Baby for the Bosshole Read online

  “It’s not that he wants me to. I want to. Because that’s his dream retirement home, and he deserves it. I ran the numbers. I’ll be able to afford it.”

  “Huh.” Emmett looks like a college freshman listening to a lecture on how to valuate a startup. Fascinated, but a little surprised and confused.

  “Don’t you want to do things for your parents when they do something really nice for you?” I ask, taking pity on him.

  He looks like he wants to shake his head, but doesn’t go through with it. “No… But I buy them presents for important occasions, like birthdays and Christmas.” He might as well be talking about having to vacuum a particularly shaggy rug.

  Which is weird. He sounded like he cares about his mother. Is this about his dad? Like if his dad took off like my mom… But I know he didn’t. Ted Lasker is a famous movie producer, and he’s right here in Hollywood. He also acknowledged all his children, and—based on articles about Emmett’s background—gave them the best childhood money could buy.

  Our waiter comes with our food, set on elegant white china. The French toast looks amazing, all golden fluffiness. It smells even better, reminding me that I didn’t have dinner last night. My mouth waters.

  Suddenly starving, I dig in. I focus on eating, doing my best to not think too deeply about Emmett’s personal life. Why should I be interested, anyway? I’m going to be gone soon. I drink my Dom, which tastes like liquid gold, silently toasting to this successful nonsexual interaction with my boss.

  “Can I ask you something?” Emmett says suddenly. “I couldn’t figure this out on my own.”

  “There’s something you can’t figure out?” What could it possibly be? How to be a good boss? How to develop a warm, caring heart?

  “It happens occasionally,” he says blandly.

  “But you’re a god of finance. Everyone says so.” So ask yourself, rather than a mere mortal like me.

  “It’s not about work.”

  Shocking that something other than work would bother him enough to cause him to ask.

  “You mumbled something about it at the bar, but I want to talk about it while you’re sober and actually going to remember what comes out of your mouth.”

  “Okay,” I say warily. What wouldn’t I give to remember exactly what I told him last night!

  He looks at me straight, like he doesn’t just want to look into my eyes but into my mind. “Why were you dating that guy?”

  “I don’t understand what you’re asking.” Ex-boyfriends aren’t to be analyzed. They’re to be put into a mental tar pit, to sink into the ooze and never be thought about again.

  “That guy who came to the office. He must’ve had something going for him for you to date him. Some…aspect.”

  “Why do you want to know?” From anybody else, I might think it was sheer curiosity. With Emmett, I can sense landmines. Lots and lots of landmines.

  “Just curious. I thought he was kinda awful.”

  My hackles rise. Not because I disagree with Emmett’s judgment of Rick, but because it feels like he’s judging my judgment. “Well. He wasn’t this awful when we first started going out. He was better than the boyfriends I’d had before.”

  “Where did you find these guys? In a dumpster?”

  “I just…met them,” I say. “Not every person you date is going to be Mr. Right.”

  “You can do better. You’re at least a nine.”

  Wow. I didn’t know I rated that high. “Thank you…I think.”

  “That means you can have men who are a nine or ten or better.”

  “Ten or better? What’s the scale here?”

  “One to ten.”

  “So…?”

  “Some guys get extra credit.”

  “Ah. The magic unicorn men.”

  “Exactly. With appropriate looks and assets.” It’s clear that he considers himself to be in this supernatural category.

  “Uh-huh.” I take a sip of my Dom. I’m not blurting out whatever just comes to my head, which at the moment is that Emmett Lasker could be a magic unicorn man—if he came with an appropriate heart. “I’m looking for more than just a man with a pretty face and money.”

  Emmett looks like he wants to add something to my list, but presses his lips together. Which is good. I don’t want the distraction.

  “I want a man with a heart and soul I can fall in love with.”

  “That isn’t necessarily mutually exclusive to money and looks. Or better bedroom technique.” Emmett speaks as though he’s imparting the lost wisdom of the universe.

