My Boss’s Secret by Taryn Quinn

Seventeen

“You arethe master of your destiny. Only you can find the key that will get you to the next level.”

I scowled at the voice of the motivational speaker intoning from my car’s speakers. “I’m going back to Asher’s podcast,” I told him. “I’d rather hear about The Liver Licker than this nonsense.”

Not that The Liver Licker was exactly cheerful morning fare, but it was more interesting than this.

I was going to try a different podcast tomorrow. Ry and Lu had suggested a tarot reader they liked who did energy forecasts. I still wasn’t sure about any of that stuff, but it had to be better than mastering my destiny through the power of positive thinking.

Frankly, my skills in that arena sucked.

I turned off my car and flipped down my visor to check my makeup. I was early as always, and this was just an ordinary Monday. I hoped.

I really wanted my life to just take a pause so I could catch my breath.

In the meantime, I wouldn’t do anything rash—like quitting. I hadn’t ever really wanted to. I loved this job. I even loved my boss’s idiosyncrasies. Imagining him naked did nothing for me, but Ry had that area covered, and I was so happy for her. For them.

If Preston needed a new area of law to practice, good for him. He was chasing his dreams.

As for who would be taking his place, I was letting go and letting spirit handle it. I didn’t know who or what exactly spirit was, but that was the advice Lu had texted me this morning as I was blow-drying my hair. So I was running with it.

Spirit, do your damn thang. Gently, please.

I grabbed my bag, made sure my bagged lunch was inside, dusted off a few gray cat hairs, and stepped out into the street. A car drove past far too close to me, making me hurriedly shut the door and press against the side. Whew. Spirit was doing a good job so far.

I rounded the hood, ducking between my little sedan and the hulking black SUV parked against the curb in front of it, and stepped over the large puddle in the gutter. Luckily, I had long legs and—

And I missed the motherfucking curb and landed on my ass on the grate. I let out a howl of pure agony as the ache sung up my bones and cold, muddy water drenched my peasant skirt right up to my new undies.

I glared at the cloudy September sky as I shook my fist. “Not a good showing, spirit!”

Not so distantly, a door closed. I ignored it as I grabbed my pretty canvas bag out of the puddle. I gave an unhappy cluck of my tongue as I futilely rubbed at the muddy streak along the blue bottom. Ah, hell, the whole thing was ruined.

I closed my eyes and prayed for deliverance. Better yet, maybe I’d wake up in my bed at home and realize it was all just a bad dream.

“April?”

That voice. Silky and rich like chocolate cream pie with a bourbon finish that warmed the belly…and other things.

Dear God, it couldn’t be. This was just part of my dream.

And okay, now it was getting really intense, because the chocolate cream pie voice was gripping me under my armpits and plucked me out of the gutter as if I wasn’t long and gangly and sputtering my carefully blown hair out of my mouth. But that gave me a precious second to grasp that I was being lifted upward and settled into his arms as if I belonged there.

As if I’d never left.

God, why did I leave?

“April.”

I’d dreamed of hearing him say my name, but definitely not in this situation. He jockeyed me carefully in his embrace, looping his arm under my knees as he lowered his head to peer into my eyes. “Are you hurt?”

A perfectly reasonable question from a man who’d just seen a woman land on her ass in a muddy, leaf-strewn puddle on a hard grate. And a perfectly reasonable answer would’ve been…

No, I’m fine. Please put me down now.

Also, I didn’t mean to run away from you in Fiji. Well, I did, but you shouldn’t have sought out my grandmother.

But was it that bad, really? No. In retrospect, who even cares?

Sorry, I may be concussed from hitting the pavement and from getting lost in your greener-than-green-with-a-hint-of-blue eyes.

Wait, can you get a concussion from falling on your ass? You know, reverberations and such? I haven’t been eating much for the last week, but I still have plenty of padding. So, I’m gonna say no.

“April?” He frowned at me, not seeming the least bit uncomfortable holding me as if I had broken a leg. Which I had not.

A heart, however, seemed much more likely. And it was my own, from my own doing.

I shouldn’t have ever left him.

“Okay, you’re not replying to me, so either that isn’t your name or you’re really injured. Hold up your hand. How many fingers do you have?”

I started to comply, since he could probably command me to step into traffic in that sex voice of his and I’d go. Then I shook my head, laughing at my own foolishness.

And then I did something else entirely.

I kissed him.

I used the hand he’d asked me to hold up to tilt his head toward mine as I curled against him without a single consideration that maybe he couldn’t support my weight. His arms were like iron around me, keeping me aloft without breaking a sweat.

