another drink.”

  “I think you’ve had enough.”

  “Cheap is not sexy, Emmett.” I gesture at my empty glass. “This is, like, one-millionth of your fortune. Not even. You could put your hand between your couch cushions and scoop up a couple hundred bucks in change.”

  He rolls his eyes. He’s actually sort of cute when he’s exasperated. I don’t know why this is different from when he’s upset at the office. Maybe it’s being in a bar. Hard to take a guy who’s buying you a drink or five seriously, although I have no idea why. It isn’t the sex, because I took him very seriously in the office earlier today. I should talk to Sasha about that, without mentioning the sex part.

  “I’m not cute, I’m hot. And that has nothing to do with money,” he says.

  “I think it does.” Cheapo! If I’d known he was going to be this stingy, I would’ve gone to a bar by myself. It isn’t like I asked him to pay off my student loan! He shouldn’t act like I’m demanding so much. He’s a billionaire. He can afford to buy more. I’m barely even tipsy.

  He looks pained. “Do you realize you say everything out loud when you’re drunk?”

  “That’s a very creative reason to cut me off before I’ve had my fill. But no, I do not,” I say primly.

  “Yes, you do. And you are. So why don’t we make this your last dr—”

  “You can’t make me. We aren’t working right now, so you can’t boss me around. You’re not the boss of me right now! You’re just, you know…”

  “What?”

  “A guy paying for my drinks.” And a guy I had angry sex with, but we aren’t going to talk about that.

  I gesture at Satoshi. He makes eye contact, but then glances at Emmett, who subtly draws a finger over his throat. Satoshi nods and turns his attention to another customer.

  Bastard. Actually, bastards. I’m dealing with two bastards. But the bigger bastard is the bartender. He’s choosing money—i.e., Emmett—over his customer’s needs. He probably doesn’t want to risk losing the firm’s business.

  But maybe that means Emmett is the real bastard. He’s using his money and power to make people behave badly. The bastard behind the bastard.

  “Three, actually,” Emmett says.

  “Three what?”

  “Three bastards.”

  Emmett takes my arm and helps me up. I don’t recall wanting to stand up, but why not? It’s easier than getting to my feet on my own, although maybe he should’ve worried more about his own balance. He seems to be wavering a little. And he only had one whiskey!

  But maybe—maybe!—he had something else behind my back. It is possible. The man is diabolically sneaky.

  He’s holding me close enough that I can smell his scent and feel his body heat. Does he want to sleep with me? My inner nympho says I should try to get another mind-blowing orgasm out of him. And it’s hard to get her to shut up.

  But Emmett isn’t interested. He hasn’t done a single thing to make a move. He hasn’t tried to put his lips on me. Or hold my hand. Or caress my arm or brush his leg against mine under the counter.

  He probably lost interest after our one-night stand. Actually, we can’t even call it that. It was too short. Our fifteen-minute stand. And it was too, too…

  Too intense. At least for me. One-night stands are supposed to be enjoyable and easily forgettable. Like a fast-food burger.

  I hate it that I’m the only one obsessively thinking about that particular sexual episode. Emmett doesn’t need a hobby, I do. Like, uh… I can’t think of a good hobby. Reading, maybe. I can always reread The Mathematics of Financial Derivatives.

  “You really need to stop talking.” Emmett sounds pained.

  “I wasn’t talking. And you really need to pay,” I say, hugging my purse to show him I’m not forking over a penny.

  He sighs and signals the bartender, handing him a few crisp bills. Probably extra C-notes, old ones that he can’t use to wipe away his tears when he’s at home without any work to do. When I finally turn in my two-week notice, I’m going to get him an MP3 of the saddest violin solo piece I can find, so he can use it as background music for his times of work-free grief.

  I told him I’d have a talk with HR about the lack of work-life balance, but he already has that covered. His work is his life…so there’s balance.

  “Wait,” I say. “Three bastards?”

  Emmett nods. “Looks that way.”

  “Who’s the third bastard?”

  “Your ex-boyfriend.”

  “Oh, yeah… That asshole.” I try to nod, but my head feels a little woozy. I flap my hand up and down instead. “He’s a special kind of asshole. Camouflaged. Acted like he supported my career. Do you know my previous ex didn’t even try? He dumped me because I missed two dates. Two! You understand? Two!”

  “Uh-huh. Two.”

  “Two! Another asshole! Who does that?”

  “Wow,” Emmett says as we step outside, his arm around my waist.

