The Boss's Son Box Set

“Have fun,” Britt said and went back to the table.

Chapter 13

Jack left the stage but was caught up in an audience of admirers. The music started back up, and when Britt looked over, he was dancing with some woman in a halter top. She picked miserably at chips, trying to engage Thomas in a conversation just to appear busy and not like she was pouting.

“What did you think of my musical debut?” Jack asked, leaning over

the booth behind her.

“You were great. Impressive.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“No, really. You did a good job.”

“That’s so irresistibly lukewarm,” he said.

“I was hoping you’d notice.”

“I take it you don’t fantasize about the boys in the band.”

“Never. It looks like you have plenty of fans though. Have a good time,” she said dismissively, thinking with a pang of the girl he’d danced with.

Jack walked back to the bar to get a drink and Britt bolted to the ladies room. It wasn’t lovely, but it was a place to hide. Instead of loosening her up, the margaritas had dialed up her misery level, and she wanted to go home and be lonely there in more comfortable clothes. When she came out, their table was vacant, so she returned to it and resumed sulking.

Marj came back and pounded another drink.

“He’s so going home with that skanky halter top girl.”

Britt didn’t reply.

“I wish he was going home with skanky me instead,” Marj snorted. “Ready to go? There’s nothing here I want to wake up to.”

Britt threw money on the table for her part of the tab and stood. She saw Jack with his arm looped around the girl with the halter top. She had a tattoo of an angel on her shoulder. Britt thought of licking the tattoo on Jack’s wrist and shuddered at the memory and the way it stung now. It made her sick to watch him leave with someone else.

Chapter 14

Monday morning, she got an email from Phillip Fitzsimmons. His son Jack was going on a business trip in a few days, and he wanted Britt to go over the details of the expense account and receipt procedure with him. Phillip’s secretary had left a voicemail that the meeting would be at three that afternoon. Britt took a long breath. It was part of her job. She’d explained the business expense reimbursement system so many times she could practically condense it to bullet points. Still, she’d never tried to rattle off the essential procedures with Jack Fitzsimmons glaring down at her.

She took out a sticky pad and made herself some notes. She posted them on her desk in a neat row and returned to her work. She worked straight through lunch and when Jack appeared in her cubicle she was startled.

“Oh, look at the time,” she said lamely.

“Don’t be rude. Don’t say anything stupid. Save your receipts. Are these, like, your yoga affirmations or something?”

“More like words to live by,” she muttered, crumpling the sticky notes and throwing them away, annoyed with herself and him. “Please have a seat,” she indicated the only other chair in her cubicle. “Mr. Fitzsimmons indicated that you’ll need to utilize the expense account on your trip.”

“Yes, I’m going to Chicago to scout a potential client. I’ll be gone overnight.”

“Save your receipts.”

“What about being rude and saying anything stupid?”

“Use your own judgment on that. Anyway, our system works on a simple reimbursement model. Here’s a list of the items that qualify...lodging, meals taken with a client or potential client only—not just you wanted a donut and expect to be paid back for it—transportation to and from the airport and to meetings and business dinners. Not—”

“Not just if I wanted to go to a strip club and intend to charge my dad’s company for the cab? Don’t worry about it, Britt. I’m not going to defraud the firm for a bacchanal in the Windy City,” he smirked. “Although if it comforts you to think of me eating donuts in a roomful of strippers, go for it.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just, I don’t know,” she said, deflated.