Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance (2 page)

I
almost gave
these old guys heart attacks.

Standing up from my seat at the conference table, I revel in the pride pumping through me.
Take that, finance meeting.
I rocked it; had the geriatric stakeholders eating out of my hand. It’s only my first week as an account executive at the Detroit Rock City Casino and I’ve already corrected an error that saved them two million. Pocket change for a casino like this, sure, but priceless to my resume.

No wonder they love me.

I stand next to my boss, Donetta, as the room clears. She slips an arm around my shoulders and gives me a little squeeze.

“That was amazing.
You
are amazing!”

Her praise means a lot to me. Taking a chance on someone like me was risky for her. I worked in a small accounting office before applying here. Not much to credential me for a job like this, but Donetta saw something in me that she liked. I like to think it was the gritty, all-American backstory of me putting myself through college by bartending and cleaning other people’s toilets.

But I think she was mostly impressed with my grades and the glowing reference my old boss dished up.

Energized, I’m ready to go back to my tiny office and keep combing through five years of financial documents, looking for more errors. The guy who had this job before me focused more on the whiskey hiding in his desk drawer than on dollar signs. To say he left a mess behind would be a massive understatement. But I’m on it.

I know full well people don’t expect it from a girl who looks like me, but I’ve got a brain and a penchant for sorting big numbers. Right now, I’m hungry to get back to work. I promised the stakeholders a report by the end of the week, which leaves me three days to get it done.

It hits me, not for the first time, just how far I’ve come. My chest gets a little tight as the thoughts roll through my head. A handful of years ago, I was doing what I had to in order to survive. That included things I really didn’t want to do. But I stuck it out, and graduated at the top of my class. I didn’t want to just survive, I wanted to thrive.

I managed to save a little, and spend a lot on things that mattered. Like a car, and a nice apartment, and the color-blocked Anne Klein shift dress I’m wearing with Italian leather pumps. For the first time in my twenty-seven years, I feel completely in control of my life.

Nailing this job just made it all come together.

“You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself.” Donetta nudges me as she pours a glass of water from the carafe on the table and takes a sip.

“I suppose.” I smile. I
am
pleased.

My life could have easily gone another way. I experienced my share of bad neighborhoods and shady men. I made deals with killers, resulting in deliveries that could have gotten me hurt or killed. I recall the last delivery that I made … the package, and the man. My lips begin to tingle at the phantom feel of his mouth claiming mine. Absently, I touch my lips, shocked and a little embarrassed that I can revive a reaction to him after all these years.

This isn’t the first time my thoughts have strayed to that kiss. It’s part of working here. What a strange twist of irony that I’m working in the very place where I was finally freed from my old life.

From Georgios.

Nausea burns the back of my throat, my good mood completely gone. Why did I have to think of him now? The crushing relief I experienced that night after he let me go has stayed with me. It’s there every day, quietly reminding me how far I’ve come. I try to recall that sense of lightness, to buoy myself back to my earlier cheer.

“Well, I’m going to get back to it.” I say. If Donetta notices my mood change, she doesn’t let on.

“Oh no, you’re not.” She slides over to me and loops her arm through mine. She might be my boss, but Donetta and I have forged a friendship in the past couple of weeks. Like a magnet and steel, we just sort of clicked and I have the sense that she’s the real deal, a real friend. I’m not sure how to process that, seeing how I’ve never had a close girlfriend before. But I’m working on it.

“The boss had a catered meeting this morning. We have meals waiting for us. That is, if you like French cuisine?”

I shake my head no and then yes because I have no idea if I do. I don’t want to look unsophisticated, so I nod. “Ye—Yes! Sounds good.”

Donetta side-eyes me with a grin that says she knows damn well I’ve never eaten anything French beyond the day-old croissants I sometimes get at the discount grocery. She makes small talk as we leave the corporate offices and head down to the casino level. I had a tour when I was first hired and haven’t been down here since.