  I don’t miss the way his fingers subtly curl toward himself, either. Arrogant jerk. And so annoying, since his arrogance isn’t totally unfounded. “I’m sure, but I don’t want to make a snap judgment after looking only at the exterior.”

  “But you wouldn’t have fallen for a guy who forced you to hike and cook and clean on your vacation. Would you?”

  It’s eerie to watch the contempt drip from Emmett as he describes what was essentially Rick’s plan for the six-month anniversary trip. Not that I disagree. “Are you kidding? That’d be my idea of hell. The best vacation is one where I don’t have to do anything. I want to lie there like a phone plugged into a charger and left in peace to reenergize.”

  Emmett nods and somehow makes the movement look smug. “Thought so.”

  I put my fork down, since every berry on my plate has been scooped up. I finish the Dom with a happy sigh. “Let me treat you to brunch.”

  “I don’t let women pay for my meals.”

  He sounds slightly annoyed. I’m sure part of it has to do with the fact that I’m also his subordinate. Bosses pick up the tab. It’s expected, especially in our profession. “What I mean is, to thank you for getting me home safely last night.”

  He waves it away. “Glad to help. Also, you stripped down to your panties right in front of me last night. So let’s call it even.”

  I almost choke on my own spit. His tone is so dry that I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or what. But the way his gaze burns as he looks at me… My lady parts clench. I shift in my seat to relieve the uncomfortable achiness.

  “Don’t worry. I was a gentleman. I worked out a few new ways to make money off credit default and currency swaps instead. Which I plan to execute and make an ass-load of money off soon. So I don’t mind.”

  The waiter appears with a white folio for the check. Emmett hands over his black AmEx but never takes his eyes off me.

  I say nothing. This is my fault for trying to be nice. Nice doesn’t go appreciated in Emmett’s world.

  “Thank you.” The words come out stiff, despite my effort to remain unaffected—or at least project an unaffected mien.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He signs for the slip our waiter comes back, and we leave the bistro together. I start to head toward the main door, but Emmett moves toward the elevator bank, his hand at my elbow to guide me toward him.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “To the seventh floor.”

  I swallow a gasp. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” I hiss, in case he thought that’s what we’re doing next.

  He stops abruptly. I almost bump into him.

  “First of all, I never stay on the seventh floor,” he says. “Penthouse suites all the way.”

  “Oh, right. The ones that come with a grand piano nobody plays.”

  “I never thought about them that way, but yes. Second, we both live in L.A., so we wouldn’t have to get a room at a hotel for sex.”

  My face starts to heat. “Fine. So why do you want me to go to the seventh floor with you?”

  “Because there’s a spa there.”

  “A spa?” I say stupidly.

  “Yes. You’re familiar with the concept?”

  “Of course I’m fami—”

  “Good. Then come along.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amy

  There really is a spa on the seventh floor. A slim receptionist in a white and green uniform greets Emmett. He gives her his name and asks for a couple of massages like he expects to be catered to. I wait for her to say there’s nothing available—you can’t just show up and demand to be accommodated.

  But no. She smiles, her lashes flutter and her cheeks turn pink. Of course we have treatment rooms available for you and your guest. We’re thrilled you’re here again and thank you for your continued patronage.

  Meanwhile, I’m not sure if I should be thrilled about being up here with Emmett. A massage seems a bit random. Certainly, nobody has ever said, “Massage!” after a meal, in my experience. But Emmett is acting like this is totally normal, part of his standard agenda.

  If my boss thinks something is normal, it probably isn’t.

  We’re taken inside the quiet, gorgeous space. Fresh orchids have been placed around the room, perfuming the air. The table she takes us to is one elegant cross-section carved from a huge tree, and you can see the age rings on the surface. Another person brings us citrus water and warm hand towels that feel like heaven.

