Sleeping With My Boss: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (A Dirty Office Romance) (67 page)

As I washed the
dishes I couldn't help but remember the way his arms had felt wrapped around my
waist and how the feeling of his cheek pressed against my stomach made me ache
for more. And yet, he'd made it fairly obvious that he wasn't particularly
interested in anything more than being roommates, so I needed to clear those
thoughts out of my mind.

I picked up my
phone and noticed that there was a call from an unidentified number on the
screen and a voicemail. I hit play and listened to a man I had never met say,
"Miss Frost, this is Commander Arvin Donnelley, U.S. Naval Recruitment
Headquarters in New York City. I need to speak with you about a matter of
utmost importance. Please return my call at 555-7435 at your earliest
convenience." I had no idea who this man was or what he could possibly
want with me, but I was fairly sure that he was no longer in the office. I'd
call him in the morning.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Ryan

After
dinner, Echo sat down with her computer and tried to puzzle out the code my
father had left for her, but after an hour of getting nowhere, she gave up and
decided that it would be wise to wait until the next message arrived. As I
watched her working, I thought about how much my father must have trusted her
to have left his entire life's work in her care. He had not been a easy man to
live with, and his trust was something that took a long time to earn, but once
it was, it was solid.

I watched her
working and smiled as she frowned at the screen and bit her lip when the codes
didn't turn up the information she wanted. She'd gathered her long blond hair
in a loose ponytail at the back of her neck as she worked, but a loose strand
kept falling forward causing her to pucker her lips and blow it out of her way
in a manner that was both cute and incredibly sexy. I wanted to look away, but
I couldn’t. Truth be told, I wanted to kiss her, but I wouldn't.
 
And I couldn't get the feeling of her hands
on my head out of my mind nor could I forget about how soft she'd felt when I'd
held her against me. I reminded myself that she belonged to someone else, and
that I had no desire to alienate her with my unwanted advances. I needed her
help, and if that meant that I had to take more than one ice cold shower a day
to keep my desires under control, then I would.

I stepped out onto
the balcony and dialed Eva's number. It rang several times and then went to
voicemail, so I left her a message asking about the status of my father's
autopsy report. I asked her to get back to me soon knowing that she would
probably ignore my call and that I'd have to go to her mother's to track her
down.

"Everything
okay?" Echo asked when I came back inside.

"Yeah, I was
just trying to get ahold of Eva," I said as I tossed my phone on the
coffee table. "She's probably at the yacht club getting blasted with her
rich friends."

"She sounds
like a piece of work," Echo said looking up at me as she rubbed her eyes.

"Oh, she
is," I nodded. "I have no idea why my father married her. She's not
particularly bright, and she's completely narcissistic. She's nothing like my
mother was."

"Maybe that's
the whole point," Echo said looking back down at her computer screen as
she sighed and said, "I give up. None of this stuff makes any sense."

"I thought
that, too," I replied.

"That it
makes no sense?"

"No, that my
father married Eva precisely because she's nothing like my mother," I
said.

"Do you
remember her well?" she asked hesitantly.

"Very
well," I nodded. "She was kind and smart and beautiful, and she knew
how to calm my father down when he'd fly into one of his rages."

"She sounds
like she was amazing," Echo said looking up at me with soft eyes.

"She
was," I affirmed.

"You must
have loved her very much," she said as she tilted her head to one side and
smiled warmly.

Looking at her, I
wanted to walk over to the table and lift her up out of the chair so that I
could kiss her deeply. Instead, I simply nodded and looked away afraid that
she'd see desire written across my face.

"My mother
was a kind person, too," she said as she closed the computer and stood up.
"She used to take us girls on some amazing adventures when we were young.
I know now that she did it to keep us out of my father's way when he was unable
to control his depression and anger, but at the time it felt like such a
grown-up thing when she'd take us to the city to have tea and cookies, or to
browse in the stores on Michigan Avenue."

"My mother
covered for my father, too," I said. Echo looked at me expectantly, but I
didn't know what else to say. I didn't want to betray my father's memory and
cause her to see him as someone different then the man she knew, but I did want
her to know about my mother.

"It's okay,
you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," she shrugged. I
could tell she was a little hurt by my withholding of information, but I felt
trapped, and so I said nothing more. She looked at me for a long time before
she nodded and said, "I'm heading to bed, then. What time do we need to
leave in the morning?"

"By nine, to
get to the funeral on time," I replied.

"I'll be
ready," she promised as she climbed the twisty stairs and went silent.

#

I
finally fell
asleep sometime after midnight, but it was fitful and I was awake again before
dawn. I'd hung my dress blues on the shower rod the night before hoping that
most of the wrinkles would be gone by morning and that if they weren't, that a
hot steaming shower would do the trick. Echo had understood the futility of
this, and had pulled out her ironing board and iron before going to bed and
left them sitting in the kitchen.

