Boss of Me (A Steamy Office Romance) Page 2

  But not Chelsea. And as much as her body had caught my attention, it was her mind that kept it. Without having to be asked, she’d gone ahead and familiarized herself with my schedule, and uncovered the missing work that my previous assistant had accidentally left undone. If she hadn’t, I’d have gone into an important meeting empty handed at the last minute. And that was just on the first day. With each subsequent day, I grew more and more impressed with Chelsea. She quickly became indispensable. So even pushing aside the ethics of having a relationship with someone who works for me, I couldn’t jeopardize things by sleeping with her. I needed her. It didn’t make it any easier not to jump her bones.

  I push back the blackout curtains in my room to let in some light. It’s a sunny day, without a cloud in the sky. I wonder if Chelsea has plans today, my mind thinks before I can stop it. She might have. She was young and beautiful after all, only twenty four. And up until now, I wouldn’t have thought she was interested. She was always so demure, so professional. But last night, judging by her embarrassment and her friend’s innuendo, there was interest. Quite a bit. My cock hardens even more just thinking about it. About asking her to close the door when she comes in Monday morning and bending her across my desk.

  Fucking hell.

  What I need is a cold shower. I turn around and make my way to the bathroom. It’s an amazing bathroom. I don’t care much for decor, but when I’d gotten my promotion to this job, I decided I’d splurge on something for myself. A gift for the years of hard work I’ve done. There’s a huge walk in shower with multiple rainfall shower heads. I have vertical jet sprays to pound the stress right out of my body when I need it that are honestly better than jacuzzi’s. Speakers pipe in music on days when I need the adrenaline pumping before a big meeting. The whole thing cost more than my car, but I don’t care. Women have their baths. I have my shower.

  I strip off my boxers and turn the knob, then let the cold hit me full force. It ran over my body, still lean and strong despite the fact that I was north of thirty five. Some of my colleagues let themselves go, consuming stress with McDonald runs at lunchtime and good food in the evening. I refused to let that happen. I ran four miles every morning five days a week, and often stopped at the gym on the way home. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’d trade all that for a good woman to fall asleep and wake up next to, but I’ve yet to find anyone I wanted. Or more specifically, I’ve yet to find anyone I wanted and could have without starting a scandal at work. And I was on track to becoming chief executive. I was almost there.

  You have to stay strong, I reminded myself, switching the water over to hot. I placed my hands on the tiled wall, letting the jets spray over me. I’d kept to the straight and narrow now for almost twenty years, and my rewards were so close. I was never supposed to make it. My father was a coal miner in West Virginia, and neither my three sisters nor I were expected to get anywhere. But I studied my ass off and made it all the way to Wharton on a full ride scholarship. Having clawed myself almost to the top, I couldn’t just throw it all away for a one night stand, no matter how extraordinary she was. The stakes are so high. I can’t risk it. I just can’t.

  Chapter 3

  Chelsea

  Everything is okay. He didn’t realize what a spaz you’d been. Everything is going to be just fine. I’ll be calm. And collected. And professional.

  Repeating the words over and over, I have almost convinced myself that it’s true by the time I pull open the doors of the office building. That what happened on Friday night hadn’t revealed to Mr. McAllister what sort of crazy high school crush I had harbored for him since I stepped into his office the first day. At first I thought I was totally lucky to be working for such a smoking hot boss. Then I realized just how inappropriate it would be to have an office relationship which bummed me out. If I was working for Mr. Conti in the office beside us, maybe something could have happened between us. Then again, this is a pretty huge corporation, so it would have probably still been a scandal of some kind.

  I work for an international upscale coffee chain, the kind where your barista makes fancy foam art and there’s a secret menu to order from. It wasn’t exactly what I envisioned when I went to university, but I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to be at the time. I opted to take English because I liked to read, and four years later I came out with a degree that had no real practical applications. At least I get as much free coffee as I could possibly drink here, and I had stock options. One day I’d like to be able to write a book and publish it, but I was so tired these days after work that I hadn’t tried in months.

