Bosshole by Jagger Cole

 

1

Delphine

You’d thinkthat spilling half a latte on my skirt, twenty minutes before starting my new job, would be the low point of my day. Except, you would be wrong. Because thankfully, two seconds later, the coffee spill has been utterly obliterated by the torrent of slush and icy snow that the plow truck just drenched me in.

“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me?!”

I scream. I don’t even care about the people staring at me on the sidewalk like I’m crazy. Right now, I feel crazy. I feel like I’m about to lose it completely. It’s bad enough that I’m nervous starting work today at my dream job at King Equities. The youngest new financial analyst on Wall Street, and I happen to be female? Yeah, no pressure. None at all.

All of that should have me acting crazy on its own. The coffee spill doesn’t help. But then it’s the plow asshole zooming past me and drenching me from the waist down in icy gross New York City street slush that makes me lose it.

“FUCK!” I yell again. I close my eyes. I want to cry. I might, too, if I wasn’t freezing my ass off—literally. The freezing cold slushy ice mush has soaked through my skirt, pantyhose, and underwear. And it is currently very cold in places that I’d really, really like to not be cold.

The panic is rising. I have seven minutes to be inside, at my new desk. Billion-dollar firms do not care if you’re having a wardrobe malfunction. They don’t give a shit that you need to make a quick run to Macy’s for something presentable to wear.

I glance up the street anyways. There’s a Nordstrom’s two blocks away. I glance at my watch. Six minutes now. Shit. There’s no way I’m running two blocks in heels, buying a skirt, and running back in six minutes. The tears start to well as the panic begins to rattle me.

“Oh! Ms. Laurent!”

I blink rapidly and whirl. My heart drops. I’m suddenly face to face with the freaking Vice President of King Equities.

“Ms. Hammerschmitt!” I force a smile through my chattering teeth. “Good morning!”

It feels weird to say it but thank God it’s only the VP. Helen Hammerschmitt is one of the most bad-ass women on Wall Street. She’s tough, she’s a ball-buster, and she’s very no-nonsense. But at least she’s not him. At least I’m not standing here with slush in my underwear face-to-face with Barrett King himself.

Helen might be tough. But Barrett is a legend on Wall Street. Plenty of cocky finance assholes have declared themselves the “Wolf of Wall Street” after the movie came out. Only one unquestionably holds the title “Demon King of Wall Street”.

In case it’s not obvious, that isn’t a term of endearment, either.

Barrett King is the devil himself, come down to finance town. He’s ruthless. He’s cruel. He’s iron-fisted in helming his company. He’s also recently been declared New York’s most eligible young bachelor. I mean he’s thirty years old, worth about $4 billion, and model good looking after all.

I should also mention that I’ve known him since I was a kid. Though I haven’t seen him in about a decade. Not since everything that happened between him and my brother. Not since he went to prison.

“Good morning to you!” Helen smiles. She’s actually the one who hired me. As far as I know, Barrett doesn’t even know I now work at his company. Actually, I’m positive he doesn’t. Given the history between his family and mine? Yeah, there’s not a chance he knows his second in command has hired me.

Helen frowns. She looks down and suddenly realizes the state of me. “My God, Delphine! What the hell happened?!”

“I’m so sorry!” I blurt. “There was a plow, and I guess I was too close to the curb…I can just run to Nordstrom’s…”

“Oh, heaven’s no. No.” She frowns and gives a little shake of the head. “No, we’re about the same size. Come on in. I have a wardrobe up in my office.”

I blink in surprise. “Really?”

She’s not firing me? She’s not laughing in my face and saying something like “welcome to Wall Street, go fuck yourself”? Nope, she’s laughing, and not at me.

“Yes, really! Come on in, you must be freezing!”

She ushers me inside the huge lobby of the building. I follow speechlessly. Inside, I pause and stare up at the giant metal letters across the hewn-rock façade of the lobby. They spell out “King Equities” with the crown logo on top. I shake my head.