At four in the
morning, I stood pressing sharp creases into my dress pants with a hot iron as
I thought about what I would say to Opie's parents. He'd talked about his
family a lot, in fact, so often that I frequently threatened that if he didn't
shut his pie hole, I'd fill it with my boot. He'd always gotten a laugh out of
that, as he'd tell me how much he loved the taste of overcooked leather.

"Fuck!"
I yelped as the edge of the iron made contact with my fingers. I quickly ran
them under cold water in the sink and stood cursing myself for not paying
attention to what I was doing. Once the initial pain had subsided, I finished
my task and set the iron on top of the fridge to prevent further injury.

"You okay
down here?" Echo yawned as she descended the stairs and walked into the
kitchen.

"Yeah, fine.
Sorry I woke you up," I said sheepishly.

"No, I was up
before you started scorching your skin," she grinned as she pulled out a
tube of burn ointment from a drawer and handed it to me. "Coffee?"

"Love
some," I said as I moved out of her way and tried to pretend that I hadn't
noticed that she was wearing only a thin pink nightgown and that there was
nothing underneath it. She'd piled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun
making her look even lovelier than she had the night before. "I'm going to
shower, okay?"

"Have at
it," she said as she measured coffee grounds into the filter and flipped
the brew switch. "It's going to be a few before this is ready."

In the shower I
looked down and muttered, "Please behave today," as I looked at my
stiff shaft jutting out at an angle from my body. I wanted to take care of it,
but I knew that if I did, it would only make things worse. It was better to let
myself suffer then to encourage the idea that some real relief was immanent.

Fifteen minutes
later I was standing on the balcony watching the first rays of light begin to
wake the city as I sipped the first of many cups of coffee I was sure I'd be
drinking that day. Echo had wrapped a throw from the couch around her and was
sipping her coffee with her eyes closed, as if she was drinking in the very
essence of the day.

"So, where
are we headed?" she asked startling me for a moment.

"To the
Bronx," I replied. "Opie — er, John Michael was from a big Irish
family. He was one of the middle ones, so there will be lots of younger kids
there, eight, I think."

"Wow, that's
a big family," she said her eyes widening.

"He had five older
siblings," I said watching as her eyes got even wider.

"I can't even
imagine," she said shaking her head.
 

"From what I
understand the funeral will be held at Saint Frances and then we'll all go back
to the house for the memorial," I said.

"No one goes
to the burial?" she asked.

"His parents
will go and probably some of the close relatives," I said. "But the
outsiders will wait at the house until they get back. At least that's what John
Michael told me an Irish funeral in his family would be like."

"I see,"
she said as she stared out at the street. "It's such a horribly sad thing
to have to do. Bury a child."

"Agreed,"
I nodded not knowing what else to say. She turned and looked up at me and my
heart began to pound. Her messy hair and sleepy eyes looked so sensually
inviting, and all I wanted to do was scoop her up and carry her inside where I
could pull her hair free and push her nightgown up so that I could explore the
naked body underneath it. Instead, I swallowed hard and looked down into my coffee
cup.

"There's more
if you want it," she said mistaking my sudden interest in my cup for a
desire I wasn't feeling. She stood up and said, "I'm going to go shower
and get ready so we can be on time."

"Good
call," I said as I turned and looked out over 13
th
 
Street and wondered how long I could maintain
my mask of neutrality before the cracks began to show. I decided that after
today's ordeal it would probably be a good idea to start looking for another
place to stay.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

Echo

We
arrived at the church not long before the funeral mass was to begin. It had
taken the whole cab ride to the Bronx for me to calm down after first seeing
Ryan in his full dress uniform. He looked was crisp and professional, and the
uniform looked like it had been tailor made for him from the way it emphasized
his broad shoulders and cut in slightly at the waist.
 
His crisply creased pants touched the top of
his highly shined patent leather shoes, and made me wonder how he'd gotten them
that shiny.
 
 

On the left side
of his chest he wore his ribbons and a pin that looked like a fork going
through an eagle, and when I'd asked him about it, he smiled and said,
"It's the SEAL trident. I'll be using it during the funeral."

"To do
what?" I asked.

"You'll
see," he said. "I'd hate to spoil the surprise."

 
In his uniform, Ryan exuded a silent authority
that I hadn't seen before. It was incredibly sexy, and when he gave me the once
over before we left the apartment, I felt myself blushing as he nodded his approval.

I'd chosen a plain
black wrap dress that showed off my figure but had a respectable v-neck and a
pair of black stiletto pumps that were comfortable enough for sitting or
standing, since I didn't know how much of either we'd be doing. Around my neck,
I fastened a silver chain from which hung a small silver medallion of Saint
Philomena that my mother had given me when I turned twelve. I hadn’t worn it
for years and figured that if there was ever a time to wear such a thing, this
was it.

