The Boss Project by Vi Keeland

“I’m ready now.” I pulled out my wallet and tucked a credit card into the slot before handing it back.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Evie waited until the waitress disappeared, but didn’t miss a beat picking up right where she’d left off. “I’m asking because oftentimes a change in management can have a major effect on employees.”

“If anything, Amelia’s departure relieved the firm of stress, not added to it. She ran the IPO division—bringing companies public for the first time. There’s a lot of pressure involved with that type of deal. We no longer take on that type of work.”

“Oh…okay. How long ago did she leave the company?”

“Three years.”

“Did any staff go with her when she left?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Was the split amicable? Did she start her own firm?”

The waitress returned with the credit card receipt, so I scribbled my name. When I looked up, Evie was still waiting for an answer. So I gave her one.

“There was no split. Amelia Evans died.”





CHAPTER 8

Merrick



Nine years ago



“Who’s filling in for Decker tonight?” I ripped open the cardboard Budweiser case and bent to fill the mini fridge—the one we kept in the living room next to the card table because we were all too lazy to get up and walk the ten steps to the kitchen.

“Someone from my stats class,” Travis said. “Her name is Amelia. She’s going to let me cheat off her for Tuesday’s midterm if she can play.”

My head swung up. “She? You invited a girl to play cards with us?”

Travis shrugged. “I gotta pass this damn test. Besides, it’s not like we ever made a rule that girls couldn’t play.”

Maybe we hadn’t. But the four of us had been playing cards once a week since freshman year. For three-and-a-half years it had been a guys’ night. Whenever one of us couldn’t make it, we got someone to fill in. Up until today, that had always been a guy. One of our regular foursome was doing a semester abroad this term, so we’d been taking turns recruiting his replacement each week. “I guess we never needed a rule because we all had a silent understanding.”

Our friend Will Silver walked in. He set a bottle of Jack in the middle of the card table.

“Hey, Will,” I said. “How come you never invited a girl to play cards with us?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It’s a guys’ night.”

I looked to Trav. “See?”

He waved me off. “Stop bitching. She probably sucks at cards, and you’ll be taking home some easy money. You should be thanking me.”

Will pointed to the beer I was transferring to the fridge. “Toss me one.”

“They’re warm. Cold ones are in the kitchen.”

“Have you been paying attention the last three years? I don’t give a shit if it’s cold. Just pass me one.”

I tossed him a warm beer.

Will peeled back the top of the can with a loud tssSSS kr-POP. “Does she at least have nice tits?”

“Yes. She has great tits,” an unexpected voice said from behind us. “Tell me, how’s your dick?”

All three of our heads swung toward the woman, and the room grew quiet. I lifted my beer to my lips and noticed she hadn’t been lying—her tits were pretty great. Though, unlike Will, I was smart enough to keep my thoughts to myself.

The woman lifted a brow. “Well?”

She was waiting for an actual answer about Will’s dick. I tilted my beer toward his junk. “I’ve seen it. His dick’s pretty sad.”

“Fuck off,” Will said. “I’m a grower, not a show-er.”

The woman looked at me. She wasn’t smiling, but I could see it lurking at the corner of her lips and in the sparkle in her eyes. She tilted her head. “And how’s your dick?”

I shrugged. “Spectacular. You want to see it?”

Her smile peeked through. “Maybe later. I’ll take all your money first.”

I might’ve been willing to hand my wallet to this girl right now, if that was all it was going to take. She had fire red hair, pale skin, and a few freckles on her perky little nose. Not to mention, the green tank top she had on made it impossible to not stare.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” I said. “Except I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one taking the money tonight.”

Her smile widened. “Would you like to wager on that?”

“You want to bet you’re going to be the big winner tonight even though we haven’t dealt the first hand of cards?”

“Yep.”

“Shouldn’t you at least wait to see how the people you’re up against play?”

“Nope. If we wait that long, you won’t make the bet…”

“Because you’re that good?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do we have a bet or not?”

“Sure. Why not? How much we betting?”

“A hundred bucks?”

My buddies whistled. We only played with fifty bucks each, sometimes less if someone was broke. But I worked and had plenty of money. Besides, I could only count a handful of nights when I’d lost big. More times than not, I was the winner. I was good at cards, because cards were essentially numbers. And I was even better at numbers. Though I didn’t want her money.