Baby for the Bosshole Read online

  Then he raises his eyes and our gazes meet. Something raw and hot coils in my belly.

  Pretending I’m not feeling anything, I join him at the elegant table covered with white cloth.

  “How was it?” he asks, a small smile curving his lips.

  “Fantastic. Thank you.” I choose the ginger lemon tea, which comes out almost immediately. I sip it. So. Good. “You’re going to get me addicted to these massages.”

  “You should splurge. You received the highest bonus last year among your peers.”

  That part is no secret. Our rank is a big factor in the firm’s compensation formula. I’m probably going to make the top again this fiscal year, which is in June.

  “I would, but all my money’s earmarked,” I say.

  “So is mine, but I allocate some of it to make myself feel good.”

  It’s too bad he doesn’t earmark some of his effort on being less of a dick to his employees. “I’m ready to head out if you are,” I say, since I’m done with my tea and I don’t want to tell him what I just decided here. The non-massage areas seem to be poorly soundproofed, and I don’t want some receptionist hearing what I’m about to propose. “We can talk on the way.”

  Emmett raises an eyebrow, but we get up and he signs a slip for the service on our way out. The valet brings the Lamborghini around, and Emmett hands him a few bills. Then we’re both in the car and off.

  How should I broach this topic? Not romantically—we’re kind of past that. Not professionally, either. It seemed easy when I was playing it out in my head, but now that I’m alone with Emmett, I have no idea how to start.

  “So. What do you want to talk about?” Emmett says, maneuvering onto La Cienega.

  Guess he’s tired of waiting. I thought men preferred to avoid we-need-to-talk talks. “Well… I’ve been thinking…”

  “About?”

  “Everything since…you know, Friday.”

  “Ah.” He nods thoughtfully. “Friday.”

  “Anyway.” I clear my throat. “I’ve decided that—if you’re okay with it, of course—I’d, uh, be open to a very discreet fling.”

  A short pause. “A fling?” A corner of his mouth quirks.

  “A discreet fling. Discreet being the key word here.”

  “Yeah, but you also said fling, which is more important.”

  Of course that’s what he focused on. “Yes. I did say that. But there have to be some rules.”

  “Okay.” He gestures at me to go ahead, his eyes on the road. “Give me the full disclosure.”

  Feeling like those drug commercials that have to list all the side effects, I start in. But at a normal speed so Emmett can remember everything, not just what’s “important.” “For one, we have to be totally professional at work. And I mean totally. One hundred percent. Nobody can know we’re involved.”

  He nods. “Goes without saying.”

  “Good. I don’t want to be the topic of gossip.” Or have someone crow over winning that damn betting pool or some bullshit like that. Nobody’s going to make money off my sex life if I can help it.

  “FYI, GrantEm doesn’t have a policy on interoffice dating, so long as there’s no HR complaint,” he says.

  “I won’t file a complaint.” Then I move on to the second and final part. “No gifts. No dates.” That should keep things clean and simple, since this isn’t going to go anywhere with me leaving the firm in less than eight weeks. “Just sex.”

  He gives me a sidelong glance. “What’s wrong with gifts and dates?”

  I pause. “Why aren’t you focusing on ‘just sex’?”

  “Oh, I’m focused on it. But gifts and dates are important, too.”

  “Well, yeah, normally. But that isn’t our relationship.”

  “Don’t treat me like one of your cheap, shitty ex-boyfriends.”

  “I’m not!”

  “If I want to buy you something nice, I should be free to. It’s my damn money.”

  “You said all your money’s earmarked.” Why is he arguing when he’s going to get what he wants? He should just concentrate on “sex.”

  “I can always reallocate. That’s the beauty of being a billionaire. I have lots of disposable funds to move around at my pleasure.”

  “I don’t know why you’re being difficult. It isn’t like you aren’t used to being an asshole.” There. I said it while completely sober. I’m too peeved at his argumentative attitude to care if my choice of words pisses him off.

  “I’m not an asshole.”

