Page 35 of Sexy Bad Boss

“What’s he doing here?” I mutter, glowering at the kid as he ambles into the room behind her. Is he staring at her ass? Glancing up and catching my eye, he winks and shoves his hands into his pockets before shifting his attention back to Myra.

She’s all smiles, practically bouncing around the room as she dances over to pet Simon, who’s made herself comfortable curled up into a ball at my feet.

“Alex has some amazing ideas,” Myra says. “And he said he didn’t mind coming over to share them with you in person.”

I’ll bet he didn’t mind, although I doubt very much I’m the reason he was so eager to accompany her back to my place.

She lifts her arm, from which an oversized bag hangs. “We even stopped at my apartment so I could pick up some of the clothing I forgot.” Her cheeks flush and I grit my teeth to keep from snarling.

Didn’t she tell me earlier that I have nothing to worry about, that there is no reason to be jealous of this guy? Yet she took him to her place to sort through her underwear drawer. Does he already have a favorite? Are they making plans for when she can wear them around him, so he can take them off her?

“Let me put this bag on the stairs, and then I’ll get us all a drink.” On her way to the kitchen, she says, “Oh, James, how did you manage while I was gone? Any issues?”

Lots of them, actually. No, just one. He’s standing behind the couch, like a lion, waiting to pounce on its prey.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m fine. But I could definitely use a drink. Wine.” I’ll be damned if I’m going to share my favorite blended scotch with this kid.

“Alex loves Johnny Walker Blue Label.”

Of course he does.

Myra leaves the room and Alex makes himself comfortable in my lounger. “She’s terrific,” he says, leaning forward, like we’re confidants. Like I want to hear anything this kid has to say. “We’ve become great friends. And I can tell you that you’ve really underutilized her.”

He and Myra are greatfriends already? How much longer before they become more?

“I’m torn,” he says. “I’m glad she’s leaving because this is a great opportunity for me, but I’d love to work with her.”

You and me both, kid.

Like he’s Odysseus and she’s a siren, Alex’s attention shifts to the entry into the dining room, and we both watch Myra as she returns, carrying a tray upon which rests a bottle of booze, three glasses, a small ice bucket, and a plate of assorted cheeses, slices of summer sausage, and a pile of water crackers. Alex leaps from his seat and insists on taking the tray from her. I stifle a groan because, first, I can’t do that, and second, I didn’t even think to do it.

While Alex pours drinks and thanks me profusely for sharing such a wonderful blended scotch with him, Myra lifts the cat and settles in its place with it in her arms, purring so loudly the neighbors two streets over can probably hear.

“The thing’s been here all day,” I tell her. “I let it out back a couple times, but it hasn’t tried to leave once.”

“Why would it try to leave?” Alex asks while offering me a drink.

“She isn’t James’s,” Myra says, placing the cat on her lap so she can take her glass from him. “We don’t know who she belongs to. But it’s obvious she’s well taken care of, so whoever it is likely misses her.”

Alex settles in the lounger again. “We should make some flyers, pin them up around the area. I think there’s a website you can post found animals on. Call the Humane Society and see if anyone has reported her missing.”

“Myra already did that,” I snap, barely refraining from adding, “Damn it.”

“Well, I didn’t think to call the Humane Society and I had no idea there is a lost-and-found website,” she qualifies.

“How many blocks did you cover?” Alex asks, leaning forward again, watching her with an earnestness that’s a little over the top. Okay, a lot.

Myra glances at me. “Three.”

“Maybe we should print more flyers,” Alex says. “You and I can go a few more blocks out. Cats tend to wander, you know.”

“No,” bursts out of my mouth and everyone, even the cat, turns their focus to me. I take a gulp of scotch to stall for a moment, and then I add, “Abby’s on her way over.” Yes, that’ll work as a reasonable excuse to avoid finding Simon’s owners. Or letting Myra wander the streets alone with Alex.

“Your niece?” Myra asks, wrinkling her brow, like the idea of Abby coming over here is odd. Which I suppose it is. She’s probably been here only three or four times total, and Garrett doesn’t live all that far from me. But I’m never here. I’m usually in the office. Plus, no one seems to think I’m very good with kids.

As if on cue, the door opens and Abby rushes in, with Garrett and Erin following behind. Erin’s wearing this slinky red dress that would look damn good on Myra and my brother’s dressed in—are those leather pants?—and a black, V-neck T-shirt. It’s a far cry from his usual, gaudy garb.

“Uncle James,” Abby calls out, running toward the couch. “Daddy says I get to hang out with you! But he wouldn’t let me bring Ducky because he says I’m not going to believe this but you have a—you do have a kitty!”