God, he smelled like some fancy cologne mixed with the ocean. If I could’ve done anything but mold my lips to his as if he alone contained the only source of oxygen in the world, I would’ve broken free to bury my face in his neck and just absorb him.

Just soak him in like the water outside our place in Fiji until every sensation inside me belonged to him.

“April.” His groan into my mouth kindled every bit of sorrow inside me for him and set it burning. “God, April, I missed you.”

“Yes. So much. God. Don’t stop kissing me.” I wrapped my arm around his neck and drove my fingers into his hair, shifting to get even closer, to meld into his body if it were possible, until a bolt of pain screamed through my hip and I yelped.

“April, baby—”

“Just keep going,” I panted as he immediately drew away, grabbing his face and pulling his lips back down to mine.

“No, stop, wait.” Breathing hard, he extricated his mouth from mine again and looked me over as best as he could without setting me down. “What hurts? Talk to me.”

“Dammit, where I hurt most has nothing to do with that grate.”

His lips quirked for half a second before his concern overtook the humor in his expression. “I’m going to set you down and then we’re going to the urgent care center—”

“It’s nothing that bad.”

“You cried out. You’re hurting.”

“Yeah, but it’s bumps and bruises. Nothing that some Advil and seven orgasms won’t cure.” His expression clued me into the fact that I was acting like wild April again, with horny, sex kitten April as an extra cherry on top. Maybe my locket really did have magic now. “I mean, I can give them to myself.”

“We’ll discuss that later. In the meantime, urgent care.”

He set me down and just like that, my happy anticipatory sparkles fizzled into dormancy.

“I don’t want to go to urgent care, and you using your big deal lawyer voice on me isn’t going to change my mind.” I wobbled and looked down to see my damn heel was broken.

Again.

“What the hell? Are heels not made to quality standards anymore? Or else it’s your presence, snapping women’s shoes instead of panties?”

Instead of answering me, he drew something out of his suit coat pocket and held out his hand to me, slowly unfurling his fingers.

The broken heel from my blingy Cinderella shoe sat in the center of his palm.

My eyes filled, and I didn’t know why. “My ass hurts,” I said with a sniffle, rubbing the part in question and hoping like hell he’d let it go.

Like I’d hoped he’d let me go even as I’d wished every part of me that he didn’t. That he wouldn’t. That for the first time ever, someone would pick me no matter what.

And keep on picking me even when I was an asshole and ran away from the best thing I’d ever found.

“I can’t call you Cinderella anymore, now that I know your name.” His voice was so soft, but I still heard every word even over the early morning sounds of horns honking, and traffic, and the low hum of voices from passing office workers, hurrying to their offices. “April. Spring blooming and the sun rising like your hair.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “The heel snapped the rest of the way in my suitcase. But I kept it with me, just in case. A talisman, if you will.”

Another talisman. What were the odds? Spirit was shrieking at me now.

Then again, so was my cold and soaked foot from the water flowing through the opening in my broken shoe. Ugh.

I bent to pry off my damaged shoe and winced as I stepped outside the puddle onto bare pavement. “Here’s another one then.” I pulled off the heel the rest of the way and put it into his hand. “Now you’ve got two. Rate I’m going, I’ll have more for you by the end of the—oh, shit.”

He tucked away the heels in his magic pocket, his brow rising.

“I’m late now. I’m never late.”

“Pretty sure your boss will understand. In fact, he’ll probably insist you go home and get cleaned up and have some breakfast before you worry about work.”

I narrowed my eyes as he plucked my dripping bag from the ground. “Oh, he will, will he? And you know this because you’re his best buddy. Which, by the way, is entirely weird and creepy and—”

“And that knowledge kept you from kissing me, right?” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “If you pick where we’re going to eat, I’ll try not to make things weird or creepy.”

“Too late.” My pulse kicked into high gear. With effort, I fought to keep my voice steady. “Besides, I can’t just go to breakfast on your say so.”

“I guarantee you won’t be penalized. Here, put the rest of your shoe in here.” He held open my bag until I obliged him. “Might as well take off the other shoe too. Better not to walk around unbalanced. You can change at home.”

“But I’m already late—”

Without warning, he swept me back up in his arms and started heading around the big black truck parked in front of my small sedan. “You can’t walk around barefoot,” he said in a patient, practical voice that really would’ve annoyed me if his damn pheromone-infused cologne wasn’t making me lightheaded.

