Coldhearted Boss

I ignore the part of my conscience that tries to lay the blame at my feet. I knew something was off when I first laid eyes on her in the bar. My instincts shouted at me to leave after I’d spent half the night watching her. I’d written off the feeling, though, mistaking it as some kind of gentlemanly urge. I felt like I was taking advantage of her. She looked so fragile and helpless up there at the bar all alone, her shoulders slumped with defeat, head tilted down.

Now, I realize it was all an act, no doubt one she’s performed a million times before considering how successfully she pulled it off. I could have sworn she was near tears at one point in the bathroom, right after I confessed that I wanted to make sure she was okay.

Jesus Christ. I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I fell for that!

I yank my hands through my hair. My god, she seemed so into me, into the way I was touching her, kissing her.

This never should have happened. My partners and I are only in town for the weekend and we have a million things on our agenda. I had no business noticing the brunette when she first walked into the bar, but now I see the trap plain as day. The whole setup was arranged to tug at my heartstrings. It’s so easy to pick it apart now that I have some distance. Casting aside her femme fatale beauty, I recall her faded jeans and thin t-shirt—clothes that looked like they’d been worn and washed a hundred times before.

She ignored all of us as she walked straight to the bar, threw herself up on a barstool, and heaved a heavy sigh. The bartender asked if she wanted anything to drink. She asked for some water but didn’t order anything after that.

Instead, she sat, twirling her phone in her hands with her shoulders slumped over and her head bowed forward. She looked like she needed a savior, and some caveman instinct kicked on inside me, making me yearn to be that for her, even if just for one night.

My partners had all noticed her walk in too. In fact, one of them, Grant, tried to get me to change seats with him so he’d have a better vantage point from which to watch her at the bar. I didn’t budge.

Then, later—still not quite ready to give up—he volunteered to go up to the bar to order our next round. Not happening. I clapped my hand on his shoulder and forced him to stay in his seat, much to the amusement of our two other partners. It’s not often I make a fool of myself for a woman, if ever, but not a single one of them was surprised when they stood to leave and I opted to stay behind. They all wished me luck except for Grant, who shot me the finger and told me to go to hell.

At the time, it made sense. No man in his right mind would want to walk out of that bar and leave that angel behind.

No, I remind myself swiftly. She’s a lot of things—con artist, thief, liar—but she’s no angel.

I’m seeing red as I pull open the door to the bar and stalk toward the bartender, who’s cleaning glasses.

“Is she still here?” I ask, my voice cutting through the air with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“The brunette you trailed into the bathroom?” he asks with a barely interested tone. “Nah. She left right after you did.”

My ego takes another sucker punch at having my speculation confirmed. She never did plan on meeting me in my room.

“Great. Well, did you happen to see my wallet clutched in her hand as she ran out of here?”

Without a reply, he heads over to the cash register, grabs something, and then holds it up like a magician completing a trick.

I freeze, completely baffled.

So she didn’t steal it? It really just slipped out of my back pocket—

No.

Fuck.

I haven’t even finished the thought before I tear it out of his hand, look inside, and find every bit of my cash gone. I just pulled it out of the bank this morning, and I know I had over $800 because I didn’t want to have to get cash out here in the middle of nowhere.

I curse under my breath and the bartender shrugs, totally unperturbed by my anger.

“Who is she?” I ask, biting out each word while my fingers curl into fists. Surely every man within a fifty-mile radius knows her name.

“Listen, I just started here. I’ve never met her before tonight and she didn’t tell me her name. All I know is she walked out of the bathroom a few minutes after you and told me you’d dropped your wallet in the hallway.”