Just a Bit Bossy (Straight Guys 12)

Nate still wasn’t sure he was buying that explanation. He highly doubted that Ferrara wanted him as his PA for his kind face. The mere idea was laughable. Even before speaking to Olivia, he’d suspected Ferrara would make his life a living hell just to prove a point, and now he was absolutely sure of it.

Well, too bad. The bastard didn’t know Nate at all.

Nate wasn’t going to give up, no matter what Ferrara threw at him.

Chapter 3

His first workday wasn’t as horrible as Nate had expected. It was worse.

The moment Ferrara walked into the office, he took one look at Nate and said, “What are you wearing?” It was said with such little inflection in his voice that it took Nate a moment to register it as a question.

He looked down at himself and frowned. “A suit?” he said.

Ferrara’s lips curled in derision. “I can’t have my assistant looking like that. Where did you find it? In a thrift store?”

Nate flushed. “Not all of us can afford multi-thousand-dollar suits. Sir.”

The demon’s black eyes bored into him, unimpressed. “Go buy a few decent suits and shirts.” He glanced at Nate’s shoes and sneered. “Shoes, too. My assistant’s appearance reflects on me.”

“My clothes are perfectly fine,” Nate bit out. “I’m not going to waste what little money I have on clothes.”

Ferrara’s jaw clenched. “Fine. Walk.”

Confused, Nate got to his feet. “What?”

His boss said nothing, just laid a heavy hand on Nate’s nape, and steered him toward the door unceremoniously, his touch like a brand.

Suppressing the urge to snap that he was perfectly capable of walking by himself, Nate took a deep breath, in and out. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t this snappish, easily ruffled guy. He was better than that. He should take the high ground and not let Ferrara get to him. He could handle some manhandling. He could handle being bossed around. He could even handle being treated like his opinion on his own clothes didn’t matter. He could suck it up and deal with it. Because Olivia was right: even with their little bet aside, this was a great opportunity for his career and future. It still pissed him off.

Ferrara steered him to the elevator, then through the underground parking lot, his punishing grip still on Nate’s nape. Nate felt like a dog being walked by its owner.

At long last, they reached a gorgeous, black four-seater Ferrari.

The driver opened the door as soon as he saw the boss, who shoved Nate into the car and finally released him.

Scowling, Nate rubbed the back of his neck. It still felt like his skin was burning from the phantom touch, crawling with unease. He didn’t know why this man made him so… unsettled. Unsettled didn’t seem to be the right word, but Nate couldn’t think of a better one.

Ferrara dropped a credit card in his lap. “Take him to a clothes store,” he told the driver, not even glancing at Nate. “Be fast.”

Nate opened his mouth to say just what he thought of that overbearing dick, but Ferrara shut the door unceremoniously and walked away, already talking to someone on his phone.

“Ass,” Nate mumbled, leaning back against the seat and looking around the luxurious interior as the car took off. “A Ferrari for a Ferrara. Could he be more self-centered?”

“What store would you like to go to?” the driver said.

Nate looked at the black credit card in his lap and smiled grimly. Fine. Ferrara wanted him to buy decent clothes? He would buy some decent clothes.

An hour and $15,465 later, Nate walked into the Caldwell Group’s office in his brand new Armani suit, shirt, and shoes, holding the rest of his shopping bags in both hands.

Brenda whistled when she saw him. “Damn. You clean up nice.”

Nate gave her a weak smile, his heart pounding as he dropped the shopping bags by his desk. His impulsive decision to piss Ferrara off by spending an outrageous amount of his money had seemed like a great idea an hour ago, but now it just seemed crazy. But Ferrara couldn’t possibly fire him for complying with his orders, right? It was malicious compliance, sure, but it was compliance. The asshole should have been more specific when he’d ordered him to buy decent clothes. So it was his own damn fault. That should hopefully teach him a lesson not to be such an overbearing dick.

Setting his jaw, Nate strode to Ferrara’s office and entered it after a knock. “I’m back,” he announced, rather unnecessarily.

Ferrara lifted his gaze from the document in his hands and studied him from head to toe, his face impassive. “You wasted an hour of your workday on something you should have handled before coming to work, so you will stay an extra hour.”

And then he returned his gaze to his paperwork.

Nate blinked, utterly bewildered. Had Ferrara not received a notification from his bank yet?