Bad Boss by Stella Rhys

3

JULIAN

I pretendedto watch the game as I sat at the back of my suite behind home plate. As far as I could tell, no one knew I was seething. I gave a nod and a clap at the top of the fifth, when we got out of a bases loaded, no-out jam. I posed for a few pictures and had a full conversation with my President of Baseball Operations. But I wasn’t actually paying attention to any of these things.

My focus was entirely on the idiot brothers kicked back in their seats, shoes off and flirting with girls half their age like we weren’t in the midst of a meeting they requested.

Breathe the fuck in. Breathe the fuck out.

Think numbers.

Billionaire’s meditation.

That could be the name of this game. I forced myself to play it whenever I dealt with clients or partners who wasted my time. Instead of calling off all negotiations and telling everyone to fuck themselves, I told myself to breathe and calculated how much of my fortune was amassed by maintaining relationships with people I despised.

The answer was a lot.

And this evening, the answer was getting me through my meeting with Turner and Carter Roth. The California-bred trust fund babies had been semi-professional surfers as recently as three years ago. They had no detectable traces of common sense, discretion or business savvy, but since the passing of their father three months ago, they’d inherited seven billion dollars each and full control of Roth Entertainment Group, the world’s leading sports and entertainment presenter. They were behind everything from the world’s biggest boxing matches to rock concerts and tours, and they had no idea how powerful they were.

Thankfully, I did.

The downside was that I had a small window of time to strike a deal with them, which made every meeting increasingly urgent. And unfortunately, while we’d had four in person thus far, they pretty much all ended up like this – derailed by the sight of any moderately attractive face paired with long enough legs.

“Hey, Hoult,” Turner called over his shoulder. “I got a pretty girl who wants to say hi.”

I had just been burning holes in the back of his stupid head, but the moment he twisted around in his seat, my glare transitioned into something placid and easy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah – listen, it’s her twentieth birthday today and it’s also her first time at Empire Stadium,” he said, wagging his brow and nodding at the leggy blonde to his left. She wore two braids under her Empires cap and a kid’s sized jersey as a dress. “Don’t you, uh… don’t you think she should get a nice tour from the owner of the American League champs? A nice, personal tour?” Turner threw in a wink, as if he’d been so subtle just now that I might need an extra hint to catch his drift.I offered the bright-eyed girl an almost-smile before looking back to him.

“You know, I did just have a thought.”

His eyebrows jumped high. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I paused till I had his full attention. “I was thinking we should take a trip out to the Biarritz property. You could get an in-person look at our clientele and all the improvements we’ve made since the – ”

“Ah, fuck, you’re talking business.” Turner winced and shook it off like I’d just tricked him into holding a pile of dog shit. “Jesus, man. I got excited for a second. I thought you were about to suggest we do some blow.”

“This is a family ballpark,” I said. “You fucking animal,” I had to add with irritation. Then I made sure to laugh. As long as I laughed, apparently, I could say anything. It was just taken as classic ball busting.

“Alright, easy. This guy here,” Turner chortled. “So, fine. No blow. But will you please be a gentleman and take…” He trailed off and eyed the blonde.

“Hayley,” she supplied.

“Hayley. Will you please take Hayley for a tour around the ballpark while I talk to...” He squinted at the girl in the chair to his right.

“Cass.”

“Cass,” Turner groaned skyward. “How could I forget? Cass with the ass,” he growled, smoothing a hand over her thighs. Then with his eyes back to me, he lowered his voice. “Give me twenty minutes tops. Then you, me and the kid will get back to work.”

By the kid, he meant his brother, Carter, who had been in the bathroom with Hayley’s friend for about ten minutes now. I blamed him for all of this. I had actually done a decent job of keeping Turner on topic about purchasing my resort till Carter went off with a girl. At that point, all hope was lost. As the older of the two, Turner was never to be outdone, and if the kid managed to close, then Turner had to as well.

Nodding at the blonde, I had her walk ahead of me out the suite. “Twenty minutes,” I repeated to Turner.

“Maybe thirty.”

“Fifteen now,” I said, hearing his snort before I walked out.

* * *

“Who’s that?” Emmett asked as I deposited the pigtailed blonde in his suite. It was a short walk from mine but a stark contrast. Despite the game, there was usually music blaring and the tables were littered with beer, wings and giant platters of sashimi. For the low-carb girls, Emmett would say, since he rarely attended a game without at least two or three model-looking things in tow.

Standing at the back of the suite, we overlooked both the game and the antics of his unique social circle. My younger brother’s friends ranged from lawyers to athletes to unemployed rich kids but they all had one thing in common: an affinity for drinking every night of the week.

“Her name is Hayley,” I answered Emmett’s question, watching Hayley instantly mingle with his friends. “I don’t actually know her.”

“Didn’t think so. Let me guess – you’re babysitting her for one of the Roths.”

“Bingo.”

Emmett snorted, twisting his baseball cap to the back and taking a swig of his beer. “I’d say forget them at this point but fuck, do those assholes have everything you need. And all that power just fell into their laps. They don’t even know what to do with it.”

“I’d prefer you not remind me.”