We didn't talk
much during the cab ride. I got the feeling that Ryan needed time alone with
his thoughts in order to figure out what he was going to say to John Michael's
parents. I left him alone and looked out the window watching the city scenery
rushing by and wondering why Ryan had wanted me to accompany him to something
so personal and private.

At the church, he
got out and signaled to me to wait so that he could come around and open the
cab door for me. It was a chivalrous gesture, and one that I wasn't used to, so
when he took my hand and pulled me up toward him, I looked into his eyes and
felt a wave of emotion sweep through me.

"Thank
you," I said as I quickly looked away and then took his offered arm and
walked into the church. The outer sanctuary was filled with people milling
about as they waited to be escorted to their seats. There were a few other men
dressed in military uniforms standing around the edges of the room, and when
Ryan entered they gathered together in a small group shaking hands and exchanging
stories about where they'd been stationed before returning to New York.

When we were
finally escorted into the sanctuary, we were seated toward the back. I was
relieved to be able to watch the mass from a distance rather than participating
in it. I breathed deeply as I looked at the flag draped casket that sat just
below the altar. Inside it was one of many young men who'd lost their lives as
they served their country. The tragedy of it was further underscored when John
Michael's family was escorted up the aisle to the front pew. His mother wept
openly while his father sat in stony silence as the altar boys led the priest
up the center aisle to begin the mass.

It was a long mass
and by the time the priest got to the homily, I was starting to feel overwhelmed
by the low moaning and intermittent sobs that were coming from the front pew.
Ryan reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing softly to reassure me as
the priest talked about memories of John Michael as a young altar boy and how
the Morgan boys could often be found hiding behind the priest's vestments
listening to portable radio on Yankee game days. A light wave of laughter ran
through the congregation as they acknowledged the tragic celebration of a life
ended too soon.

At the very end of
the mass, the priest called on the members of the various SEAL teams to come
forward. Ryan squeezed my hand one more time before he stood and stepped out
into the aisle to join his brothers. I watched as they marched forward in
formation, stopped, saluted and then each SEAL took reached up and removed the
Trident pin from his dress coat. Then one by one, each man walked up the
casket, laid the Trident on top with the pins facing down, and with a strength
that came from somewhere deep inside the grief and love, pounded the pin into
the top of the coffin with a striking blow of the fist. Like the rest of the
congregation, I gasped as I heard the first fist hit, but as I watched each
man, I realized that it was an act of love and devotion to brotherhood. I made
a mental note to ask Ryan about it later.

When he returned
to the pew, he sat down next to me and stared straight ahead as the priest said
the final prayers and blessed the congregation. I knew better than to interrupt
his thoughts, so I simply walked next to him as we exited the church and waited
for him to tell me where we needed to go next. One of the other SEALs signaled
to us to come with him, so we hopped in his car and headed for the family's
house just a few miles away.

We parked a block
away from the house and walked to a white two-story home with a neat front yard
surrounded by a white picket fence. There were rose bushes blooming in the
front yard and the front door was wide open with people spilling out onto the
small lawn. We followed single file up the walk, the SEALs holding their dress
caps under their arms as we entered the house and found John Michael's mother
seated on a settee in the living room. There were women bustling around pouring
coffee and pushing food on guests, but mostly they were keeping an eye on Mrs.
Morgan making sure her glass was never empty and that she was never left
sitting alone. These women knew how to manage grief.

I reached out and
took Ryan's arm gently pulling him toward Mrs. Morgan. He looked down at me for
a moment and then nodded. I turned to go, but he gripped my hand tightly and
whispered, "Come with me, please?" I nodded and followed.

"Ma'am,"
Ryan began. "I'm Lieutenant Ryan Powell, from SEAL Team Four, I was with
your son on the mission."

"Lieutenant
Powell, please, sit down here next to me," Mrs. Morgan said as she patted
the sofa. Ryan let go of my hand and sat next to her as I stepped back a polite
distance and allowed them to speak privately. I couldn't hear what Ryan said to
Mrs. Morgan, but I knew that whatever it was it was both upsetting and
reassuring as she covered her mouth with her hand and leaned in as Ryan put his
arm around her and patted her back as she cried. After a few minutes, an older
man with a weathered face and a stoic expression joined them, and Ryan spoke
quietly with him, as well.

As I stood in the
corner of the room and watched, I marveled at the difference between Ryan on my
couch in jeans and a t-shirt, and Ryan in his uniform consoling John Michael's
family. The latter Ryan looked like the epitome of the military warrior, and
someone you could trust your son to serve with. He stood straight and tall as
he listened to the Morgans talk about their son, and never once did he look
away.
 