It’s opulent and magnificent and looks like some lost Greek city revived from the bottom of the ocean. I only get a peek at the main floors before we move to a series of back hallways that feel very covert and hush-hush. Goosebumps rise on my forearms, along with that little prickle at the base of my neck. I don’t get time to ponder my reaction, as Donetta opens a pair of grand floor-to-ceiling doors and leads me into a private dining room.

You’d never know there was a meeting in here. It’s immaculate, right down to the silk tablecloth and fresh beeswax candles adorning the single round table in the middle of the room.

“Ah, perfect.” Donetta smooths the back of her pencil skirt and sits. An array of metal dome-covered dishes are arranged on the table. I feel one. It’s still warm, as if some ghostly waiter had been waiting just for us.

I’m struck again at my good fortune. A little giddy, I listen raptly as Donetta lifts off covers and explains the various dishes. We serve ourselves, and to my surprise, she pours us dark red wine in huge goblet glasses.

“Cheers!” She clinks her glass against mine, and I’m whirling with the knowledge that I’m having wine with lunch in the middle of a workday—and it’s sanctioned.

Hell. Yes.

I have it so good, I feel like I might burst.

Donetta looks smug as she takes a huge bite and savors it. “He never does anything second best.”

I know she’s talking about the boss and my curiosity is immediately piqued. Especially when an almost dreamy look crosses her face. It’s the same look she had yesterday when she off-handedly mentioned that he’d been away from the casino on business a lot lately.

It’s pretty clear that someone has a crush on the old guy. Well, if he is old. I wonder what he’s like. Portly, probably. Old, but trying to hide it with expensive tanning cream and hair implants. Yet Donetta doesn’t strike me as the type to fall for someone just because he’s rich, and let’s face it, if the boss is how I imagine him, money is the only thing he’s got going for him.
There’s no such thing as an ugly rich man
, my sister Nathalie used to say.

“What’s he like?” I blurt. I stuff cabbage in my mouth before I spout anything else.

“Well, he’s driven and intense.
Very
intense.”

I pause mid-chew. Driven and intense are code words for
asshole
.

I swallow. “That’s it?”

“Oh no. It’s just … he’s hard to get to know, actually. He’s sort of domineering and bossy … and, you know, just …really …”

Her cheeks flush and I smile at how flustered she is. The seasoned professional has melted away into pathetic schoolgirl. An odd, charged kind of tension sparks between us as she tries to regain her composure. This is fun, though, and I’m not done with her yet.

“Hot?” I venture.

She laughs and it breaks the weirdness. “Mr. Masters is very handsome, yes.”

“So, you’ve dated him?”

“Ha!” She shakes her head. “No. No. He doesn’t date. I mean, he takes women to important functions, but none that he identifies as a girlfriend or whatever. In fact …” She crosses her arms and leans in. Her voice drops to a whisper.

“I think his tastes are very
particular
.” She makes eyes at me as if I know exactly what she means.

“Oh … so, like, he has a goat wearing a tutu tied up in his office,
particular
?”

We clink our glasses again and laugh.

“Maybe not quite that, but I sense he’s into some kind of kink. Prostitutes, maybe.”

Yuck.
I don’t say that out loud, though. I mean, to each his own. But I’ve had enough history with prostitution in my past that it’s something I can’t see past without disgust.

“You know, there was this one girl. She accompanied him to a few events, which was odd. He never takes the same woman twice. She had, like, marks on her wrists.”

“What kind of marks?”

Donetta shrugs as she leans back in her chair. “I’m not sure. She apparently tried to hide them with bracelets, but a couple pics were taken at one event that showed the marks clearly.”

I got the sense that she had a theory, so I push. This gossip is too good not to push.

“Spill it, Donetta.”

“Okay, rope burns. Like if your wrists got tied together too tightly, or for too long.”

“He tied her up.”

“Maybe. I told you. Kink!”

My stomach sinks even as a flutter goes through me. I know exactly what she means. Being bound can be both a nightmare and a delicious fantasy. I’ve encountered both, not that I’m telling her. New friend or not, certain things stay behind brick walls.

Those things stay behind walls when I’m alone, too.

My mind runs rampant with some fictional image of Mr. Masters tying up a faceless woman, the cuffs of his dress shirt turned back, the muscles of his forearms flexing as he works a knot.