  I snort. “You crushed at least two people on Friday alone.”

  His eyes cut to me for a moment before going back to the road. “What? Who?”

  “See? It’s such a regular occurrence you don’t even remember.”

  “If I crushed them, they deserved it.”

  I ignore that ridiculous self-justification. “I saw how Webber and Diana looked after leaving your office.” Especially Diana, that poor child.

  Emmett curses under his breath. “Did they complain to you?”

  “No,” I say quickly, not wanting to get them into trouble. We aren’t close enough for that, and I’m usually too busy to gossip. “But I could tell.”

  “Have you ever reviewed their deliverables?”

  “No.”

  “So you have no idea why I had to ‘crush’ them, as you put it.”

  “I don’t know the specifics, but I can guess. You just wanted to give them training for fun.”

  Emmett shakes his head. “Are you still holding a grudge?”

  “Of course not. I’m a forgiving human being.”

  He heaves a sigh. “Okay. What I’m about to say is strictly between you and me.”

  “Okay.” I want to hear how he plans to justify his treatment.

  “Webber and Diana both fucked up. I gave Webber a handful of proposals and told him to rank them in order of viability. They aren’t for profit. I wanted a preliminary report on which one to invest in for the most overreaching change in the world. For every hundred ideas we fund for profit, we take on one for simply making the world better.”

  “We do?” I blink. “I thought everything at GrantEm was for profit.”

  “We don’t advertise it because we don’t want them to receive different treatment. Not even Webber knows what they were really for. Anyway.” Emmett continues in a scary-calm tone, “What does he do? Not only does he trash every single proposal for being ‘impractical,’ he CCs the company founders who submitted the ideas in his email to me! I don’t know where he got the balls to pull that kind of stunt, but he’s lucky I didn’t rip them off and shove them down his throat.”

  Wow. Emmett’s right. Webber did fuck up, and he’s lucky he didn’t get fired.

  “As for Diana, she’s sloppy. I told her she needs to QA her work with more care, but she just won’t do it. You can turn in a sloppy projection to your professor. It’s a class assignment, and the only thing you’re risking is your grade. But in real life, you’re risking millions of dollars and the livelihoods of people who work at the firm and the portfolio companies.”

  I wince because that is also a screwup. I make a mental note to see if I can help Diana do better. Webber’s close enough to my rank and year that he might not want it, but she would.

  “Don’t bother,” Emmett says.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re thinking about helping. Right? They wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They badmouth people who are doing better than them. They think the break room is private.” Emmett smiles coldly. “It’s not.”

  I’m glad I rarely gossip anywhere in the company, the break room included. But…does this mean Emmett knows about the betting pool about us? Or maybe not, because he hasn’t done a thing to indicate that he’s aware.

  He continues, “Anyway, back to the gifts and dates. They’re a must. Non-negotiable.”

  “More important than sex?” I ask, stunned that he’s stuck on this point. I can’t picture any of my ex-boyfriends arguing this vociferously about gifts and dates when they could have sex. Gifts and dates were things they did to get laid—the means to a happy end.

  “Why does your mind go to that extreme? I never said sex didn’t matter. It’s the trifecta.”

  “It’s a fling. Besides, when would we be able to date? I never leave early enough for that, and it’ll look suspicious if I start.”

  “And on the eighth day, after a nice little rest, God created the weekend.”

  “Am I going to have free weekends?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Thankfully, I control your assignments.” He smiles.

  And it’ll only be for a few weekends. Probably not worth an argument. “Fine.”

  “Good.” He smiles. “Now that we’ve settled that, move in with me.”

  “What? No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Gifts and dates doesn’t mean moving in together!”

  “How are we going to spend time together if you’re there”—he gestures in the general direction of my place—“and I’m there?” He gestures elsewhere—probably where his place is. “I don’t want to limit our time to just weekends.”

  “That’s not the point,” I say, feeling like I’m talking to a brick wall. The man’s smart, but when he’s got an idea in his head, it’s impossible to budge him. So I go for the argument that might make a dent. “And even if I were willing to move in with you, I room with Sasha. She would know.”

