The Boss hole (An Enemies To Lovers Romance)

I found him in his office with a white shirt and navy-blue vest. He was standing by the window and giving me a sinful view of his long legs in a pair of navy pants to match his vest. His hair, like usual, was a neat mess of dark, barely controlled waves that swooped away from his tanned face.

“You didn’t knock,” he said.

I folded my arms. “Let me guess. Go back out and try again?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “No. Have a seat.”

I did as he asked but found my curiosity piqued. What had I done to earn such overwhelming graciousness? Maybe he really did value the quality of work I was doing and was going to start downgrading his behavior from apocalyptic bosshole to just plain grumpy. That would be nice.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked.

“Yes. I called you in to tell you to pack your things. We’re leaving in two days for a conference in New Orleans. It won’t be a vacation for you. Come ready to work.”

“I was planning to meet my friend for lunch tomorrow.”

He stared like I’d just said the silliest thing he’d ever heard. “Then you’ll cancel. We’re leaving tonight.”

“What’s in New Orleans?”

“A conference. You’ll finally get to meet my team there. And Miss Adams, I also wanted to tell you that I admire what you’ve done here. You’ve made yourself impossible to fire. You keep up with my demands. You keep getting glowing feedback from clients. You…”

I arched an eyebrow, waiting.

“You have been a worthwhile investment.”

I deflated a little but couldn’t help grinning. In his own stick up the ass kind of way, I was pretty sure Mr. White was trying to be kind for once. I wasn’t going to nitpick if his wording felt stiff. “Thank you,” I said.

He nodded. “You’ll be working hard while we’re in New Orleans, so please make sure you’re ready to really grind once we leave.”

My thoughts flashed back to standing close enough to him at the party that I could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes—that I could’ve counted his eyelashes or closed my eyes and swam in the delectable scent coming off him. Get ready to grind.

“Is something funny, Miss Adams?”

I wiped the grin from my face, shaking my head. “No, I was just thinking if the work so far hasn’t been a grind, I’m looking forward to seeing what your definition of ‘working hard’ is.”

Mr. White’s eyes twinkled. “If anyone is up to the challenge, I believe it may just be you.”

I stared into his eyes, not blinking. He expected so much from his employees. It was written in every smooth, perfectly crafted line of his face. My father was that way, too. Except my father had expected the world from everyone besides me. To him, I’d always been the one who couldn’t do anything right and shouldn’t be expected to. I was the wallflower. The ornamental, pretty little thing he’d marry off as a social maneuver when the time came.

To my father, I wasn’t supposed to be truly intelligent or truly capable. I was supposed to be “well trained.” I was “well bred.” I was an acquisition, just like the priceless paintings he’d acquired. I was one more thing to show off to his friends.

For all his faults, Mr. White was different in one critical way. He hadn’t discounted me. He may have been ready to dispose of me the moment I failed to live up to his expectations, but he made me feel like he’d seen some potential—some possibility that I might actually succeed.

Leave it to my father to carve a hole in me wide enough to make me feel drawn to such a screwed-up situation. I shouldn’t have been so desperate for a chance to prove to someone I could be useful, but here I was. All I could think as I looked at the handsome bastard behind the desk was how ready I was to prove I could handle this. I could live up to his high expectations. I could exceed them.

10

Adrian

Part of playing the role of “Adrian White” was pretending I still needed to fly commercial. Forget the private jet I had waiting in hangar and the pilot I still had on my personal payroll. That life had been on hold for nearly a year. As far as anyone knew, Adrian Terranova was simply off enjoying his billions on a private island somewhere, probably drowning in pussy.

If I was being honest, I wasn’t even sure Adrian Terranova really existed anymore. I’d spent ten years taking fake names and pretending to be someone I wasn’t in pursuit of my revenge. Some nights, I wondered who would be there looking back in the mirror when this was all over, and I put Adrian White to rest. Because the old me wasn’t the hardass I’d become. But those were questions to worry about when the time came. I’d come this far, and all I needed to do was hold on a little while longer.