He unlocked his truck—of course I’d fallen conveniently located to where he’d parked—and somehow opened the door and maneuvered me onto the passenger seat. If I whimpered when he set me down, it wasn’t because my backend hurt like a bitch. I was just…tired of standing.

That was a good excuse.

He placed my bag beside my feet. The guy didn’t miss a trick. “Let’s skip going out for breakfast. I have a better idea.”

“Strawberries and chocolate with my stomach as a plate?”

“Hmm, that has possibilities.” He leaned forward and gripped my chin, lightly laying his lips on mine. “Did I mention I missed you?”

He started to pull back, and I grabbed his silky tie to halt him in his tracks. “Wait. You’re being awfully calm about all of this. Still bossy as all hell, but calm.”

“What was I supposed to do? Pitch a tantrum? Demand to know why you didn’t pledge lifetime loyalty to me after roughly thirty-six hours of orgasms?”

“Shh.”

He grinned at me. “Here I thought you’d argue the hours of orgasms, not tell me to be quiet.”

“That’s next. But hello, I work on this block. I can’t be overheard discussing—”

He ducked his head to kiss me again, except his time he didn’t stop at a light, brushing tease. He delved into my mouth as if he had endless amounts of time to spend exploring me, and he just happened to be beginning with my lips.

“How about that,” he murmured, easing back once we were breathing heavy. “Can you be seen kissing a big deal lawyer before you’ve even been to work?” His thumb caressed my lower lip. “You have no idea how much I want to do that to the rest of you right now.”

His irises were blazing and when he shifted back, the steely hardness beneath his belt brushed my thigh. “I think I have an idea,” I said shakily.

“So, to answer your question…”

I fingered my locket. Breathing was optional, right? So was thinking. What wasn’t optional? Not squirming against his fancy leather seats in my damp panties. “I had a question?”

“More like a statement. That you’re surprised I’m calm.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not calm. Every fucking nerve inside me feels like it’s jumping. But I’m not going to mess this up again like I did last time.”

“You—what?”

“I messed up. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have thought you had no choice but to leave.” He didn’t give me a chance to reply before he backed out of the open door and closed it softly behind him.

What? He didn’t blame me? Better yet, he didn’t hate me for just leaving instead of having a conversation like an adult?

As soon as he climbed behind the wheel, I turned toward him. “I still don’t know your name.”

He stared straight ahead. “You didn’t look me up?”

“How?” I toed off my other shoe and stuck it in my bag. Mud streaked over my feet. Awesome. “As Preston’s best friend?”

“Much as I hate to admit it, you can find me as the Bye Guy online. Advertising never dies.” He pulled out his phone, pressed a few buttons, scrolled a couple of times, then showed me the screen as a slick commercial played, complete with jaunty jingle. And there he was, doing his best impression of an upscale car salesman, standing behind an official-looking desk as he told the camera to contact him to get every damn penny you’re owed—and maybe more than that too.

The camera panned over a sleek office building I was fairly certain was near here and a bronzed sign for the Pierson law group. Beneath that, the name Bishop Stone, Attorney at Law was in all caps. A couple other names were beneath his.

Once the commercial ended, he flicked a button and the screen went dark.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.” He leaned back against the headrest and turned his head to look at me. “Disgusted?”

“Terribly. Even if I don’t have a heel to stand on, considering I work for a divorce lawyer.”

“That you do.”

“I love my job.”

“Then you’re lucky.” He tossed his phone in the cup holder and turned on his truck.

“Bishop.” I tested out how it sounded on my tongue as I placed my hand on his forearm. Silently, he gazed at me. “People need divorce attorneys. Just like they need all kinds of other lawyers. Like defense attorneys for all sorts of crimes. People mess up every day.”

“They do.”

“You’re helping them to—”

His laugh held a bite. “I’m helping to line my pockets.”

“Why shouldn’t you? You take a percentage of what you help them to get. You earn that percentage. If they didn’t agree, they wouldn’t accept your terms.”

“I realize that.”

“Then?”

“Winning is addictive.”

“You’re very good at your job.” I didn’t have to see any corroborating evidence to know that, and not simply because I saw the kind of cash he was flashing around in Fiji.

He was a commanding, powerful man on a personal level. I could only imagine facing him from the opposite side of a courtroom.

I shivered as I sneaked a look at him out of the corner of my eye. God, the image of him prowling around a courtroom shouldn’t be hot, but after seeing him in his expensive, finely cut suit, it so was.

Not to mention seeing him in absolutely nothing at all.

Bishop merely tapped his fingers on the wheel. He didn’t have to answer. I knew it already. I also knew that he wasn’t entirely happy about that fact right now. Was he having a crisis of faith regarding his work as Preston seemed to be? Best friends and all. Water seeking its own level, yada, yada.