  He sighs a must-I-come-up-with-all-the-solutions? sigh. “Tell her you’re moving in with your boyfriend.”

  I have to laugh. “Emmett, get real. She knows I broke up with Rick. Nobody moves in with a rebound the next day.”

  “Sure they do, if their rebound can reignite their libido the way I can. I know that equine ex-boyfriend of yours gutted your sex drive.”

  I’m not discussing Rick’s effect on my sex drive with Emmett, mainly because he’s right, and I refuse to concede any point. You give an inch; he takes a mile. “It doesn’t matter what you say. The answer is a big, fat no. To use your word, it’s non-negotiable.”

  He drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. “I guess I’ll need to open a satellite office in Alaska and send Sasha there…”

  I choke back another laugh, then shake my head. “Even if you do, my answer won’t change.”

  He shakes his head. “Fine. Then can you at least come to my place? Or do I need to get a separate love nest just for us?”

  “Your place is fine.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emmett

  Amy seems to be into privacy, so it’s a good thing I live in a mansion. Still, part of me is annoyed that she refused to move in, because that would’ve made things easier. It isn’t like we’re strangers. We’ve known each other for almost two years now! That has to count for something.

  From the way she reacted, she doesn’t want me to show up at her apartment, either, since she doesn’t want Sasha to know that we’re sleeping together. Irritating. We pay more than enough for our associates to get their own places.

  I’ll see if I can do something about that later. For now, all I can think about is Amy. How nice she smells. How relaxed she seems after the massage. How she’s smiling more easily.

  My dick’s so hard it’s painful. But this isn’t the time to hurry. I need to do my due diligence and find all the spots that drive her crazy.

  I steer past the gates, secured by codes, and cruise through the green garden with topiaries of animals I inherited from the previous owner. When we reach the main entrance, I kill the engine, and she’s already out of the car.

  Trying to conceal how pounce-ready I am, I walk over and open the door to the sprawling two-story structure for her. She breathes out, “Wow,” as she looks around. I guess the place is impressive enough. I wouldn’t know how it looks from a woman’s point of view, since I’ve never brought one home. My mother doesn’t count.

  No time for a tour, though. Later, when the beastly lust is quenched.

  “Come here.” I pull Amy into my arms and claim her mouth. It’s soft and sweet, tastes faintly of lemon and ginger. And is one hundred percent pure Amy. Infuriating, smart, cocky, determined, driven… Everything I like about her.

  I thread my fingers into her warm, silken hair, cradling the curve of her head. I skim my free hand down her body, breast to flank to the flaring curve of her butt.

  She responds like she can’t get enough of me. Our tongues glide past each other, then tangle. My breathing grows louder and rougher; she plunges her hands into my hair, gripping my head for a deeper kiss. A small moan tears from her.

  Jesus, she’s addictive. If she was hot on Friday, now she’s nuclear. Knowing she wants me as much as I want her makes my blood simmer.

  I pull my mouth from hers for an unbearable second. “Hold on.” I lift her up bridal style and carry her upstairs to my bedroom, where the door is ajar. I toe it open, carry her in and place her on the bed. The sight of her lying there, hair spread on the sheet like spun gold, is…perfect. It feels right to have her in my bed, her blue eyes dark and glazed with desire. Her lips are starkly red and wet from the kiss, and the desire to have her mouth on my cock makes my vision go hazy.

  She looks up at me and licks her lips. Jesus. I place my hands on either side of her head and kiss her again, forcing myself to be tender and take it slow. She wraps a hand around the back of my waist and pulls me closer, sucking gently on my tongue.

  Clinging to control, I slip a hand under her shirt. She reaches from the other side and unhooks her bra.

  I give a fervent, silent thanks to whomever invented the front clasp as I cup her breast, feel the soft, warm weight against my bare palm and rub my thumb against the blunt, stiffened tip.

  I push her shirt up and take her nipple into my mouth. She grips my hair as I suck, the tip of my tongue flicking over the hard little nub.

