Baby for the Bosshole Page 9

  I don’t know how long I stare at him before he says, “So. The Excel model.”

  I shake myself, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. I clear my throat. “Yeah. Um…right here. Let me share it with you.” I enable the collaboration tool so he can look at the file and make corrections at the same time and I can see what he’s doing.

  “No need for that.” He comes to the couch and sits down next to me. “Let’s just look it over together.”

  All my senses go on full alert. The blood in my veins heats, rushing faster, warming my skin despite the cool air in the office. I keep my hands steady and open the file.

  He leans toward me, his body closing the gap even though I angled the laptop screen so he wouldn’t have to lean quite this close. His hot scent revives and then begins to stoke the sexual frustration from my dream.

  Good God, Amy. Be cool, girl, be cool!

  So far he’s been acting like nothing unusual happened last night, which probably means we’re on the same page and he scrubbed it from his memory. I don’t want to disrupt our mutual fake amnesia by doing anything that might remind him of that sex. It might annoy him enough to have him consider moving me to another team. His half-brother Grant Lasker’s team is full, but there is a junior partner, Sam Andersen, who could use another associate working for him. That would be career suicide.

  Not because there’s anything wrong with Sam. But having Emmett Lasker dumping me in Sam’s lap would signal to everyone that I didn’t measure up to his expectations. It would shatter the reputation I’ve built from all the stellar deals I’ve executed. Everyone in the industry would pity me, and they’d whisper about what I must’ve done wrong to earn such a shocking demotion, barely an inch away from getting fired. People would question my ability, my dedication, and headhunters—and interviewers at other firms—would want to know why.

  “Emmett Lasker felt dirty and used because I caught him doing something private at night, which led to us having sex, and afterward I ran out on him” isn’t something I would ever be able to share. I wouldn’t even be able to hide behind an NDA, because then they’d really speculate.

  Think of something that will kill that empty achiness that’s starting.

  On cue, my mind flashes an image of Rick’s naked penis. Smaller and not as impressive as Emmett’s. Now that I think about it, not as well formed, either. And sort of pathetic and sad when it’s limp, just hanging between his legs like a not-so-well-filled sausage.

  I grimace, all the inappropriate thoughts about Emmett gone from my head. I forcibly push the disgusting image of Rick’s penis out of my mind, too. I’m in the office—what the hell is wrong with me?

  “Good,” Emmett says slowly, as I click through all the tabs. “Good.”

  I relax. Maybe this is one of those rare weekends where the stars of twenty galaxies line up. Having tomorrow off is going to be amazing. Excitement is already bubbling, like I’m a kid before Christmas.

  I’m definitely buying that lottery ticket!

  “Glad you like it. So what’s this version for?” I keep my tone smooth and professional. “To show the partners the venture’s solid even if we have a recession?”

  “Nah.” Emmett reaches over and presses the save icon for the Excel file. It obediently responds—without giving him the attitude it gave me last night. “The one you gave me on Friday was great.”

  What…?

  “This one is purely for your own good.”

  “My own good?” Please tell me I misheard.

  “Yeah. It’s good to redo models under various different scenarios. Helps you see the bigger picture. It’s an excellent training exercise, and fun to do.”

  An excellent training exercise? Fun to do?

  He had me stay past midnight on a Friday for a training exercise?

  He’s beaming at me like he’s proud.

  Oh, yes, he did. And he’s pleased.

  I take back what I said about him hot enough to work up my libido. I want to murder this son of a bitch.

  “You look unhappy,” Emmett says, the smile still on his I-don’t-have-the-faintest-clue-why-that’s-the-case face.

  “Do you think that this exercise could maybe have waited until Monday?” I say in my calmest, deadliest voice, while fantasizing about wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing. Emmett has a strong-looking neck, but I’ll bet that right at the moment I could pop his head off it like a grape.