“Preston is a good guy.”

His smile was brief. “The very best.”

“You’re close, right?”

“Yeah.” The smile appeared again. “Since college. We don’t always have a ton of time to see each other, but we don’t have to spend time together to pick right up where we left off.” He glanced at me. “Is that how you are with his girlfriend?”

“Absolutely. And Luna. They’re a little closer to each other than they are to me, but they let me pal around with them—” At his frown, I paused. “What?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Ever,” He reached out to cup my cheek.

I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into his palm and letting out a little sigh. If that was a sign of weakness, I’d accept it. Anything to keep his hands on me.

“That’s what I was saying to you.”

“Hmm?”

“Preston wouldn’t have an asshole for a best friend. He just would not. So, don’t act as if your success is somehow tainted because of your field.”

He reached over to cup my other cheek too and drew me toward him to kiss my forehead. “I went mad without you.” His voice scraped over my skin.

I couldn’t stop myself from trembling. “You weren’t the only one.” I squeezed his fingers. “I’m so sorry. It was a cowardly thing to do. I wanted to take it back right away and I couldn’t. I just…couldn’t.”

Searching my eyes, he swallowed several times before speaking. “Did you ever think maybe you ran because you knew we’d find each other again? That we had to?”

“That doesn’t make sense.” But I clung to his hands just the same.

“None of this makes sense yet it happened.” He released my face and retreated to his side of the truck before putting on his belt. Then he reached for my hand as if he couldn’t bear to even be that far from me.

“I live at 16 Holly Way. It’s a two-family house.”

With a quick nod, he signaled out of the space and merged into traffic, his hold on me steady and reassuring.

We didn’t talk on the way there. It wasn’t far and he didn’t need my directions. Kensington Square wasn’t exactly a big, bustling metropolis.

He pulled into the driveway I indicated and parked in my slip in front of the multi-car garage. I was suddenly nervous.

Actually, nervous made me sound calm compared to the manic fluttering in my belly.

“Um, you may want to steer clear of my cat.”

His thumb rubbed over the back of my hand. “Okay.”

“She’ll probably try to engage you. Just…don’t.”

“Engage me how?”

“She swats at legs. Or springs out of hiding places. If you can not react, that would be better. I mean, for you. She won’t be intimidated by you, regardless. But don’t yell at her. That just makes her more rage-y.” I darted a glance at him.

His brow was hiked halfway to his hairline.

“This is a normal-sized cat? Not like one of those hybrids?”

“Hybrid with what?”

“Bengals? Don’t ask me. The wild cats they cross with regular pets.”

“No clue. Kit-Kat is just a normal tortie cat.”

“Who springs out of the shadows and goes for hapless men’s throats.” He undid his seatbelt and leaned over to move my hair away from my neck, nuzzling me.

“I was just warning you. Do that again.”

“I will if you take off this damn seatbelt.” He did the honors for me and tilted my face toward his, his mouth about to capture mine.

“Preston,” I gasped.

He dropped his forehead against mine. “Really?”

Not laughing was impossible. “I never called to say I’d be late.”

“Allow me.” He pressed a button on his in-dash screen and Preston’s name and number came up on the screen. “April is detained,” he said in lieu of a hello. “If you need anything, contact me. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch.”

He clicked off before Preston could so much as grunt.

“See?” He turned off his SUV and shifted back toward me. “Problem solved.”

“You’re incorrigible. This isn’t exactly painting me in the best light.”

“Why? I can guarantee his thoughts are centered strictly on your best friend at this point, not you. He’s probably already trying to get Ryan to substitute for you for the day so they can play kinky office games.”

“Like what?”

“I can think of a couple, if you’re really that curious.” He undid his tie in record time and rubbed the silken material against my cheek. “I wanted to start on my knees, but if you’d rather we start on yours…”

Danger! Veering out of known skill set. Abort!

Flashing him a strained smile, I jerked open the passenger door. “Um, I have to pee.” I jumped out of his truck and only realized after I slammed the door shut that I hadn’t grabbed my bag.

Before I could rectify that, Bishop climbed out and met me on my side, bag in hand. “I’ve got it,” he said, motioning me ahead of him up the steps.

I deliberately tried not to see things through his eyes. The porch was homey and quaint with big vintage-style pots of fall flowers in cheerful golds and oranges, but I couldn’t miss the little flakes of peeling paint. On the cheerful sunflowers welcome mat, I turned back. “I need my keys.”