  “Emmett, Emmett…”

  Her mindless chant is an aphrodisiac. I lavish the other nipple with the same attention, and she cries out, her hips bucking.

  Blood roars in my head. I pull the shirt over her head and toss it. I cover her neck with kisses and hear her breath hitch when I press my mouth against the skin behind her ears. A kiss with lips and tongue placed dead center between her collarbones makes her shiver. Fondling her breasts while layering her belly with kisses earns me a needy whimper that frays the already threadbare reins of my self-control.

  She’s incredibly responsive, her entire body open to sensual torment. But she’s reacting with uncertainty every time I explore a new part of her gorgeous body, like she’s unsure about my touch there. It’s a crime nobody loved her thoroughly, showed her how her whole body can be used to make her feel good.

  Their loss is my gain, I think with vicious satisfaction as I pull her pants and underwear down her legs, placing kisses along the path. She’s lost her flip-flops somewhere between the foyer and the bedroom. I press my thumb against the arch of her foot. She moans in bliss. Smiling, I nip the skin at her ankle, then run my mouth along her calves and kiss the skin behind her knees. It makes her squirm, the muscles in her ass tightening as she lifts her hips impatiently. I lave the spot, just to be sure, and her fingers dig into the sheets.

  “Mmm-hmmm. So soft and sensitive everywhere. We’re going to have so much fun.”

  “Yes, yes,” she whispers breathlessly. I don’t know if she understands half what I said or what she’s agreeing to. She’s feeling too good to know or care.

  Excited at her reaction, I take her mouth in another lush, carnal kiss, our tongues tangling. I slip my hand between her legs. Feel the liquid heat. She’s so slick, so wet.

  My thumb against her clit, I push a finger into her. She makes a sound between bliss and dissatisfaction. After a couple of drives, I push two more fingers in and feel her clench around them desperately. I take a moment, inhaling and exhaling to regain my slippery grip on control. I experiment with the angle of the thrust, feel the way her inner muscles respond. My fingers bump against a small spot inside, and she screams against my mouth, digging her fingers into my shoulders.

  “Do you like that, Amy?” I demand, elation driving me.

  “Yes!” she yells.

  Then, before she can let out another loud moan, I kiss her, fucking her with my fingers and letting her clit grind against the pad of my thumb. She braces her feet on the mattress and rocks against me, her back arching. Her leg and arm muscles shake as she tries to hang on.

  But I’m going to watch her break as she hits the peak.

  And she does, her mouth open in a soundless scream, her whole body tighter than an overwound spring, then suddenly relaxing into a puddle of bliss. Air rushes in and out her lungs, and I place tender kisses on her mouth and her breasts, then on her belly. I love everything about her orgasm. How it makes her lose herself. How it makes me want to drive her harder and higher.

  I spread her legs. She’s too overcome to care. Her pink flesh glistens, like a glazed treat. I wanted to lick it, suck on her clit until she comes again. But my dick’s too hard and throbbing.

  I rip my clothes off roughly, then reach over to the night table and pull out a condom from the drawer.

  Once I’m properly sheathed, I position myself and thrust into her until I’m buried all the way to my balls.

  Holy Christ. She feels amazing. And it actually feels hotter than on Friday when I drove into her bare.

  I grip her hips and begin to move. Oh yes.

  It’s an effort not to just immediately go full speed, but I should wait. See if she like it that way, too…

  …but the sliver of control I’ve been hanging on to vanishes like a snowflake in my grip, and I power into her. She clings to me hard. She whispers my name endlessly, breathlessly.

  Her growing pleasure feeds mine, and I’m now out of my mind with searing need for her. My skin is tight and hot, my lungs struggling to draw in air as I plunge into her.

  She arches against me, clinging to me, her voice an aria of ecstasy. I bury my face in the crook of her neck and inhale her sweet scent—mixed with clean, misted sweat and arousal. And I erupt, my arms wrapped around her like she’s the only thing that matters in my world.