Coldhearted Boss

“No,” he says with a tight shake of his head. “But you’ll have a different position than the rest of the crew. You’ll be working here. With me.”

When he says “me”, his brown eyes flick up and lock with mine. My stomach dips and wait, wait, wait, this makes no sense. Does he really not recognize me? My disguise has proven to be terrible. I’m like Hilary Duff wearing that tiny mask in A Cinderella Story, acting like no one could possibly recognize her. Spoiler: we know it’s you, Hilary. Your mask is one inch wide.

“I need a personal lackey,” he continues with a wave of his hand. “An errand boy.”

I swear he emphasizes the word boy.

“You know…right?”

His eyes narrow and there’s the flip of that coin. This is the shrewd businessman again, the man who should be poured into a black suit and sipping a fine scotch. The jeans give me a false sense of ease. “Know? What should I know?”

Yes, what should he know?! If he doesn’t recognize me then I’d be an absolute fool to bring it to his attention. If the lion has decided not to eat the gazelle, the gazelle doesn’t need to lie down on a bed of lettuce and put an apple in its mouth, just to make sure. Take the gift for what it is, you silly gazelle!

“That I’m a woman,” I say, rushing the words out quickly. “So I can’t be your errand ‘boy’, but I’m happy to fill the role of your personal lackey.”

I’m even attempting to smile now, really putting in an effort with my new boss.

So what if he doesn’t recognize me? That’s a good thing! I shouldn’t be offended that our steamy encounter meant so little to him that he can’t even seem to recall it. For all I know maybe he has bathroom trysts all the time. Maybe he gets his wallet stolen biweekly.

This is the first time his face has been anything but an impenetrable mask of indifference. I swear, swear he’s very nearly smirking as he glances back down at his desk. Then he nods once.

“Yes, I know you’re a woman.”

Those words seem to be dripping with so much meaning that I have to fight the urge to squirm with pleasure.

In this moment, I want him to remember me. I want him to be so consumed with remembering me that those blueprints tumble to the ground and that phone goes with it. It’s just begging to fall, and I’ve had enough. I step forward and push it farther onto the desk then glance up and find his icy gaze frozen on my hand. I jerk it away and laugh self-deprecatingly. “Sorry. It was bothering me.” I step back to give us both a healthy distance from one another. With that scowl in place, it looks like he’d appreciate it. “Anyway, what exactly would my duties be if I were to be working for you, Mr…ah…”

I leave the sentence dangling so he can pick it up.

“Ethan.”

“Mr. Ethan?”

Odd, but okay.

His brows soften and I think there’s a shadow of a smile hidden on his rugged face. I lean forward on my toes just a smidge, waiting…wanting to see it. But then his mask is back and he shakes his head sharply.

“Ethan Stone.”

So there it is, the name I can hang over this face in my naughty dreams—and there will be dreams now that I know the nightmares can recede. Everything is going to be okay. He doesn’t remember me from last month. He knows I’m a woman. We can move forward now. I can prove to be the best employee he’s ever had and maybe by the end of the week, I’ll be walking away with a nice little raise.

“So what exactly will I be doing for you, Mr. Stone?”Chapter 11Ethan“Just call me Ethan,” I say, picking up my phone and putting it in my pocket, annoyed she touched it in the first place. Had I not been watching her, would she have taken it? A sharp bite from my conscience tells me I’m wrong to think so little of her, but I can’t seem to help it.

She had the opportunity to tell me the truth just now, to fess up to her deeds, but she didn’t. Of the two lies she’s carrying around—her theft and her gender—she only admitted to one, and declaring she’s a woman isn’t exactly all that earth-shattering. Anyone with a pair of eyes already knew. To go on pretending would have only made her look stupid.

She really committed to the role, though. Those jeans are hanging off her frame, and that shirt looks like it’s my size. She’s still suffering in those work boots—they’re so ridiculous, they nearly look like clown shoes on her.

Still, her beauty is so obvious that hat does nothing to diminish it. Her tempting curves are still visible beneath the baggy clothes, her pouty lips just as alluring as they were a month ago.