Possessive Boss

I look around, not sure what to say. It’s destroyed. Her couch is ripped and the stuffing thrown around. The carpet has stains. There’s trash thrown on the floor. Every picture is ripped off the wall and thrown. There’s broken glass scattered all over.

I turn to her, body tense and livid. “Is anything missing?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing’s missing.”

“Was there… anything else?”

She silently reaches into her pocket and hands me a note.

Tell him to pay up. - C.

I read it over twice before shoving it into my pocket.

“Come on,” I say. “We’ll go back to my place. You can stay with me.”

“What am I going to do about this?”

“I’ll hire some people to come out and clean it up. You won’t even notice the difference when they’re done.”

She chews on her lip. “Jacob—”

“Let’s pack your stuff up and go. We’ll talk in the car.”

She nods and looks away.

I help her inside and we carefully step around the glass. The kitchen is destroyed, every glass and plate broken into pieces. I’ll have to buy her all new silverware and plates, as if it really matters.

Her bedroom is just as bad. She finds a suitcase in her closet and starts throwing clothes into it. When she’s done, she grabs what she can from the bathroom, or at least whatever isn’t ripped and destroyed. When her bag’s packed, we go down and get into the car.

It takes us to my hotel. I lead her upstairs and we go inside. She tosses her bag in the corner and walks over to the bar. She pours herself a drink.

I can’t really blame her. I’d want a drink too if I were her.

She turns to me, drink in hand.

“What are we going to do?” she asks.

“I’m going to handle it.”

“How?”

“First, I fired Darin.”

She stares, shocked. “You did what?”

“I told him to resign. I told him everything.”

She takes a long sip of whiskey. She coughs when she’s done.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says. “He knows about the investigation?”

“He knows,” I confirm. “And he admitted to doing this all along. He doesn’t even know how many gangsters he brought into my company.” I grip my hand tight and smash my fist against the wall. The pain distracts me from my anger. “That fucking bastard. He said we were friends.”

“I’m sorry.” She steps toward me. “But now he knows. What are we going to do?”

“Darin’s not going to jail,” I say. “Even if he’s a fucking shit, I won’t let my friend go to prison. I’ll make sure he never works in this business again and never comes near my family, but I won’t let him rot.”

She closes her eyes for a second and lets out a breath. “I’m afraid we won’t have a choice. My bosses—”

“I have an idea about how to handle that.” I walk over to the bar and pour my own drink. She stares at me, her eyes clearly unsure and afraid.

“Without Darin, I don’t know what they’ll do,” she says. “I’m afraid they’ll come for you.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Just maybe. But I think I can offer your bosses something they’ll want more.”

“Like what?”

I smile at her. “Set up a meeting. You’ll find out.”

“Jacob—”

I step closer to her, head cocked slightly. She stares into my eyes and I can see how tense she is. “Do you trust me?” I ask.

“Of course I do.”

“Then trust me. Set up the meeting.”

“They’ll know I’ve been talking to you.”

I wave that away. “It won’t matter.”

“It might to me.”

I put my hand on her cheek. She’s so fucking beautiful, it almost hurts. “You’ll be okay,” I say. “We’ll make it through this together.”

She nods slowly. “I don’t know what you’re aiming for here, but I’ll help.”

“Good.”

I lean in and kiss her. I kiss her lightly and let it linger. I just want a taste, just a little promise of what’s to come. We break apart and I press my forehead against hers. She lets out a low whine, almost a moan.

“We’ll beat this,” I say. “I promise.”

“I believe you.”

We stay like that, feeling each other, until we break apart and begin to plan together.20ValMr. Gauge stands as I walk into the coffee shop. He was seated at a table in the far corner, away from the afternoon crowd. I can feel Jacob just behind me, and Mr. Gauge’s eyes flip from mine up to his. We approach him slowly and he just tilts his head.

He’s an older man in his fifties, graying hair, gray beard. He has piercing blue eyes and is wearing a sporty, comfortable suit. He appears to be alone but I wonder if he has backup.

I have to remind myself that this man isn’t an FBI agent or in the CIA. He deals with financial crimes and nothing more.

“Mr. Gauge,” Jacob says. “Thank you for coming all the way out here to meet us.”