The Boss (9 page)

God, I hoped I had a fresh set of
batteries.

* * * *

My eyes popped open
before the alarm went off. I'd never been so excited to get to work
in my entire life. Not even on my first day. Not even when Madonna
came in to have lunch with Gabriella last year.

I wondered if Neil would appreciate the
magnitude of rating higher than Madonna, and covered my face with
my pillow, squealing. I knew had to get myself under control. If I
spent all day swooning over the fact that Neil and I were going to
hook up, I wouldn't bring my A-game to work. I wasn’t about to drop
the ball within days of a huge, surprise take over by new
employers.

My morning commute was boring, the way it was
always boring. I got to work and was at my desk, periodically
checking the time, trying to control my hormones, which were in
full-on rage mode before Neil even arrived.

He got to the office at eight-thirty, and
greeted me casually as he handed over his coat. Strangely, knowing
that we were going to have sex soon removed a lot of the
awkwardness between us, and we were able to function like two
normal human beings. Two normal, incredibly horny human beings. I
felt confident that I could speak for both of us on that matter,
because his hand brushed the small of my back as I moved to hang up
his coat, and I caught his eyes lingering on my backside when I
turned.

"You can't do that," I reminded him. "We'll
get found out. Also, it's in the employee handbook, under 'sexual
harassment policy.' The words 'zero tolerance' are mentioned."

"Point taken," he said dryly. "I have six
people coming in this morning to throw shoes and scream at me.”

"Coffee and water for six. No problem." Of
course, I already knew about the shoe meeting, but he didn't need
to know that. Before I took over the beauty editor job, I wanted to
make myself look indispensable, able to conjure things at the drop
of a hat. I found it never hurt to leave on a high note, as
evidenced by my college transcripts. “Do you need me to sit in and
take notes?”

"Yes, please do. Oh, and before I forget..."
Neil set his black leather messenger bag on my desk and lifted the
flap. He pulled out an iPad in a sleek black cover and handed it
over to me. "Start with the notes app. There are instructions. And
you'll need this."

My eyes widened as he pulled a slender card
free from his wallet. He held it between two fingers, offering it
to me. "The name of the hotel and the room number are listed in the
document. Unless this evening is inconvenient for you?"

I know for a fact he saw my hand shaking when
I took the key card from him. The corner of his mouth twitched. He
could tell I was dying for him. Judging by his ruthless efficiency
in setting up our "date," I had to surmise he was as desperate for
me as I was for him.

Turning the card over in my hand, I glanced
at it with feigned disinterest before slowly pushing it into the
unbuttoned top of my black silk shirt. I knew he could see the
slightly darker outline of my black lace bra beneath, and I took my
time slipping the flimsy key into the cup of my bra.

He chuckled and shook his head.

Only when the door to his office had clicked
safely closed behind him did I dare to lift the cover on the tablet
and press the power button. I saw the notes app on the home screen
and I opened it, my gaze flickering nervously to his door. The text
of the instructions document was a simple, addressed to me:

Sophie -

This key belongs to the W hotel on Lexington
Ave. Meet me in the "Wow" suite.

Neil

The "Wow" suite? I resisted the temptation to
Google and threw myself into work. I had hoped his instructions
would have been a bit more explicit. Some clue as to what kind of
night he was expecting, what he wanted to do to me... anything. The
fact that he denied me even that small pleasure maddened and
distracted me. That was probably the point. Maybe he was under the
impression that I was still a naive college student, but I was sure
I could find some way to torment him in return.

A wicked idea sprang to my mind, aided by the
memory of his voice in my ear, my hands guiding his. There had been
a mirror in our hotel room six years ago, and I'd sat on his lap at
the edge of the bed, both of us watching as I pushed his fingers in
tight circles over my clitoris. My face grew hot as I remembered
the sight of his cock stretching me, the sound of my slick flesh
moving under his hands as I gasped and wriggled on him.

“
Look at how beautiful you are,”
he
had whispered against my jaw, his gaze meeting mine in the mirror.
“Never be timid about your own pleasure. Don’t be ashamed to
come.”