  “Hey Chelsea,” one of the security guards by the door says. “Looks like it’s going to be a pretty bad day today.”

  “You think so Roger?”

  He nods his grizzled head. “For sure. It’s going to storm.”

  Oh great. Mr. McAllister is supposed to be part of an overseas conference call with Asia today. That means we were going to be here until eight-thirty, possibly nine. I don’t want to be caught out in a storm. Roger sees my disappointment and gives me a sympathetic smile.

  “Late night again huh?”

  “Yeah,” I say, straightening up. No use dwelling on it. I knew what it’d be like when I signed up to work as a PA. “At least I get overtime.”

  I make my way over to the elevators and break out into an awkward little trot to make it into one. There’s a whole bunch of other people, but they silently shift around so that I could squeeze in. Five minutes later and I’m in the break room, pouring out a cup of black coffee for myself, and a cup of tea for Mr. McAllister. I still remember that first day when he’d taken me to the tea room and showed me where he’d hidden his tea. ‘Grandma was British’ he says by way of explanation. ‘So we all drank tea’. You’d think he was committing treason the way he swore me to secrecy, though I guess it is when you work for a coffee company. I dump in a ton of milk and sugar and slowly carry both cups back to the office.

  I drop off mine at my desk, where I see a big pile of mail, then stop outside Mr. McAllister’s door. Taking a deep breath, I knock then open the door.

  “Hi Mr. McAllister,” I say. He used to tell me to call him Brandon, but he’s my boss, and he’s kind of intimidating. He’s reading something on his tablet and waves a hand to an empty spot beside him.

  “Thanks,” he says absentmindedly.

  I wait for a moment, but he doesn’t say anything else, so I go. For some reason I’m a little disappointed even though this was exactly how I hoped he would act. Of course he’s going to be a professional about it, I scold myself. Why would you think any different of him? Mr. McAllister’s never showed any sign that he would try to take advantage of an employee that way.

  I plop down onto my desk and try to sort out the mail, but I’m feeling out of sorts and it takes forever. The rest of the day isn’t much better. There is a meeting I have to set up, but the PA isn’t responding to emails. We have big spring promotions lined up, and I have to organize the material that needs to go out, but half of the people still haven’t emailed me the info I requested. It’s frustrating. And then there’s that woman Renee Singer, who insists on speaking to him. He’s told me before not to put her through, and today is no different. Mr. McAllister is out of the office most of the day too, and aside from prepping for tonight’s call, I find myself all alone with my thoughts.

  At least during lunch I am able to get on the phone to call my mom. She and I had a rocky relationship when I was growing up, mostly because I was convinced that she was the reason dad wanted a divorce. I blamed her for ruining our family. It wasn’t until one day I saw dad dating someone that it occurred to me that maybe the story was different. And it was. Turns out that he had been cheating on her for almost five years.

  “How are you doing today mom?”

  “I’m good honey,” she says. There is a short sigh. “I’ve been giving the house a good clean. Have you heard of this new thing called Konmari? It’s where you get rid of a bunch of stuff in you
r home and end up happier for it.”

  My mom, while not a hoarder, is definitely thrifty. There were plenty of things around the house that could probably have been upgraded, but she’d plod along using it anyways. For example, one side of our toaster hasn’t worked in ten years. Since it can still make toast, it’s just fine in my mom’s books. Another example would be the many rolls of almost used up Christmas wrapping paper. Occasionally she’d find a present small enough for one of them, and that’d be enough to convince her that the rest might come in handy someday too.

  “Sounds nice. Hey, you’re not getting rid of my old swim medals are you?” I ask. “And my books?”

  “No, not yet,” my mom says. “But maybe you should come down and visit sometime and take what you want. I was thinking about turning your room into the guest bedroom.”