When the Morgans
had said and heard all they needed to, the two men shook hands and then Ryan
saluted, turned on his heel and walked back to me tilting his head as he
indicated that it was time to go. Ryan headed out to the front yard and stepped
into the circle of SEALs gathered there drinking soda and trying to one-up each
other with tales of their toughest missions. I stepped back and watched as he
talked with each of them for a long time. When they were all through, Ryan
worked his way around the circle hugging and backslapping each man before
turning to me and nodding.

I pulled out my
phone and called a cab to come pick us up in front of the house. As we waited,
I felt Ryan reach down and take my hand. I was surprised, but I knew better
than to ask any questions. We rode home in silence and when we pulled up to my
front door, Ryan handed the driver some money.

"Nah,
man," the driver said waving him off. "I know that was a military
funeral. Consider it a small thank you for your service to this country."

Ryan nodded, shook
his hand and then followed me out the cab door.

It wasn't until
he'd changed out of his uniform, grabbed a beer from the fridge and parked
himself on the couch that he said, "Thank you for going with me, Echo. It
meant a lot to me."

"You're
welcome," I replied as I descended from my bedroom having exchanged shorts
and a t-shirt for the dress. "Thank you for asking me to go with
you."

Ryan didn't say
anything else, and as the silence became uncomfortable, I suddenly realized
that there might be a message from Dr. Powell waiting in my inbox.
 

#

"
You're
welcome," I replied as I
descended from my bedroom having exchanged shorts and a t-shirt for the dress.
It was late afternoon, and I suddenly realized that there would be a message
from Dr. Powell waiting in my inbox.
 

I quickly hooked
up the computer and pulled up my email program. I hoped that no one had
discovered the bug I'd left programmed into my desktop at work because if they
had, we'd lose all access to the TriCorp server and Alan's emails.

"C'mon,
c'mon," I chanted as I watched the program load. "Open up and show us
what we've got, baby."

"Wow, you're
really into that thing," Ryan laughed. He'd stepped around behind me and
could feel the warmth of his body as he leaned over my shoulder and watched the
computer screen with me.

It finally loaded,
and I quickly input the requisite passwords needed to access the account, and
slowly but surely the account loaded. Soon we were looking at a brand new email
in my inbox. I clicked on it and up popped another note from Dr. Powell.

Dear
Miss Frost,

If
you are receiving this message, then things are rather dire and I may not be
coming back. I don't wish to alarm you, but I do want to warn you that whatever
information I am passing on to you for safekeeping should never, under any
circumstances, be shared with Julian Baines. He is my business partner, but we
have a distinct difference of opinion as to what should be done with my
research project and how it should be allowed to be used. I am completely
opposed to Julian's belief that we should sell it to the highest bidder as this
project was designed with the intention of securing peace, not destroying
lives.

You
are most likely wondering what is in the file I sent you twenty-four hours ago
as you will not have been able to decipher it. I will not be giving you the key
via email, but when the time comes, please know that the decoded files are on a
hard drive waiting to be turned over to the proper people.

 
I have hidden a set of keys to my lab in my
office. These keys are the only way you to gain access to the lab as I've set
the door on a system that will permanently seal off the lab if anyone tries to
break into it. No one, except for you, knows this. You will find the keys where
sentient beings display empathy.
 

Please
store these files somewhere safe and secure as I'm sure you've done with the
previous files I sent you.
 
Again, under
no circumstances is Julian Baines to have access to any of these files! This is
of the utmost importance, Miss Frost.

Regards,

Dr.
Alan Powell

Attached to the
email was a file folder full of papers that were labeled with the author's last
name, article title and publication date. I began clicking on them and reading
the abstracts on the first page of each.

"Oh my
God," I murmured.

"What?"
Ryan asked as he tried to follow my rapid clicking through page after page.
"What did he mean by where sentient beings display empathy?"

"I don't
know, he didn't explain it," I said as I pulled up a paper that Dr. Powell
had written several years prior entitled "The Man in the Machine: Sentient
Computers." The abstract detailed the ways in which biochemical properties
might be able to be combined with logical programming to create a machine that
could actually function in a human like manner. As I read, I was confused.

"Ryan, this
makes no sense," I said.

"What?"

"It makes no
sense," I repeated. "Why would any one do research on something that
can't possibly exist? Computers can only do what we tell them to do. They can't
function like humans. That's the whole point."

"Maybe he had
some new idea?" Ryan suggested.

"It's
possible, but it doesn't make any sense why he would pursue something so out of
the realm of possibility," I mused. "Maybe if I can get the codes
from the previous files translated it'll give us some insight into what this is
all about and where the keys to his lab are hidden."