That image of my own passion, and the hungry
way he'd watched me using his fingers to get myself off, were
seared into my mind.

Yeah, I could definitely do something with
that.

The workday passed at such a sluggish pace, I
thought for sure that time had slowed down specifically to cock
block me. I sat through the shoe meeting, where no one actually
threw any shoes at Neil, though Rudy looked like he was getting
close when they clashed over a Manolo. Rudy loved the stacked heel
and red-and-black color scheme. When Neil said it looked like a
clown shoe, it seemed like some serious
Real Housewives
throw down shit was about to start. But in the end, Neil made a
point regarding the resemblance to a piece from the previous
season, and Rudy had to concede. I think Rudy was as surprised as I
was at Neil's familiarity with fashion. Though his company owned a
men's fashion magazine, as well, I hadn't realized how hands-on his
involvement must have been, for him to fill Gabriella's role at
Porteras
.

It was strangely easy to sit through the
meeting without having sexy thoughts. Well, without too many. I was
routinely distracted by the sight of Neil's big hands on the
delicate, feminine shoes, turning them this way and that. I thought
of him sliding such an item off my foot, his hand skimming up my
calf, under my skirt - but I cared more about the magazine than my
libido, so I kept that kind of daydreaming to a minimum.

Neil at work was an entirely different
creature than I’d expected. He had a good eye for design, but an
even better talent for listening as the fashion team presented each
piece and explained why they thought it should make the issue. He
asked questions, occasionally dictated a note to me, and by the
time the meeting was over I realized I didn't have that queasy, on
edge feeling in my stomach I used to get when sitting in on these
things with Gabriella. Working for her was supposed to have been a
learning experience, but it was difficult to learn from someone
when you were constantly monitoring your behavior and schooling a
blank facial expression because you were terrified of saying or
doing something unfavorable.

After the meeting, while Neil was away at
lunch, I sent a quick text to Holli:
Seeing Neil after work.
Will be late. Don't worry.

She replied lightning-fast:
Awwwwwww yeah.
Get you some!

While I was typing a snarky reply, another
text popped up, this one from Jake:
Going out with some of A's
friends tonight. Single guys, interested?

Oh, Jake. We'd broken office sexual
harassment policies time and again by bouncing romantic ideas off
each other. When he wanted to know which vibrator his girlfriend,
Amanda, would like best, he'd come to me. When I couldn't figure
out why my ex-somewhat-steady-sex-partner couldn't get off with me
on top, Jake had drawn me all sorts of diagrams on the backs of
discarded photo proofs. Sometimes it was awesome having a platonic
straight guy friend. Other times, like now, when he was considering
asking his girlfriend to move in with him, he could project like,
well, a projector. Ever since he'd gotten serious about Amanda,
he'd wanted to fix me up with Mr. Right. I was certain he'd already
planned our double dates, with just an empty gray "insert Sophie's
husband" space where my future spouse could be slotted in. I sighed
and dialed his number.

"Jake." He always answered that way, even
though I'd pointed out how douchey it sounded.

"Hey, I'm out for tonight. I'm meeting a guy
for sex in a hotel room." I added the last bit in the hopes he
would take the hint that I wasn’t looking for a Prince Charming
right now.

"And for that you'd pass up meeting the guy
who could be the guy of your dreams?" He exhaled into the phone
speaker in frustration. "Are you sure you're not interested? One of
them is a Kennedy."

"Oh yeah, because that's a real incentive.” I
snorted. “I've always wanted to die under mysterious circumstances
in my thirties."

"It sounds like you're trying to do die under
mysterious circumstances in your twenties," Jake scolded. "This
guy... he's not a stranger, right? You're not about to be murdered
in a hotel room?"

"No, it's someone I trust." Leave it to Jake
to turn my love life into an episode of
Dexter
. Not that I
didn't appreciate his concern. I just wished that when people were
concerned for me, they gave me credit for having a functioning
brain.