  The menu options are quite extensive, with lots of information about each treatment. There’s even a mud bath, although I don’t know about sitting in mud for forty minutes at the prices they’re charging. I don’t care if the mud is supposed to be rejuvenating. It’s dirt mixed with a little bit of water, not the elixir of life.

  I tap the top edge of the menu. Honestly, I’m not sure what we’re doing in the spa, exactly. The brunch, I understand. Emmett was hungry and so was I. But this…?

  “The hot stone massage is really good,” Emmett says.

  “It is one of our most popular treatments. I recommend the eighty-minute option,” the receptionist says.

  I lean over and murmur into Emmett’s ear, “I thought we were going home after brunch.”

  “Why? I never said that.”

  Spoken like a bossy bastard.

  “Consider this a bonus,” he says.

  “For what?” Emmett is being way too nice. This isn’t normal. I can’t even imagine what he’s trying to pull. I already said no sex.

  “For work well done.”

  That only makes me more nervous. “Which, um, work in particular?”

  “All of it. Since you joined the firm,” he says, like he’s talking to a confused toddler. “Don’t you read your performance evaluations?”

  “Yes, but… Do you take other associates for massages, too?”

  “Nope. Just you. You’re special.”

  He doesn’t mean anything by it, surely. But somehow it punches my gut anyway, making my heart do that weird tumble it always does when I’m around him.

  “Besides, I want a massage. And I doubt you want to sit around and wait for the next eighty minutes or so while I get the hot stone treatment. So stop acting like I’m setting you up for a session with Torquemada. Just lie back and try to enjoy yourself. Think of the empire.”

  I cannot believe this man! Still, he does owe me for all those hours I had to put in for his “fun training” bullshit. And I don’t want to wait around for over an hour. So I feign nonchalance and accept. “Fine.”

  A Nordic blond guy with muscular forearms takes Emmett away, and I go with a cute brunette who leads me to a ladies’ changing area. I strip down and put on a plush white robe, slip my phone into a pocket and follow her into a dimly lit room. Unlike the reception area, the space here smells faintly of lavender and something else I can’t put a name to but is very soothing.

  She asks me for my preference for oil, then any areas of concern. I ask her to focus on my neck and shoulders because they’re always tense from being hunched over a laptop all the time.

  Once I take off my robe and lie down on the bed, she starts. I hear some rocklike clacking, and then smooth, warm, heavenly pressure as the stones are slid over the knots I didn’t know I had. Oh… Yeah… It’s so much better than a regular massage. The stones are warmer than a masseuse’s hands, and the heat relaxes all the tension from me. When she’s done with a section of my body, she leaves a toasty stone or two resting on it, and my muscles go even gooier.

  I sigh softly and close my eyes. Emmett’s still a jerk, but this makes him less of one. It’s probably the most luxurious, pampering experience of my life. It’s an order of magnitude better than the spa day Sasha and I had to celebrate our graduation from Wharton and starting at GrantEm.

  The eighty minutes pass in what seems like ten. When my masseuse gently taps my shoulder, I realize I’ve fallen asleep. I blink, then smile sheepishly.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  I note her nametag. “I’m great. Thanks, Cat.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Is Emmett done?”

  “I think so. But take your time. He’s probably in the resting area with some herbal tea. He likes to do that after a session.”

  She leaves, and I sit up slowly. Wow. My head is much clearer. And there’s no tension anywhere in my body. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this good.

  I put on my robe and pull out my phone. This the perfect time to take a quick selfie with a big, happy smile and send it to Dad later. I should bring him here when he visits for Xavier’s wedding. Just thinking about his being this relaxed and happy makes me smile.

  I step out and make my way to the changing room. As I open my locker and begin to get dressed, I can overhear a couple of women gossiping on the other side.

  “So who is he?” A breathless inquiry.

  “Emmett Lasker. He comes by once or twice a month, depending.”

  I breathe more quietly.