  He seems oblivious to my mood. “No, it couldn’t have. You’ve got a meeting to attend on Monday, and you’re leading due diligence for the Drone project.”

  “So… The training had to happen on Friday. Right as I was about to leave.”

  He nods, wearing an expression that says he can’t believe he needs to answer such an elementary question. “That’s what I decided. Are you upset because you had to break up with your boyfriend?”

  Is that what Emmett thinks? He’s supposed to feel like a piece of shit for making me stay late to do something that wasn’t essential or urgent! “No!”

  But honestly, maybe a little, because breaking up is stressful, even though it was the right thing to do. With Rick’s attitude the way it is, a breakup was inevitable. The fact that it happened last night actually saved me some time and effort. I don’t want to invest in a relationship that’s doomed to fail because my boyfriend doesn’t respect what makes me me.

  “Well, then. I don’t see what the problem is.” Emmett’s tone says, Do you?

  “The problem is the fact that the work wasn’t needed for the meeting on Monday.”

  “But it’s for your personal development.”

  I’m not going to win this argument. Besides, I only have seven weeks and six days left to go at GrantEm. Do I want to waste my time and energy arguing? “Fine,” I say grudgingly.

  He shoots me an expectant smile.

  I stare back at him. I already handed over the exhibits and references. And the Excel model, which he seems satisfied with. What am I missing?

  Maybe he wants to talk about sex now.

  Nope. Not going there first.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me?” he says.

  “Thank you?” It comes out as a whisper. No jumping to conclusions, since who knows what’s going through that evil mind of his. I maintain a strained control over myself. “For what, exactly, would I be thanking you?”

  He spreads his hands. “For the training! Unlike Wharton, I’m paying you to learn.”

  “Giving me on-the-job training is part of your responsibility as my boss.” So don’t even think about wrangling undeserved “thank you” out of me. I gather my things. “Do you need anything else?” I ask in my coldest and most professional tone. “Any more training on modeling and valuation, perhaps?”

  He props his arm on the back of the couch and rests his temple on the tip of his index finger. A smug smile on his too-fucking-handsome face. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “Great. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Before he can say anything else, I open the door. The smile on his face has transformed, and he looks like a cat that just caught himself a bird he’s been eyeing for ages.

  Chapter Ten

  Amy

  I hit the button to call one of the elevators to take me to the lobby and try to focus on the positive. The meeting went much better than I expected. The review only took an hour, so I’m out of here before six. And he didn’t ask for corrections or redos, which is a minor miracle. After I buy that lottery ticket, I should go to the beach, hold my arms out and see if the Pacific will part itself for me.

  Now I just have to get into an elevator, by myself, and make my escape. And soon I’ll be escaping from GrantEm Capital and Emmett Lasker as well.

  It’s going to be a long seven weeks and six days. But I can do it, and without murdering my infuriating boss for giving me busywork for fun. He’s not worth going to jail for.

  Yeah, but he’s worth another screw.

  Shut up, shut up, shut up!

  “You don’t have to run out like I’m some plague carrier. I’m healthy as a horse—I mean, a stallion.”

  Emmett. I knew it! I knew things were going too well.

  No parting of the sea. It’s too late to take the emergency exit now, not that I’m capable of climbing down thirty-five stories’ worth of stairs again. “I just want to get home and watch some Netflix.” I smile, keeping my eyes on the closed doors in front of me.

  Ding!

  The doors open. Argh. Three seconds too late! I could’ve had the entire car to myself!

  I gesture with a flourish. “After you.”

  He steps inside, then looks at me.

  Oh no. I’m not making the same mistake again. “Have a good evening.” I give him a small wave.

  He pushes the button to keep the doors open. “It’s big enough for us to share.”

  But I don’t want to have another elevator ride with you. “I like the one on the right better. It’s kind of a superstition.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “I would’ve never guessed that by the number of times I’ve seen you riding here in the left one.”