I honestly don’t know how he did this. Ten years ago, Barrett King was in t-shirts and dirty jeans. He used to hang around my brother, Roland, and mess with motorcycles with him. He was nineteen, and had facial hair, muscles, and tattoos. And I thought he was the hottest freaking thing I’d ever seen.

Then, everything fell apart. After he went to jail, our family sort of broke in two. And I haven’t seen him since. But somehow, the ripped-jeans hottie from the wrong side of the tracks with a prison record built this place.

“This way, Delphine.”

I quickly follow Helen into a private executive elevator. We get out on the top floor. I’m instantly blown away by the panoramic window view of all of lower Manhattan. She brings me down the hall to her own private office. It’s a blur as she quickly steps into a giant walk-in closet and comes back out with a gorgeous Chanel pencil skirt.

“This’ll work fine for you, I think.”

“Ms. Hammerschmitt, I…I couldn’t possibly!”

“You could!” She laughs. “And we can’t have you walking around dripping ice all day, now can we?” She smiles and escorts me down the hall again. “Okay, just around the corner is your office. But you can change in here.” She opens the ladies room door for me. “And welcome to King Equities. We’re all very excited to have you on the team, Delphine.”

I almost want to cry. I manage to hold back on hugging her. “Thank you!” I gush. “Really, thank you!”

“Enjoy your first day,” she smiles. When she’s gone, I jump into the bathroom. I yank off my skirt, ruined tights, and panties. The tights I toss, the skirt and panties I cram into my bag. I pull on the Chanel skirt and gawk in the mirror. Goddamn, I look hot. This thing probably costs more than my entire wardrobe at home, but holy shit is it nice.

I pause and then suddenly cringe. The skirt works. Not having tights on is doable. But not wearing freaking panties, on my first day here? I groan, and my face turns red. It’s mortifying. But what am I going to do, go ask my boss if she’s got a spare pair of underwear I could, you know, just borrow? Gross, and hell no.

I take a deep breath. I fix my makeup and I steady myself in the mirror. I’ve still got half of my latte, and I take a quick sip. Time to face my first day, no panties and all. My mother would be so proud.

I grab my bag and my coffee, and I stride out of the bathroom…right into a rock-hard chest.

“Fuck!!”

The voice booms through me. I gasp and tumble back against the wall, but the damage is done. The man’s crisp white shirt is soaked in milk and espresso.

“I’m so sorry!” I gasp. “Oh my God, I am so—”

My eyes drag up to his, and my breath leaves me. My pulse skips dangerously, and my eyes widen.

“…sorry,” I finally choke out.

Standing in front of me, glaring down at me with fury in his gorgeous eyes, is Barrett King in the flesh. It’s him, and he’s about ten times hotter than he was ten years go. He’s also glaring at me with anger and absolutely zero recognition at all.

“What the fuck!?” He snaps. His eyes narrow. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m…I’m…” I’m trying to tell him, but the words don’t come. “I’m…”

“Incapable of speaking?” He growls.

“New.”

Barrett’s perfect bone structure tightens as his jaw clenches. His beautiful dark eyes roll. “The head assistant’s desk is downstairs.”

“Oh, I’m not…” I try and collect my words. Wow, he really seriously doesn’t recognize me. But I mean, I guess of course he doesn’t. The last time he saw me was a decade ago. I was a gawky, awkward kid that sometimes hung around in the shadows when he was doing motorcycle stuff with my brother.

“Could we stop playing guessing games please?” He snaps. “What is it?!”

“Barrett…”

His face darkens. “It’s Mister King,” he grunts. He turns away. “Get to work, new.”

“I’m not a secretary,” I finally blurt at his back.

He turns back. “Then what are you? And so help me God, don’t say ‘new’.”

“I’m…Delphine?”

His eyes flicker. He frowns slightly. “What?”

“I’m—”

“Ahh, Barrett,” Helen smiles as she walks around the corner. “Good, you’ve met her?”

Barrett turns back to me. He’s frowning. His eyes search mine. I’m waiting for the recognition to blossom on his face. But it doesn’t come. “Who is she,” he grunts.