  “Yeah okay. I’ll try. It gets pretty busy here, and Mr. McAllister needs me a lot of the time.”

  It’s not that I don’t want to go home and see my mom. Really I keep meaning to. But it’s a half day’s drive with Steph driving, or even longer by bus, so it sort of gets pushed down on my to-do list. I feel a pang of guilt at how hopeful my mom sounds though. I really should.

  “I know I know, you have an important job to do. I just don’t want you to work so hard. Stress will give you wrinkles.”

  “I’ll put on more of that cream you gave me at Christmas. Actually, have you been working too hard on this cleaning thing? You sound tired.” I stab at my chicken Caesar salad. Of course I pick up the biggest leaf of lettuce and have to hunt for a napkin before the dressing spills on my blouse. I open the drawers frantically.

  “Oh, I just haven’t slept well today. I might be coming down with a bit of a cold.”

  Aha! I pull one out and dab my mouth. Just in time too, because one of the other PA’s just walked by.

  “Well, make sure you wear a scarf when you go out then.”

  Somewhere along the way, my mom and I traded places. I guess that’s what it means to be an adult. You start taking care of your parents, in small ways at first, then bigger ones. I decide that I will pop down there for a visit next weekend. Maybe make a trip out of it with Steph. I’m sure she has some kind of wedding chore she has to do down there too. Of course she asks me if I’m seeing anyone, and I tell her no. We’re close, but I know my mom wouldn’t approve of me dating my boss at all. We talk a little more, and then my lunch is over and I have to go.

  The minutes drag by for the rest of the day. People start getting up to go home, but I’m still stuck here in case Mr. McAllister needs something. I walk over to the window. Dark, angry looking clouds have rolled in, and rain is starting to fall. There’s a wicked wind blowing, and the trees are starting to bend. It looks like people are getting soaked just getting to their cars. I sigh. I only wore a light trench coat today. Suddenly there’s a flash of lightning and then the rumble of thunder and I shiver. It’s not going to be pretty to try and get home in this weather.

  By this point, I’m starting to get bored, so I head to the break room and wash up everything. Technically, being a communal kitchen, we’re all supposed to clean up after ourselves, but let’s be real, that never happens. I don’t mind doing it when I’ve got nothing else to do though. It keeps my brain from thinking about him. First I pull out my phone and turn on the music, then I plug up the sink and run the water. I like to wash the cups first, then the dishes. I even start singing along a little, shimmying between the sink and the counter where I’ve put the dry dishware.

  “Chelsea!”

  “Ah!”

  I whirl around and turn beet red. It’s Mr. McAllister. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, but he seems more amused than anything else. There’s a smile tugging at his delectable lips. Is he laughing at my sad dance moves?

  “Did I scare you? You weren’t replying to me so I had to come and find you.”

  “Oh I’m so sorry,” I say, eyes widening. That’s what I get for deserting my post. “Did you need something? I shouldn’t have left the desk, but I thought I’d clean up a little.”

  He shakes his head and a lock of hair falls over his forehead. I want to push it out of the way for him, but of course I wouldn’t.

  “Don’t apologize. I know you’re probably the only one who does clean up around here. I’m done with the call. Why don’t you let me help you and then we can get out of here?”

  “There’s no-” I started to say, then stop because Mr. McAllister’s already walking into the break room, shrugging off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves. What is it about that move that makes them suddenly look ten times sexier than before? Steph and I once tried to figure it out one lazy college afternoon. While we managed to finish off an entire party size bag of tostitos and dip, we were no closer to the truth. There’s just something magical about rolled sleeves that show off a guy’s forearms.

  “Do you want to wash or dry?” he says cutting into my thoughts.

  “I can wash,” I say quickly, hoping he didn’t catch me ogling him.

  I hand him one of the towels and head back to the sink. Suddenly I wished that I’d put off doing them so early. There are only three dishes left.

  “So do you go to the Royal Boar often?” he says after a second. “I don’t think I’ve seen you there until last night.”

