Dirty Boss (Dirty Rich 2)

The security guard nods with familiarity. I'm not sure how he recognizes me—I've only been here a few times—but he does.

I nod back. I need all the pleasantries I can get right now.

I'm not sure what I'm going to say to Blake.

I know what I want, but it's not on the table.

Is it really possible to find a compromise with something this black and white?

I don't know.

But I'm not giving up on that possibility.

I step into the shiny silver elevator and push the penthouse button.

It flashes red. Damn key card. I fish it from my wallet, swipe it, and press the button again. Green.

His office needs a key for access.

It's so Blake.

My reflection stares back at me. It's just like last time. She looks tired. Scared. In over her head.

But last time worked out well. I got everything I wanted.

Maybe I can do the same here.

Ding. The doors slide open. I step into the lobby.

Once again, the floor is empty. Dark. Still. The light of the city flows in through the windows. The big, grey clouds feel close. Like I could touch them if I opened the window.

I go straight to Blake's office. Grab the handle. Try to turn.

It's locked.

He's here alone and the door is locked.

A panel forms in my mind. A cartoon version of Blake pulling open his chest to show off the walls around his heart. There are a dozen different locks. Each with a different key.

It could make for an interesting story. A girl on a quest, trying to figure out how to tear down each of those walls.

I steel myself as I knock. I'm not sure how this is going to go. Only that it's going to be difficult.

Blake pulls the door open. His blue eyes meet mine. They fill with a mix of concern and appreciation. He's glad I'm here. And worried it means something.

He's not wearing a suit.

He's in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It's tight on his broad shoulders and chest. It hangs off him perfectly. And those jeans…

Heat pools between my legs. I'm here to talk. Not to beg him to pin me to the couch and fuck my brains out.

He gives me a long once-over. "Gin and tonic?"

"You're not wearing a suit."

He chuckles. "I changed after you texted."

"Oh. For me?"

"Yes."

My heartbeat picks up. Blake is changing for me. It's not a metaphor. It's probably for comfort. But it feels like it means something.

"Do you want a drink?"

"Sure."

He moves to the bar and pours carefully.

I take a seat on the couch. Fold my legs. Smooth my jeans. Tap my heels together. These are nice boots. Expensive leather with good waterproofing. My feet are dry. Warm.

It's heaven compared to walking around the city with soggy socks.

It's the kind of thing that wasn't possible last month.

But creature comforts aren't enough anymore.

I need more.

He moves to the couch and hands over my cocktail. His eyes fix on mine as he takes a long sip of his whiskey.

"This is early for you." I let the alcohol warm my face and cheeks. "To stop working and have a drink."

"I figured it's important."

"Oh?"

"You haven't said anything but goodnight in three days."

"I didn't think you noticed."

He stares back at me. "Of course."

Of course? What the hell is that? I take another sip, but it doesn't offer any clarity. Or confidence. "I've been thinking."

"About?"

Wanting you to love me. Wanting this to be real. My inability to separate fact and fiction. "Everything."

He slides his fingertips over my neck. "What's one thing?"

I take a greedy sip, but it does nothing to refresh me. My eyes go to the shiny hardwood floor. It's perfect, spotless, pristine like everything in Blake's office. Like everything in his life. "Do you trust me?"

He answers immediately. "Yes." His voice is certain. Sure.

I force myself to stare back into his eyes. They're sincere. They're worried even.

I mean something to him.

I just don't know how much.

I fish the check from my purse. "Your sister thinks… well, I'm not sure what she thinks. But she wants me to go away." I unfold the check.

He reads it. "You want more?"

"No, I…"

"We have a deal, Kat. If it's not enough anymore—"

"This isn't about money." I squeeze the check with my thumb and forefinger. "I'll tear it in half right now if I have to."

His lip corners turn down. "You're showing off a check for a hundred grand. What else could it be about?"

Love. "Don't you care that your sister wants me to go away?"

"She's trying to protect me. In her way." His gaze shifts to the window. "She's not taking the divorce well. You don't need to like her, but don't take it personally."

"Don't take go-away money personally?"

"It's more than she can afford. She must think you're valuable to me."

"Is everything a number to you?"

He arches a brow.

"Would I be less valuable if she'd offered me fifty grand?"

"That isn't what I mean."

"No? It sounds like it."

"If you want more money—"

"I don't."

"Then why tell me?"

"I trust you." My toes tap together. "You've been honest with me. But…"

"But?"

"Stop offering me more money. I don't want any more of your money."

"Fine." His voice is short. Frustrated.

"I want to talk about this. Like adults." I go to tear the check in half but my fingers won't cooperate. "You can't buy me. Your sister can't buy me. I'm not for sale."

I do it again.

This time, I manage a tiny rip.

I don't want Fiona's money.

I don't want anyone buying my allegiance.

Deep breath. I tear the check in half.

The paper flutters to the ground.

Fuck. There go my options.

"There's no shame in needing money." Blake finishes his whiskey and sets his glass on a wide table. "You can admit it."

I dig my heels into the hardwood. "Fine, I need the money. I'm not a billionaire. I don't have a tech company. In fact, I don't have a fucking penny to my name. It's just my sister and me. No one else will help. Is that what you want to hear?"

"If it's the truth."

"I need your fucking money. I hate that I need your money, but I do."

His stare cuts through me.

I turn away. Fuck this. Blake can't intimidate me.

I go to push myself up but he grabs my wrist.

"Don't," he says.

"Why? This is a business arrangement. Our terms are the same. There's nothing to talk about." There's no way to get what I want. Not like this.

His grip tightens around my wrist.

"We're not friends."

"Aren't we?" He pulls my body into his. "I care about you."

"You don't care how I feel."

"Yes, I do." His breath warms my ear. "I know this is hard for you. And I hate that. But there isn't another way."

"But you…" I don't know what to say. His voice is sincere. He does care about me. "How much?"

"How much?"

"Do you care about me? Am I a colleague? A friend? A lover?"

"I'm not going to fall in love with you." The words are easy. Like he's talking about the time.

My stomach sinks. "I don't know if I can do this without falling in love with you."

"Kat…"

"I know. You'll never love me. I understand." Sort of. He thinks he'll never love me. But he does care about me. And that's how it starts.

Blake looks me over. His gaze is softer. There's affection in it.

H

e picks the pieces of the check off the floor and sets them on the side table.

"You can still take Fiona's money."

"I don't want it."

"Good. Pretend like this never happened."

"She doesn't believe we're in love."

"She does. That's why she offered you this much. It's a test."

"That's fucked up."

"That's the Sterling family." He slides his palm around the back of my neck. Stares into my eyes. "I meant what I said. There's no shame in needing money. Most people wouldn't do as well as you have."

"Maybe."

Blake runs his fingertips over my cheek. "It must have been hard, holding everything together after your parents died."