  Since he’s humoring me, I decide to let him hold me, ostensibly so he doesn’t fall on his face. To be honest, I think he’s hanging on to me to finally cop a feel, but I’m in a generous mood. And it’s better that he’s clinging. It stokes my female ego, which I think was grieving because Emmett thought I wasn’t worth a second helping. Not that I should be going for that. Right?

  It’s hard to sort my emotions when I’m tipsy. Wondering about how I’m going to find another guy who can give me a similarly incredible orgasm is making my head hurt.

  So I shut off my logic and just let myself enjoy having Emmett around. He’s warm, and he smells amazing, seeping into my senses with all that sexy male pheromone stuff.

  The air feels cooler and slightly smoggy. But I’m outside and I’m free! Yay, El Lay! There’s a huge star above us. I stare at it, wondering why it’s moving across the dark sky. Maybe it’s alive!

  No, wait. It’s a plane. Man, I wanna fly somewhere warm and pretty. With a beach and plentiful pineapple margaritas.

  And no Rick. Definitely not that bastard.

  “Next time you see him, I hope you toss him out a window,” Emmett says.

  I giggle. For some reason, what he’s saying is really funny. Maybe Emmett’s right that I’ve had too much to drink. “No. No tossing people out of windows. I don’t want to go to jail. But anyway, that’s why I thought Rick cared. He didn’t dump me just for missing a couple of dates.”

  “Rick doesn’t care about you. He’s been busy using photos and stories about dates he had with you to build his platform and make money.”

  I squint at Emmett. “What? Are you saying he’s been using me to make money?”

  He sighs. “That’s exactly what I just said. You can probably sue him for some kind of alimony.”

  Ew. Alimony makes it sound like Rick is more than just a failed boyfriend to me. “We were dating, not married.”

  “Yes. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t sign any release form or disclosure that would allow him to monetize your time together.”

  He’s right! I try to snap my fingers but can’t get them to work. So I just say it. “You’re right.” My throat feels parched. Damn it. Why do I have to be overcome with thirst when I’m not in a bar anymore? Wish I had something to drink…

  Emmett puts me into a shiny Lamborghini. It’s green, which has to be his favorite color because it represents money.

  “No, it isn’t an association with money.” He makes sure I’m properly strapped in, then goes to take his seat behind the wheel and hands me a bottle of water.

  “Heeeey, thanks! How did you know?”

  “I can read minds, remember?”

  “Oh yeah…” It doesn’t hurt to indulge his quirky and cute insistence he can read my mind, especially when I’m in a pretty good mood. I struggle with the cap. Emmett takes the bottle, twists it open, then hands it back to me. “Thanks. Wonder if I can sue.”

  “Sue who? Me?” He starts the car.

  “No, Rick.” The engine roars like a dragon waking up. It makes me feel powerful. No wonder Daenerys Targaryen rode dragons in Game of Thrones. They were the ultimate power cars of the fantasy world. “For making money off me. What he’s done is inequitable.” There. Can’t be that drunk, because I said the word without stumbling over it.

  “Inequ—?” Emmett frowns, then shakes his head. “Never mind. You should. Sue him, that is. By the way, where do you live?”

  Does he want to come in? He isn’t looking at me like he wants to devour me. And he’s definitely not holding his dick in his hand and moaning my name.

  So probably not.

  “Directions?” he says. “To your place?”

  Maybe I should drive my car. It’s no dragon mobile, but it will do.

  But oh wait… I had five drinks. If Dad hears that I drank that much and drove, he’ll be very disappointed.

  Resigned, I give Emmett directions. He starts maneuvering his car.

  I suck down half my water and try not to think about the fact that I’m in a car with my boss/the dude I had a quickie with last night, who’s now driving me home. A vague voice in my head says we need to talk about this, but…it’s awkward.

  Besides, Emmett wanted to talk about something else. What were we talking about before? Oh yeah. Rick using me to build his social media platform. And my suing him for that.

  “I don’t think I want to,” I blurt out. “It’s going to cost too much to sue, and—”

  “Not that much.”

  “—I don’t have money to burn.” I bristle at Emmett for his dismissive tone. “I’m not rich like you.”

  “Being rich isn’t a crime.”

  Probably not. But being a hot asshole is. Or at least, it should be.

  “Did you just call me hot?” A corner of his mouth quirks up a little.

  How is he able to keep reading my mind? We aren’t in the bar anymore. “You missed the ‘asshole’ part.”

  “Hate it when that happens. But my mind only picks up the details worth remembering.”

  “That’s why you have me. To remind you of details you’re too arrogant to remember.”

  He laughs. Wonder what’s so funny. Because my life isn’t funny at all. No. Not even alcohol can save it.

  Wow. That sounds depressing. “Emmett, do you know what’s really unfair?”