My face goes hot and I drain the last of my wine.

She rises from her chair and I quickly follow suit, eager to get back to work and away from my thoughts.

“You know, if you’re brave, you could ask him yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

She leads me down another hallway. “After this morning’s performance, you’ve earned an introduction.”

I falter a little. No. No way do I want to meet the boss now. Not after the gossip and especially not after the sexy things that just twisted through my mind.

“I really should get back to work.” Maybe it’s the wine, but my body suddenly feels hot all over. Plus, I really do want to keep working, considering the time crunch I’m under. I’m obligated to over-deliver at this point. I’m about to protest again, but Donetta waves me off.

“Really, I think he’ll be very impressed with you. He has a knack for nurturing exceptional talent within the company. Trust me when I say that you want to be on his good side.”

I realize she’s leading me up to the penthouse. I’m having a feeling of déjà vu, of a lack of control. I know it’s just because I was here before, the night I made my last delivery. But it wasn’t this side of the hotel. I don’t recognize anything around me.

“He can seem intimidating, but don’t let that bother you. He’s like that with everyone.”

Great. My mental image of him is as muddled as my head.

I turn my attention to the opulence of the hall. Crystal chandeliers sparkle down in a vertical row from the ceiling. Billowing ferns in oriental urns line the wall. I half expect a fluffy Persian cat to saunter out with a gold-dipped mouse in its mouth.

We stop by the only door at the end of the short hall. Donetta speaks into an intercom and a moment later, a click sounds as the door unlocks. She walks in with familiarity while I get more nervous by the second.

Something about this feels off to me, but I can’t place it. Goosebumps skitter down my arms, despite the warmth of sun streaming in through huge windows.

The penthouse is sectioned in two. We take an immediate right into a wide hallway, and I realize one area is living space, and the other an office. A middle-aged receptionist sits beside glass doors. She stands when she sees us and opens the doors, revealing a huge, airy office.

Light from a row of floor-to-ceiling windows floods the room, glinting off white walls that are tempered by the dark mahogany furniture.

A sun drop glimmers off a golden nameplate on the desk. BRENT MASTERS. I spot him then, standing with his back to us as he faces the windows. My unease grows as I realize how obviously
not
portly he is … probably not old either, unless he works out, because damn. The tightness of his muscles is apparent by the way his suit perfectly cradles his body. Broad shoulders, a lovely tapered back that leads to a narrow waist.

My hands start to shake as my palms go damp. Startled by my reaction, I discreetly wipe my hands on my skirt. This is the boss? My imagination isn’t even capable of creating such perfection.

“Mr. Masters,” Donetta calls warmly.

It hits me then, why I’m uneasy. It’s not just that the last time I was on this floor in this hotel, I went lip-to-lip with the stranger who still haunts my dreams. He creeps in whenever he wants, leaving me breathless and wanting. When I wake, I can taste him as if he’d truly been there. It’s because the last time I was on this floor, in this hotel, I was expecting not to leave it.

“Good morning, Donetta.” He replies, not bothering to turn around. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets like he has all the time in the world and we’re an inconvenience. He might be hot, from the back anyway, but I don’t like him. Somehow, the impression is firmly rooted in my head and it won’t budge.

I hope that my meetings with Brent Masters will be infrequent.

“I’m sorry we missed you at the finance meeting this morning,” Donetta continues. “We’re happy to give you a verbal update until the printed report is done later today.”

“Fine.” He clears his throat and it irritates me that he won’t turn and face us. Does he have some horrible facial deformity or something? My mind suddenly goes wild with images of elephantitis or a third eye. I stifle a nervous giggle, knowing it’s just my nerves.

“Our new account executive just identified and recovered a two million-dollar error. She’s already found several other smaller errors on past accounts, and will have a full report for you by week’s end. I’d like to introduce you, sir.”

My mouth goes dry at her praise, but I have to wipe my palms again. I’m sure he neither cares nor appreciates my work. Hell, two million is just not that much in this industry, shocking as that is to laypeople. Mr. Masters probably has that much under his couch cushions.