"Well, have fun." The resignation in his
voice made it clear that he would be looking for my face on the
news.

"You too. And if you hear of a grisly murder
at the W, feel free to tell my mutilated body, 'I told you
so.'"

After we hung up, I made a mental list of
what I had to accomplish between the time I got out of work and the
time I was supposed to be showing up at the hotel. I texted Holli
and asked her to bring by my new black dress with the plunging
v-neckline and kimono sleeves. The thing barely covered my ass, it
was so short, but since covering my ass wasn't the point, I didn't
worry too much.

At six o'clock, I knocked on the door to
Neil's office. "It's Sophie."

"Come in," he called, and I was relieved to
find him alone inside.

"Is there anything else you needed me
for?"

He smiled, but he looked tired, and I got the
horrible feeling that didn't bode well for our evening. His sleeves
were rolled back, his elbows leaning on glossy photographs spread
out over his desk. He checked his watch distractedly. I was almost
afraid he would cancel, but when he looked up, his gaze caught mine
with heated intensity. "No, I'm sure I can get by, if you have
somewhere... interesting to be?"

"I do." I cleared my throat. "And do you have
somewhere interesting to be?"

“Oh, I think I’ll find some way to entertain
myself.” A slow grin spread across his face.

I smiled and turned for the door, stopping to
add, "Then I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"I very much hope so." The prospect seemed to
energize him, at least, even if he dropped the pretense of our
verbal game. "Go on. I should be there by eight."

I paused, the tip of my tongue pressed
against my front teeth as I considered saying anything else. But it
was better just to leave it. I took the garment bag Holli had
dropped off, pulled on my coat, and headed to the W.

Chapter Six

The W was a classic
New York building with bas-relief elephant faces decorating the
facade above a modern glass awning. I realized, as I stepped
through the door, that it might look a bit suspicious heading into
a hotel with just a garment bag and my purse.
Fuck it
, I
thought, feeling giddy and naughty as I strode through the lobby.
I'm not here for an extended stay, I'm here for amazing
sex.

I refrained from making such a proclamation
at the front desk, but only just barely. I stopped a bellman for
directions, but I declined his offer to show me to the room. I rode
the elevator up and, reaching the door, used my key and stepped
into the "Wow" suite.

It was easily larger than my apartment. I
wandered through the living room, where long couches framed the
floor. A huge installation of acrylic panels, each with an image of
glowing golden sky and abstract black tree branches, covered the
subtly grayed white wall perpendicular to the floor-to-ceiling
window that provided an astounding view of neighboring sky
scrapers. I dropped my garment bag and looked up to the second
floor loft, where I presumed the bedroom was.

"Wow."

I wasn’t in the room for two full minutes
before there was a polite knock at the door. I opened it to find a
uniformed waiter with a silver bucket and a bottle of
champagne.

"What's this?" I stepped aside and let him
enter the room. He took the champagne to the wet bar. The bottle he
set on the marble countertop had a long neck of green glass, and
matte silver foil over the cork. I glanced at the label.
Krug
Clos du Mesnil. 1995.

The waiter smiled as he unwrapped the foil.
"Mr. Elwood requested that it be sent up upon your arrival."

He’d had someone on look out for me? Sneaky
man.

"Is it good?" I knew nothing about champagne.
I was more of a red wine girl.

The waiter's eyebrows lifted and he chuckled.
"Oh, it's very good."

After the waiter departed - declining
gratuity because, "It's been taken care of," - I wandered the suite
with a glass in hand. The room’s decor straddled the line between
modern and comfortable; nothing too pretentious, nothing absurd for
the sake of design. I went up to the loft, where I found a bathroom
with a European-style shower and, to my surprise, a black leather
shaving kit and some cologne and shampoo in commercial sized
bottles. Those weren’t standard hotel toiletries.

Was Neil staying here? I went to the bedroom
and peeked in a drawer. There were some neatly folded clothes
inside, and I quickly shut it. I didn't want to snoop. Clearly,
he'd been staying for some time.