  “I thought he was a model when he walked by.” She sounds like she’s about to fan herself.

  You and me both. I adjust my bra for better comfort.

  “He’s so perfect. That body.” The other one sounds like she’s swooning. “Every time he makes a reservation, I get excited. He always comes during my shift.”

  “Maybe he’s coming here for you.”

  “Oh, please. He probably doesn’t even know my name.”

  She shouldn’t be that forlorn. Getting on Emmett’s radar isn’t always a positive thing.

  “Ken’s so lucky. He gets to massage that body.”

  I don’t know if Ken feels lucky. But I’d like to touch that body again, if I could also somehow make Emmett not know I was the one touching it.

  Oh my God, I sound like a creep…

  “Seriously. Emmett Lasker won’t make a reservation if Ken isn’t available.”

  Ken must be really good. I should book him for Dad.

  The two sigh and gab about my boss some more. As I finish dressing, I’m more or less forced to agree with every gushing word. If you don’t work for him, he’s pretty perfect. As a matter of fact, he gave me what I’d like to do to relax—an upscale brunch and massage. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d love.

  He wants to sleep with you again! Sasha’s voice crows in my head.

  If Emmett were just some guy I’d met, like Rick, I would’ve said yes to getting to know him on a personal level—including getting horizontal with him—while counting down my last days at the firm. I already know the man’s great at sex, too. Not just great, but The Best.

  But something’s holding me back. Not all of my misgivings are due to his being my boss. I slip on flip-flops and wonder what’s making me hesitate. I didn’t second-guess myself when I applied to Harvard, or the position at Goldman Sachs, or Wharton or GrantEm. They were the best, and I wasn’t going to settle for second best. It might have make me appear arrogant, but I knew what I was worth and capable of.

  So why am I so indecisive about Emmett? I should be able to make up my mind.

  Emmett Lasker is a person, not a school or a job.

  And people are complicated. They don’t always seem to be what they really are. Just look at my mom and dad. He thought she was worth it, did all the right things for her, but she ended up leaving him. The pretty outward packaging was exactly that—packaging. In the end, it couldn’t conceal her selfish inner bitch.

  There’s nothing that says Emmett is going to be different from my mom.

  Maybe what I need is a sign. It doesn’t matter if it says a fling with Emmett is going to be fine or sleeping with Emmett again is going to be a terrible mistake. I just want something so I can decide.

  And then I have to laugh at myself over how silly I’m being. I don’t do signs. I must be really frazzled to want one. I believe in facts. And planning.

  My phone buzzes. I look down, wondering if Emmett’s texting me to see if I’m ready to head home.

  But no. It’s not Emmett. It’s the sign I was hoping for.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amy

  –Marion: Hello, Amy. I’m thrilled to let you know the position’s yours, should you still want it. HR is going to get in touch next week with the official offer, but I wanted to be the first to let you know.

  I stop breathing for a second. I didn’t expect the Blaire Group to make their decision this fast.

  –Marion: Our compensation is generous, and there will be a relocation bonus as well. The details will be coming soon. Congratulations!

  Smiling, I read both texts again. It’s not a dream. I have the job.

  –Me: Thank you! I look forward to speaking to your HR people next week!

  This is a sign I should have a hot, discreet fling with Emmett Lasker for the next seven weeks and six days. If things get awkward or if he turns out to be some closet asshole, who cares? It’s a fling! And the Blaire Group is in Virginia! Five hours away by plane!

  Thank you, Marion Blaire. You’re the best.

  Feeling like the weight of the world has lifted off my shoulders, I sigh. This is the reward for all the things I’ve had to put up with.

  I go to the resting area, where Emmett is back in his clothes and sitting at a table with some hot herbal tea. His wide shoulders seem loose and relaxed. The white porcelain cup looks dainty in his large hand, but he seems comfortable holding the fragile thing. He takes a ruminative sip and nods to himself. I can’t remember a time when he was this free of tension.