Helen smiles. “Oh, this is Ms. Laurent, our new analyst. The one I told you about?” She rolls her eyes like she’s used to his mood. “Here.” She pushes a file folder with my name on the side of it into his hands.

He frowns deeper. “Right. Right. So, you’re the genius.”

“I am.” I blush. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“I have to get to a meeting,” Helen smiles and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Enjoy your first day!” She leans close as she walks past me. “The skirt looks great on you, by the way.”

“Thank you!” I whisper. When she’s gone, I turn back. Barrett is glaring at me.

“Follow me.” He crooks two fingers as he whirls and storms down the hallway. I quickly follow him, but it feels like I’m chasing a hurricane. At the end of the hall, he brushes past a secretary and through a huge set of double doors. I follow and gasp.

Holy shit. The office is freaking amazing. It’s all glass and matte blacks. It’s cold, but it’s elegant at the same time. Across the huge space, four enormous, wide steps lead up to raised area where his desk is. Barrett strides towards them.

“Barrett?”

“It’s Mr. King!” He snaps without turning. But then suddenly, just as I close the doors, he stops and whirls on me.

“How old are you?”

My brow furrows. “Pardon me?”

“How old are you,” he says a little louder, like I literally couldn’t hear him the first time.

“Um, how is that relevant?”

His jaw grinds. It’s like me even answering with a question at all has him furious.

“It’s relevant,” he snarls. “Because I don’t believe you’re our new rainmaker. Because you look like you’re late to your freshman orientation.”

“I’m twenty-three,” I say tersely.

He smirks. He glances down at my resume and frowns. “You have an undergrad and…two masters?” He looks up at me. “And you’re twenty-three?” I nod. “How?” He grunts.

“Because I’m smart.” I stare at him. My brow furrows again. “I’m sorry, Barrett, do you really—”

“Do I really what, Ms. Laurent,” he grunts.

He really doesn’t. I know it’s been a long time, but he seriously doesn’t at all recognize me? I’m not sure if I’m upset or relieved, actually.

“Nothing,” I say quietly.

His eyes peer into mine. Then he whirls and starts to stride towards the steps up to his desk area. I shake my head. It’s not a desk area. It looks like a freaking throne dais from Game of Thrones or something.

“Pass me a shirt.”

I blink and then frown at his back. “Excuse me?”

“In the closet, over there. A white one.”

I scowl. “Barrett, I’m not your—”

“And I’m not your fucking friend!” He snaps. He whirls. “It is Mr. King for the last goddamn time!” His eyes blaze into mine. “Now get me the damn shirt.”

Before I can blink, he’s already starting to take his off. I blush when I get a glimpse of rock-hard chest and shoulder. I awkwardly turn and shuffle towards the door to the closet. God, it’s like the pure hotness of him has my stupid brain forgetting what a dick head he’s being.

I’m fuming, but I step into the huge walk-in closet and grab the first white dress shirt I can find anyways. I turn. Barrett is by his desk, shirtless. He’s bigger than I remember. More muscled…a lot more muscled, actually. I blush. Heat simmers inside of me. For a second, I forget that I’m in the presence of Barrett King, infamous asshole Demon King of Wall Street. For a second, all I see is the brooding and yet charming guy I used to crush so hard on ten years ago.

I start to rush up the four extra wide stairs, shirt in hand.

“Here’s your—fuck!”

I trip. The ground comes up to smack me in the face, and I go sprawling across the floor by his desk. I groan. My face burns like fire. I want to melt away through the floor.

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

His tone is different. It’s softer. I’m on my back, blinking and seeing stars. Barrett rushes around the desk, shirtless and gorgeous.

“Fuck, are you—”

He stops cold. His eyes turn from concerned to downright hungry. They slip over me, down over my torso to my legs. I frown.

“What—”

Oh God.

That’s about the exact second I realize my borrowed skirt is bunched around my waist, with my knees wide apart.

I just ate shit in front of my new boss, who happens to be the most ruthless man on Wall Street. He also happens to be the hottest man on earth, and the subject of my crush and almost every fantasy of the last ten years.

And here I am, skirt pulled up, legs spread, panties missing in action.

This is officially the worst day of my life.