  “Oh, that was our first time,” I say, reddening again. “Steph says she got a recommendation from... a coworker.”

  “I like that they’re close to home so I don’t have to worry about driving drunk. Their IPAs aren’t half bad.”

  I hand him a dish and our fingers touch for half a second, making me almost jump out of our skin. All of this is so out of the ordinary, and I’m very aware of how alone we are right now. There’s nobody else in the office.

  “I- I don’t know much about beer,” I confess.

  “Ah, I won’t bore you with it then,” he says, falling silent.

  He’s close enough to touch now, and I could feel the warmth of his body. I sneak another glance at his forearms again. They’re tanned and strong. I wouldn’t mind having those arms around me at all. I keep watching them flex and move, and then my eyes meander upwards, over those broad shoulders, that handsome face with the brilliant green eyes and sharp cheekbones. He could have been a model at one point in his life. Maybe he had been. I hardly knew anything about my boss. We weren’t that kind of coworkers. The kind that chatted over lunch and everything. I reported to him. I obeyed him. Maybe it was for the best. I mean, how often do work relationships work out anyways?

  Once we’re done with everything, I pull the plug on the sink and we head back to grab our things. He’s got a dark wool coat on and a maroon scarf knotted around his neck like he’s walked out of GQ magazine. Together we head towards the elevators. I take a look out the window, but unfortunately the storm hasn’t let up at all. I feel sort of bold though after our brief conversation. Like maybe I could even ask him to give me a ride to the subway or something. Steph would be so proud. The wait is only a few seconds since it’s late, and luckily there is nobody in the elevator either. The doors close and he pushes the button for the lobby.

  We turn towards each other at the exact same time.

  “Do you-”

  “I was-”

  We both stop and he gives a rich laugh. His eyes crinkle up and his grin takes up his whole face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh and I suddenly want to do something, anything to make him laugh like that again.

  “You first,” I say.

  But before he can get a word out, the elevator plunges into darkness and we fall.

  Chapter 4

  Brandon

  Chelsea lets out a scream, and instinctively I reach out to grab for her. She tumbles into my arms, her body soft and womanly and warm. My God. This is how I’m going to die, I think both happily and terrified. For a brief second it feels like I’m weightless, but then the elevator stops falling abruptly with a loud nose, and I crash onto the floor. Che
lsea falls on top of me stunned. My body is pumping with adrenaline, but it seems like the safety brake engaged. The building is an old one, but at least this elevator isn’t. I take a few deep, calming breaths to get my bearings back.

  “Chelsea. You okay?” I ask finally.

  “I think so,” she says uncertainly. Then there’s a sudden scramble as she gets off me. “I’m so sorry Mr. McAllister! Are-Are you okay??”

  “I’m fine,” I rush to reassure her. “No harm done.”

  “What happened?” She’s still a little embarrassed that she’d landed in my arms. To be honest, I’m surprised too by my reaction. My first impulse was to make sure she’s okay. It feels as though my whole world shifted out of alignment for a moment as I processed that. It took me a few seconds before I heard her question.

  “It’s probably the storm. It looked pretty bad out there. No idea why the backup generator hasn’t engaged.”

  There’s a few more seconds of silence. I’ve always heard that the other four senses in blind people are heightened. What surprises me though, is that it can happen to ordinary people too. I can almost feel Chelsea near me, the warmth of her body and the sound of her breath. It’s as though my brain has shifted gears in the complete darkness. I hear her rummaging around in her purse and curse.

  “Do you have your phone? I forgot mine.”

  I do, but I planned on charging it on the drive home, I realize with dismay. There’s maybe 8% battery left last I checked. I pull it out and look. Damn. 4%. I quickly scan the elevator panel in front of me, but it’s useless. There isn’t a phone, and pressing the help button yields nothing. Damn. I check my phone again in case there’s a signal, but of course there isn’t.