The Boss hole (An Enemies To Lovers Romance)

I looked at the newcomer. He was tall with tattoos creeping out from his suit sleeves to the back of his hands and up the base of his neck. His blond hair was shoulder length and thick. The gorgeous man stuck his hand out towards me. “I’m Travis.”

I smiled, shaking his hand.

Mr. White subtly gave the man a little nudge to break our handshake. “Travis and I have worked together for a very long time. Travis is a sales wizard. When a deal needs closed or a client needs greased, he’s the one I call. But come on, there’s one more person you’ll need to meet. He should be waiting for us inside.”

And just like we hadn’t been milliseconds from kissing our professional business relationship goodbye—quite literally—we all headed into the restaurant.

I forgot about what had just happened when I saw the beautiful interior of the restaurant. It was covered in greenery and stonework with running water that trickled over the stones and fed into shallow rivers of water. The whole restaurant felt like some temperature controlled perfect slice of nature. My mood immediately brightened. It felt like I’d spent the last half year in cramped apartments and oppressive offices. As much as I didn’t miss my old life, I had to admit being somewhere this beautiful felt nostalgic and comforting.

“Mr. White,” a young girl at the hostess stand said. She straightened like she knew his reputation, then grabbed three thick leather menus and led us to a table.

Mr. White and Travis were speaking about something as we walked that I couldn’t make out and didn’t try to. They shook hands and did the manly shoulder patting routine when we met their other partner at the table.

It looked like the three of them must’ve all gone to the same male modeling camp when they were kids. The guy waiting at the table for us was clean cut with glasses and dark hair. He had a sexy nerd thing going on.

All together, Mr. White looked like the one who would’ve played quarterback in high school. He was athletic, but in a lean, efficient sort of way. He was clean cut with enough intensity and danger to make him seem like the bad boy, even without visible tattoos. He looked like the one people followed.

Travis seemed to be the charmer. The one who wound up sleeping with his teacher when he was in high school and got kicked off the football team. He was thicker with muscle, but his face wasn’t constantly molded into a frown like Mr. White’s. He looked easy to talk to and relaxed.

The one in glasses seemed like the valedictorian type. I could imagine him giving a speech at graduation and secretly having the heart of all the smart girls. He was the too-good-to-be-true guy that parents loved.

“This is Noah,” Mr. White said. “He’s our infrastructure guy. Absolute genius. I’ve never shown him a system he can’t improve.”

The four of us took our places around the table. It looked like Travis was about to sit beside me, but Mr. White smoothly slid into the spot at my side, leaving Travis across from me and Noah to my left.

I felt completely out of place, so I tried to distract myself by burying my face in the menu.

“Don’t let the prices scare you,” Travis said. He had an easy smile that made me feel relaxed. I could see how he was probably effective in closing sales. That, and probably getting women into his bed with that straight-toothed smile and those dimples of his. “Adrian over here covers all company meals. Order as much as you want. It’s on his dime.”

As if Adrian could read my thoughts about Travis’s attractiveness, he splayed his legs slightly, which caused his knee to rest against mine.

I felt like he was marking me out somehow. Like a dog pissing on its favorite bush. How flattering.

If I wasn’t born with a silver spoon jammed so far down my throat that it was threatening to pop out my ass, I would’ve been hopeless with the menu at this place. It was all in French, and mostly obscure foods like quail eggs and imported meats the average person has never heard of. Thankfully, I recognized most of it from the things I’d been forced to eat.

But thinking of my childhood gave me a strange pang of guilt. Here I was, the daughter of the man these people were working for, and none of them had any idea. Of course, they had no right to know. It was my business if I wanted to use my mother’s maiden name, and I wasn’t obligated to tell them who my father was.

We ordered our drinks and eventually the food while the men talked about various aspects of the conference coming up. I gathered bits and pieces from their conversation, but a great deal of it went over my head when they delved too deep into company politics or jargon about business practice.