His Good Girl

“Welllll.” Oh boy, here we go. Khloe waggled her dark eyebrows suggestively. “Would it be harassment, or consensual if you two hooked up?”

I’d fucking beg for it if he asked me to.

The thought was so shocking, I choked on my wine.

Gulping, I quickly replied, “It doesn’t matter. I’m not hooking up with my new boss, no matter how hot or consensual the encounter may be. I don’t see it happening. End of story.”

“What-the-fuck-ever.” She gave a dramatic roll of her green eyes and took another sip of her wine.

Playfully, I kicked her knee. “I’m serious!”

Throwing her free hand up in surrender, she said, “All right! All right, you’re not doing your super-hot boss, even if you both want it. You’re an outstanding employee with impeccable morals and the ability to make good decisions.”

Not even close.

Guilt had been slowly gnawing at me since I’d left Maslow Architecture. I’d hated being forced into this situation before I met Dmitry Maslow, but now that I had a face to go with the name, I felt even more terrible. I hadn’t even told Khloe the real reason I’d applied for the personal assistant job. Yet, I couldn’t see any other way out of my current predicament. Getting close to Mr. Maslow was my only viable option because the most important person in my world was depending on me.

“I’m just not looking to lose my job because I fucked the boss and he got bored,” I said with a shrug, dropping my gaze back to my laptop. “I need this paycheck, and the sizable benefits package. We can’t keep living on tips, Khloe.”

My best friend sighed. “You’re right. Soon, though, my work will take off. I’ve had a few interested parties reach out to me since my last showing. I think I could get some commissioned jobs soon.”

An excited squeal escaped my lips. Khloe’s art was incredible, and I was always stunned at the intricate pieces she was able to create. “Khloe! That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cheeks flushing pink, my roommate hunched her shoulders in a sheepish shrug. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t pan out. It could still fall through, you know. Nothing’s set in stone.”

“But people are showing interest and talking to you. That’s huge!”

A small smile curled her lips. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Screw this cheap crap, I’m busting out the bubbly,” I announced, resting my wine glass on the floor and putting my computer on the coffee table so I could hop to my feet. The bill could wait.

It wasn’t like I had the money to pay it anyway.

“Win, really! It’s not a big deal—”

I tossed a dark look over my shoulder, which earned another eye roll from Khloe. “The hell it’s not. Your art career is gaining momentum, and I landed a grownup job today. We’re celebrating!”

She chuckled as I dug through our fridge for the sparkling wine we kept on hand for special occasions.

“Fine,” she sighed, “if you insist.”

“I do.” I removed the foil top and worked the cork loose with a pop. As I poured us each a drink, I momentarily forgot about the shitshow that was my life and the smoldering blue gaze of my new boss.

For a moment, I was able to forget how badly I was about to screw him over.

5

Winter

Shit, I’m so late!

I practically ran into the office building, satchel slung over one shoulder and beating wildly against my hip as I took long strides, both my hands carrying piping hot to-go cups of coffee. I’d asked Fiona on my way out yesterday how Mr. Maslow liked his coffee. I had thought it would get us off on the right foot if I showed up this morning with a cup, but the line at the coffee shop had been ridiculous.

Now I was rolling into my first day of work ten minutes late.

My thrift store heels clicked on the shiny wood floor of the waiting room as I hurried past the reception desk. Fiona glanced up at my approach and arched a perfectly plucked reddish-brown eyebrow.

“You’re late, Ms. Rivers. He doesn’t appreciate tardiness.”