Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

Oops.

The second it’s out of my mouth, I have to fight back wincing.

It sounds like I’m asking for reassurances that no, really, my crush would be craaazy not to think I’m the hottest thing since buttered bread.

Wanda’s pursed lips aren’t helping that impression.

She glances over her shoulder at the boss.

“And I’ll promise you no one on staff will make that mistake again.”

“...again?” I lift a brow.

It’s not hard to tell that she finds gossiping about her boss almost as appealing as a root canal, but I guess if she’s going to warn me, she’s got to be honest.

“People have learned the hard way that Mr. Osprey has zero interest in breaching his personal boundaries, both on the clock and off it. He’s a very private, solitary man. Some have tried to turn him into something else, and he rebuffed them—with a warning, if they were lucky. Every last one had one chance to remember that warning. Those who failed to heed it found themselves unwelcome at Osprey Media.”

Dang.

I wonder, though.

Does she mean he prefers privacy—or secrecy?

There’s a key difference.

And with the shady things he’s drafted me into doing with his Easterly-Haydn spy games, I’m painfully curious what Roland Osprey is hiding.

What’s so freaking important that he can’t risk letting anyone come close enough to discover the why?

Who knows.

Maybe all he’s hiding is a beating heart beneath his ice-cold mystique. But she’s still giving me that you-poor-fool look.

I flash her a nervous smile.

“Good thing I won’t need your warning. He’s so not my type,” I insist while she eyes me skeptically. I can’t help snorting. “Lady, I’m serious. I don’t particularly like him. I can’t stand him. If I knew I’d be reporting to him before I took this job, well...”

I let her fill in the blank.

She parts her lips to answer—only to go quiet as a third voice intrudes from behind me, smooth and deep and husky with repressed amusement.

“Ah. I wasn’t aware you had to like me to work for me, Miss Landry.”

Oh, crud.

My gaze whips to where I last saw Roland with Aaron and the designers.

Yep, he’s not there.

That sneaky ghost-bastard isn’t there, and Wanda distracted me just long enough for me to lose him.

His voice rumbles behind me like distant thunder, sweeping chills through me with the intimate closeness of his words.

Ice that vanishes as a blushing heat lights me up like a candle, warming me up in the worst way.

I swing my chair around to find him standing over me, his arms folded over his powerful chest and an arrogant half smirk on his lips.

I glare up at him, trying to answer his smirk with a mocking smile of my own.

“It’s easier to get my job done if I don’t want to slug you for every word that comes out of your mouth,” I say sweetly. “But some people do enjoy challenging work environments. Maybe you work better with a split lower lip.”

Wanda lets out a shocked gasp. “Miss Landry! Workplace violence is strictly—”

“It’s fine, Wanda,” he growls with a lazy flick of his fingers. His eyes boil with amusement as they lock on, dark-blue sapphire digging into my soul. “Miss Landry’s made it clear she doesn’t want to lay a single hand on me before the heat death of the universe.”

...oh God.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Tell me he didn’t just overhear the whole miserable conversation.

My smile melts while I stare at him, dumbstruck.

His expression gives away nothing. He’s just fixed on me like a cobra preparing to strike.

“So,” he says. “If you can stand being alone with me without causing bodily harm, I’d like to see you this evening.”

There’s a weird crack from behind me.

We both freeze, and I peer over my shoulder while he looks over my head.

Wanda very calmly lifts her pencil from her page, leaving behind the snapped-off graphite tip. Her pointed look as she reaches for a pencil sharpener says it all.

You didn’t see a thing.

Jeez Louise.

All of these breaking pencils are getting annoying. Like the sexual tension here is so suffocating it needs a freaking background track.

Apparently, it hits him too, because he clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, transferring his gaze back to me.

“Let’s say seven p.m., my office?”

I drag my eyes back to him, even if I can’t quite hold his eyes.

“It. Um. I think it depends on what you want,” I manage.

“What I always want, Snoopy,” he says with a slow, cunning smile, moving closer to my ear. “Precious information. We have work to do on that special project, Miss Landry. I’m far from finished with you.”

* * *

His ominous promise haunts me for the rest of the day, even when I escape Wanda’s interrogating looks and Osprey’s lingering glances to head back to Just Vibing to do my real job.

Seriously.

What does he want from me now?