“Alright, let’s change the subject.” His pause was deliberately short. “Oh, wait, there’s no other subject with you besides work. Right?” I didn’t say anything because there was no point in correcting him. That, and I could sense a certain topic coming up that I had no interest in discussing. “Except…”

“Don’t.”

“There is a topic we still haven’t gotten the chance to clear up yet.”

“Drop it, Emmett.”

“Come on, dude. I need an explanation. Who was she? How’d you meet her? I’ve never seen you get so upset over a girl before.”

I dragged my palm over my jaw and grumbled under my breath. “I wasn’t upset over a girl. I was upset that you burst into the room while I was clearly in the middle of something with her.”

I didn’t want to think about it, but Christ, that night last week had been surreal. I’d been with my fair share of beautiful women, but the brunette I met Thursday night at the hotel had my dick half-hard even before I heard her talk about wanting to be pinned down and fucked senseless. Everything from her perfect tits to her nervous laugh made my dick jump. She was the sexual fantasy I never knew I had, and to say I was pissed I didn’t get to finish my night with her was a gross, incredibly offensive understatement.

Great.

Now I was thinking about her.

“I can tell you’re thinking about her.”

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

I looked at my brother. “I almost admire your nerve to singlehandedly fuck up my night then taunt me about it.”

“Are you mad at me or are you mad you’re not over it yet?”

“Both.”

“Christ, J.” Emmett’s mouth was stuffed with pizza as he laughed. “It’s not the craziest thing in the world if you think about a girl for more than one night.”

I don’t know. Five days later and I still hadn’t jerked off to any thought but her.

“Take it easy, brother. This just means you’re human for once. Besides, it’s New York. It’s a small city. You’ll run into her again.”

“It’s the fourth largest city in the world, but I appreciate your ability to always look on the bright side.” I handed him my beer. “I should get back to my suite.”

“Yeah, why not hurry up and wait. You’re gonna get back there just in time to hear the Roths face-fucking twenty-year-old girls in the bathroom.”

I grimaced. “Thank you for your colorful phrasing. And for putting that image in my head.”

“Anytime. Now sit your ass down and watch this game with me. You own this damned team, you might as well try to care about them like you actually did when we were kids.”

I shot him the look I generally did when I was getting thoroughly tired of his shit. Still, I took a seat and caught the last few outs before the seventh inning stretch, and as the customary rendition of “God Bless America” rang out, my mind drifted off.

I tugged on my lip.

God bless those fucking curves.

Thanks to Emmett, I was back to that dangerous rabbit hole of thinking about my mystery brunette from my night at the hotel. God bless those curves and the way those full tits jiggled when I spanked that perfect ass over the couch. Reliving the memory of her pink tongue on the tip of my dick was enough to get me both rock hard and pissed off, because I hadn’t even gotten her name.

All I’d gotten were her panties.

They were silky, black, and I could have left them in the hotel room after checking out, but at this very moment, they sat on my dresser at home, next to the silver plate I put my watch on at the end of the day. As far as I was concerned, they were mine now. They were my only reminder of the nameless knockout who’d gotten me so hard so fast that I was ready to chase her out when she left and fuck her on the street if I had to.

Of course, shortly after I yanked my pants back on, Emmett’s never-ending stream of friends came in, and just like that, she was lost forever.

But it was for the best.

That was at least what I told myself as I stared blankly at the field, watching the grounds crew prepare the dirt for the bottom of the seventh.

I had enough names to deal with. Turner Roth, Carter Roth, Hayley with the Braids, Cass with the Ass. Once I put a name to a face, I didn’t forget it. I’d built my business from the ground up and along the way, I’d discovered there was no predicting when information could come in handy, no matter how insignificant it seemed.

“Jennifer.” I stopped the waitress in the suite on her way out. She halted eagerly.

“Yes, Mr. Hoult?”

“I have to get back to the office, but I’d like you to do me a favor if you can.”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”

“I need you to go to my suite a few doors down. Turner Roth is the blonde-haired guy around six feet tall. He’s wearing a blue shirt and he’s with a girl in a yellow dress named Cass. I apologize in advance for whatever you might see them doing, but when they’re done, will you give him this?” I handed her the business card I’d just scrawled a message on the back of.

She laughed breathily. “Of course, sir.”

“Thank you, Jennifer.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Hoult.” She hung around quietly for a second, like she always did. Then she was off, and I was up from my seat, sliding my phone from my pocket.

I had let go of any illusions that I’d be able to recapture Turner’s attention tonight, so I decided to make the best of the situation by doing some maintenance. With a call, I reserved Turner the same penthouse I’d half-enjoyed last week at the Victorian Hotel, and I made sure to request a note beside the Cristal on ice, which would address both him and Cass – a simple gesture that would undoubtedly make her feel special, since making her feel special was at least half the battle in sealing the deal.

Yes, I was winging for the assholes.

Because like sex, business was about making the client feel special, taken care of – like something between a friend and a rock star. So if I couldn’t have a productive meeting with the Roths, then I was going to at least garner favor with them on a personal level by guaranteeing what they clearly cared about most – getting laid. Which was despicable, sure.

But too often, despicable happened to be great business.