The Boss (The Boss 1)

Sophie—

This key belongs to the W hotel on Lexington Ave. Meet me in the “Wow” suite.

Neil

The “Wow” suite? I resisted the temptation to Google and threw myself into work. I had hoped his instructions would have been a bit more explicit. Some clue as to what kind of night he was expecting, what he wanted to do to me... anything. The fact that he denied me even that small pleasure maddened and distracted me. That was probably the point. Maybe he was under the impression that I was still a naive college student, but I was sure I could find some way to torment him in return.

A wicked idea sprang to my mind, aided by the memory of his voice in my ear, my hands guiding his. There had been a mirror in our hotel room six years ago, and I’d sat on his lap at the edge of the bed, both of us watching as I pushed his fingers in tight circles over my clitoris. My face grew hot as I remembered the sight of his cock stretching me, the sound of my slick flesh moving under his hands as I gasped and wriggled on him.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he had whispered against my jaw, his gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “Never be timid about your own pleasure. Don’t be ashamed to come.”

That image of my own passion, and the hungry way he’d watched me using his fingers to get myself off, were seared into my mind.

Yeah, I could definitely do something with that.

The workday passed at such a sluggish pace, I thought for sure that time had slowed down specifically to cock block me. I sat through the shoe meeting, where no one actually threw any shoes at Neil, though Rudy looked like he was getting close when they clashed over a Manolo. Rudy loved the stacked heel and red-and-black color scheme. When Neil said it looked like a clown shoe, it seemed like some serious Real Housewives throw down shit was about to start. But in the end, Neil made a point regarding the resemblance to a piece from the previous season, and Rudy had to concede. I think Rudy was as surprised as I was at Neil’s familiarity with fashion. Though his company owned a men’s fashion magazine, as well, I hadn’t realized how hands-on his involvement must have been, for him to fill Gabriella’s role at Porteras.

It was strangely easy to sit through the meeting without having sexy thoughts. Well, without too many. I was routinely distracted by the sight of Neil’s big hands on the delicate, feminine shoes, turning them this way and that. I thought of him sliding such an item off my foot, his hand skimming up my calf, under my skirt— but I cared more about the magazine than my libido, so I kept that kind of daydreaming to a minimum.

Neil at work was an entirely different creature than I’d expected. He had a good eye for design, but an even better talent for listening as the fashion team presented each piece and explained why they thought it should make the issue. He asked questions, occasionally dictated a note to me, and by the time the meeting was over I realized I didn’t have that queasy, on edge feeling in my stomach I used to get when sitting in on these things with Gabriella. Working for her was supposed to have been a learning experience, but it was difficult to learn from someone when you were constantly monitoring your behavior and schooling a blank facial expression because you were terrified of saying or doing something unfavorable.

After the meeting, while Neil was away at lunch, I sent a quick text to Holli: Seeing Neil after work. Will be late. Don’t worry.

She replied lightning-fast: Awwwwwww yeah. Get you some!

While I was typing a snarky reply, another text popped up, this one from Jake: Going out with some of A’s friends tonight. Single guys, interested?

Oh, Jake. We’d broken office sexual harassment policies time and again by bouncing romantic ideas off each other. When he wanted to know which vibrator his girlfriend, Amanda, would like best, he’d come to me. When I couldn’t figure out why my ex-somewhat-steady-sex-partner couldn’t get off with me on top, Jake had drawn me all sorts of diagrams on the backs of discarded photo proofs. Sometimes it was awesome having a platonic straight guy friend. Other times, like now, when he was considering asking his girlfriend to move in with him, he could project like, well, a projector. Ever since he’d gotten serious about Amanda, he’d wanted to fix me up with Mr. Right. I was certain he’d already planned our double dates, with just an empty gray “insert Sophie’s husband” space where my future spouse could be slotted in. I sighed and dialed his number.