He offered the bag and I dug them out, fitting the right one into the lock and then again at the first door after we went inside.

“First floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Not the best for a single woman living alone—” He stopped and smiled tightly. “Forgot the attack cat.”

“Right.” I gave him a pointed look before we stepped inside my apartment. Now that I knew he was a high-powered attorney, I understood how ingrained his take charge personality was. That didn’t mean I intended to let his bossiness have free rein.

Surely spirit couldn’t want me to be that open-minded.

We stepped into my small, tidy apartment, and I took a quick assessment to make sure a band of rowdy gnomes hadn’t broken in when I wasn’t looking to create havoc. Nope, everything was in its place. The coffee table was cleared of the newspaper and the remotes were in their usual pile. My current sewing project was in its bag beside the couch, nicely tipped against the side. The half-done fall bouquet of flowers I’d be hanging on my front door was on the shelf of the side table, tucked away.

He set down my dirty bag just inside the door before taking a long moment to wander around the living area. “Do you actually live here?”

“My mansion’s being renovated.” Knowing he probably did live in a mansion—or the next thing to it—made it harder to joke, but I was determined to not make things awkward.

Well, any more awkward than they were already. The man knew more about my cup size than he did my actual life.

He walked to my small fireplace and ran his fingers over the tops of the pictures frames gathered there, quirking his eyebrow at me. “No dust? I need the name of your housekeeper.”

“Her name is April, and you couldn’t possibly afford her.”

His gaze drifted down me in a languorous way that made my nipples bead against my thin top. I was nearly sure he saw it too, since he licked his lips in a wholly wolfish way that had me pressing my thighs together. “Maybe we could work out a trade.”

“Oh, yeah?” There was no helping the catch in my voice. Between his charged glances and the way he positively dominated my small living room, I felt like a live wire in danger of sparking. “Like what?”

“Like I’ll spread you out on that sofa and see how fast you can wrap your long legs around my neck.”

Back to breathing being optional. Good deal. “And for my part?”

He studied the picture he was holding of my grandmother and I at my high school graduation for a long moment before setting it down and moving to the next framed photo, this one of Ryan, Luna, and I the first night they’d recorded their podcast. We were all flushed and drunk with our arms around each other’s shoulders. Not that I’d done anything but show up to the afterparty that evening, but I’d had to drink with them in solidarity.

“For your part, you’ll scream my name every time you come. And you’ll be coming a lot.” Before I even had time to process that, he tilted the frame toward me. “You’re sexy as hell when you’re drunk.”

I winced. “That obvious?”

“Well, the bottle you’re clutching behind the little blond’s back is kind of telling.” His grin took me by surprise, all the more devastating in its unexpectedness. “She’s not Ryan, is she?”

“No. That’s Luna. Ryan’s the dark-haired knockout. Preston totally scored with her.”

“Funny. I would’ve said the guy who got to go home with you was the one who scored.”

I brushed my hair behind my ear, inwardly groaning at the wet leaf stuck in it. “That night, I went home alone.”

“Pity. When was this?”

“Not long before I started working at Mr. Shaw’s—” I cut myself off and cleared my throat. “We like the formalities. It’s been a process trying to see him as an actual man who’s sleeping with my best friend.”

“If it helps, I don’t think sleeping happens much.” He tapped the glass. “You’re wearing your necklace here. The one you have on now.” He swerved to look at me, as if he was comparing me to the picture. “You didn’t have it on in Fiji.”

“No. I left it home. Do you pay so much attention to your court cases too? You must be one hell of a human lie detector if so.”

“I pay attention to what I care about. You weighed less here.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re beautiful both ways. All ways. But your curves are gorgeous. I love the way you eat as if you don’t care who is watching.”

“That was just with you.” I hadn’t realized the truth of it until I said it. “Maybe that’s why I’ve barely eaten for the last week.”

It was meant to be a joke, but not only that. I wanted him to know—to understand—that I hadn’t only hurt him by leaving. I’d also hurt myself.

Today was the first time I could truly breathe again since I’d flown off that island and away from him. And I didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

Maybe just take it minute by minute. Let go and let spirit take over, remember?

He set down the frame and moved toward me in a few long strides. “Take a shower, get cleaned up. Then we’ll eat.”

“If I’m Cinderella, you’re bossy.”

Disputing it would’ve been pointless and we both knew it. His calling Preston stunt was a prime example, even if he had made things easier for me. Still, calling in late was for me to do, not Bishop.

But he was trying. Ish.

“I’ll be bossy,” he murmured, “if you’ll be mine.”