  I doubt he’s observed me that closely. More like he’s going off a statistical probability. How annoying. “I ride the left one on even-numbered days.”

  “But you didn’t yesterday.”

  “Yesterday was an exception. Wrong phase of the moon.”

  He gives me a what-bullshit smile. “Then I’ll wait with you to see what’s so special about the right elevator on odd-numbered days. Meanwhile, I might use the time productively and think of some extra training for you today.”

  For a fraction of a second I freeze, wondering if this is some kind of innuendo. But so far, his behavior has been completely professional.

  Regardless, I absolutely refuse to spend the rest of the evening creating an Excel model for his amusement. “Is that a threat?” By all that is holy, I want to tie him up, toss him on the street and run him over a few times.

  “No. I’m informing you of a possible training opportunity. You’d have to give up Netflix, of course, but the training would be quite instructive.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose on you that way, especially after the brilliant training you came up with on Friday.” I step into the elevator with him. Being stuck together for a few minutes is worth not having to do more bullshit “training.”

  “I always like it that you’re considerate. And since I’m feeling agreeable, I won’t ask you to draft the negotiation pointers and memos for Bernie so he can review them before the meeting on Monday.” Emmett says it like a king granting a favor to a peasant.

  He wouldn’t have brought up something this specific if it wasn’t something that needs to be done. “Who’s going to do it?” Whose work will I need to review over the weekend?

  “Me.” His tone says, Who else?

  Awesome. That means I won’t have to review anything, but… “Don’t you ever go home and just enjoy your free time?” I blurt out before I can catch myself.

  “Sure.” Emmett grins. “I do a lot of things in my free time.”

  “Like dating.” I bite my tongue as soon as the words slip out. Why am I talking our conversation to something so personal? Is it his scent working on me again? Or maybe this is some kind of subconscious resentment and a need to talk to him because he shouldn’t have done any of the things he did yesterday. Admittedly, I lost my head because of fury and a lack of sleep…but he shouldn’t have responded to me. Or tried to go for a second helping when his phone kept buzzing.

  He gives me a look. “Dating?”

  Let’s see how long you can play dumb. “You know. I saw a picture of you with some redhead at a gala earlier this month.”

  “Oh, her?” He shrugs. “We’re not dating. We just attended the event together.”

  “Then why did you text me about ‘diamonds or pearls’?”

  “Did I?”

  The elevator finally reaches the lobby. We walk out together, crossing the marble floor to the main entrance.

  When Emmett still appears nonplussed, I roll my eyes inwardly and decide to help. “Yesterday morning?”

  “Oh, that’s right. No, that was for a market survey.”

  “Market survey?” I wait a few beats for him to elaborate. “Shouldn’t you be delegating that sort of things to an analyst?”

  “They can’t handle it.” He reaches for the huge, tinted glass door and holds it open for me.

  I doubt that. I’ve never seen him talk to an analyst about a market survey, and none of the analysts have ever mentioned working on one, either. In addition, he’s been asking me to pick this or that since I started at the firm. What market survey lasts that long? Of course, he could’ve just made up a series of market surveys for “fun” and “training.”

  This man needs a hobby. Something wholesome and harmless, like stamp collecting. He’s so anal and exacting, it’s precisely the kind of thing he’d enjoy. He can organize stamps by country, year, commemorative event and more. And quit asking me to pick between two different types of gemstones or vacation spots or clothes or whatever that happens to pop into his head.

  As we exit the building, I open my mouth to suggest—

  “I knew it! Working late, my ass!”

  Rick’s shriek pierces the air like an ice pick. I start, then swivel my head.

  He’s standing in front of the main door. He probably picked this location to loiter since it’s the one closest to the garage on the other side of the street. His face is so red, his neck so stiff, he looks like he’s about to pass out from hypertension.

  “When did you get back from Tahoe?”

  He rants like he hasn’t heard me. “Job, really? You left me for this slick piece of shit?” He gestures at Emmett, who is observing the situation with eyes that are positively sparkling.

