Page 31 of Dirty Boss

He beat me to the door and stood in the opening, palms braced on the frame. “Alba,” he pleaded.

“Get out of the way.”

“I need you.”

“No, you don’t. Let me leave.”

“You’d be hired as a consultant. Name your price.”

I crossed my arms and arched a brow. “Dangerous words.”

“I mean it.” He dropped his arms from the doorjamb and let out a long breath. “I’ve made no headway in finding an investor. None. Until you.”

He closed the distance between us. His cologne smelled rich and masculine, and it took all my self-control not to lean into him. His blue eyes looked darker in this light, and I could tell he was serious.

It was another option. A way out. If I could resist him…

“Name my price?” I asked.

His eyes flared, and the corner of his lips lifted. “Anything.”

“I’m going to need a written copy of the job description.”

He dug through his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Put your contact details in there. I’ll have something to you by the time you walk through your front door.”

This was such a stupid idea. He was a shiny lure, dangling just beyond my reach. He was the illusion of the life I left. Working for him would only remind me of everything that I’d lost.

But if he was serious about naming my price, it meant working for him would also buy me time. It would buy me my independence for just a little bit longer.

I could resist my attraction to him if it meant keeping my freedom. Couldn’t I?

My father’s words rang in my ears, the ugly way his lips had twisted when he’d called me a whore. Yes, I could resist my attraction to him if it meant staying away fromthat.

I handed him his phone back, and he tapped the screen. My own phone started buzzing in my purse. I arched a brow. “Really?”

“Just making sure,” he said, smile flashing.

I tried not to acknowledge what that smile did to my stomach. I marched past him and didn’t look back as I walked to the elevator. And when the doors closed and I was finally alone, my hand lifted up to touch the spot on my cheek where his fingers had brushed.

TWELVE

VAUGHN

I’d wantedto kiss her when she stormed into my office, spitting mad and ready to rage. I’d wanted to kiss her when she softened, when she hesitated, and when she got that glint in her eye at my job offer.

Alba intrigued me. That’s why I’d spent valuable time scouring blogs and forums and social media search results for her, and why my heart had thumped when I’d found oblique references to her from a little over a year ago.

I still didn’t know why she was run off her feet working two jobs when her father was Ted Enders, but at least it made sense why she’d never heard of a lint trap. And it made sense that she knew suiting and tie knots and how to bag an investor. She’d been born into that life, not this one.

My discoveries about her only left me wanting more. Why had her engagement broken down, and was she telling the truth about being relieved? Why wasn’t she already attending galas like Arlo’s every week? Why was sheworking?

It was a mystery I wanted to unravel, even though I knew hiring someone I was attracted to was a bad idea.

I could resist attraction. I wasn’t in the market for a new relationship; I’d learned my lesson, and my priorities were mydaughter and my business. Besides, my time with Alba would be spent talking about clothes and appearance and putting on a persona that was uncomfortable and hollow. My attraction to her was almost certain to fade. I was hiring her to teach me about everything that reminded me of my father. Everything I strove not to be.

Not only that, but she came from a family that represented everything I despised. Shewaseverything I despised—except she wasn’t, was she? She wasn’t hollow and false and vapid. She was intriguing and unsettling and quick-witted. Raw and real in a way I hadn’t thought her ilk could be.

I finished the task I’d been working on and opened up a blank document. At the top of the page, I wrote JOB DESCRIPTION.