  My stomach starts to hurt. When Emmett Lasker gets that look, nothing ends well.

  “Who is this, Amy?” he asks.

  “An ex-boyfriend.”

  Thank God I get to put Rick in the “ex” category. Still, it’s embarrassing. He’s making a scene in front of my office building. At least it’s a Saturday.

  I pray that nobody else from the office is working late today. I wish I’d checked. If anybody from GrantEm witnesses this, it’ll hit gossip central faster than the speed of light. When you have no life of your own, you live vicariously through others. And nobody does that better than people in finance.

  And then it happens. Valerie, a second-year analyst at the firm, walks by in a T-shirt and yoga pants. She lives in a studio apartment near the office and must have been at some fitness center nearby. Her hobby is gossip, which she claims is “networking.” She takes out a phone and holds it in front of her. Shit!

  “Ooooh… The guy you didn’t get to spend time with because we were together yesterday evening…and last night,” Emmett says, totally unhelpful. Not only that, he’s painting the wrong kind of picture for Rick, which is seriously annoying. When I marched into his office, I was already through with Rick.

  But Emmett isn’t finished. “And I think we went into early Saturday morning. And just now, too, of course.”

  Argh! Why doesn’t he just pour gasoline on the whole situation and fan the flames?

  “You need to go home,” I say to Rick. And quit embarrassing me. Ex-boyfriends are supposed to stay in the past, not the present.

  Rick isn’t listening, though. “You’re picking this? Over me? Slick packaging over something genuine and real?”

  “Yeah, Amy. Say it ain’t so. Tell him neigh,” Emmett says, putting a weird tremor into the last word, like he’s a donkey.

  Rick turns redder. “Picking your job over me, my ass! You were just looking for a way to end what we have so you could make me the villain. For this…this…” He points at Emmett, his finger quivering. “I don’t even know what to call him.”

  Emmett smiles at Rick. “Don’t worry, buddy. Happens all the time. I often strike people speechless with wonder and awe.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in Tahoe?” I say to Rick, hoping to distract him before he gets any crazier. He might not care about his dignity, but I care about mine.

  “I couldn’t go with you cheating on me with this…this…person.”

  “I never cheated on you!”

  Rick ignores me. He glares at Emmett, sizing him up—the expensive clothes, the watch that cost more than what most people make in a year, the four-figure haircut, and the towering height, a good five or six inches taller than Rick. My ex-boyfriend’s eyes are bright with calculation. It doesn’t take long for him to realize he comes up short. Way short.

  That obviously isn’t what he wanted in the situation. I was supposed to sink into misery and regret over losing him. Envious rage sparks behind his eyes.

  “I should’ve known you were cheating,” he says, obviously clinging to the belief that he’s the poor victim. “And what kind of asshole steals another man’s girlfriend?”

  Fucking Rick. He’s a talking cockroach!

  Emmett looks at his watch. “We should get going. Our dinner reservation is at six.”

  What? There’s no “dinner reservation” on my calendar!

  Rick sticks his arms out, pointing accusingly at me and Emmett. “You fuckers! You aren’t even trying to hide it!”

  “Neigh.” Emmett does that weird donkey thing again, although maybe it’s a horse. “It’s at Lux,” he adds, like Rick hasn’t yelled loud enough to alert every media outlet in the city. “I asked them for seven courses. You can pick the entrées once we get there, Amy.”

  What the hell is this? Something to make up for the Friday “incident”? A backhanded attempt to get me out on a date?

  Rick is frowning like he’s completely lost. Not surprising. Lux is one of those restaurants without a set menu or price. You pick the number of courses you want, tell them about any preferences or allergies and the chef will create a culinary masterpiece. Basically, if you have to ask about the price, you can’t afford it. The only reason I know about the place at all is because GrantEm rented the entire restaurant for a Christmas party my first year at the firm.