Page 37 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

“Sure,” Olivia says, taking a noisy drink of her coffee, “but was it, like, in a tortured kind of way?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“You know, like,” — she puts the back of her wrist to her forehead, tipping her head back and adopting a transatlantic accent — “Thiswas amistake!”

“No.” I can’t help but laugh, despite the knot forming in my stomach. “He didn’t say it like that.”

I’ve been back in Dallas for a week. On the flight home from Miami, I made sure to snag a spot next to Molly in the back of the plane, heart pounding like a schoolgirl when Elliot climbed onto the plane, looking impossibly good in his stupid suit.

How could I have made such a massive miscalculation?

Friendly colleagues.

“At least tell me how it was,” Olivia says, waggling her eyebrows at me. “I mean, just look at the guy. Please don’t tell me he was bad in bed.”

I feel my face heat, despite the fact that Olivia and I have debriefed each other on plenty of sex adventures. But this… this felt different. Less like Elliot and I were having sex, and more like we were starting something together.

The way he touched, me the way he looked at me — just remembering his dark eyes, the size of his pupils when he gazed down at my body — sends a shiver straight down my spine.

“Oh-kay,” Olivia teases, shifting and leaning closer to the camera so her forehead looks huge. “So what isthatlook on your face? Mr. Altman was a treat?”

“Stop.” I’m laughing, but also mortified. Because for some reason, I don’t want to trivialize this, or joke about it. Despite the fact that Elliot made it clear he didn’t think we should continue doing it. “He said it was a mistake. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, but — doyouthink it was a mistake?”

I pause, swallowing.

Technically, professionally, I know it wasn’t a smart move. That Elliot might be my boss — or is he? — but either way, he’sdefinitely above me in the food chain, and I don’t like the way that would look if someone found out.

But that night, together in that bed… it didn’t feel like a mistake.

Olivia puts her hands in the air like I’m arresting her. “Okay, okay, fine. But tell me — did Mom even hint about what she’s making for dinner tonight?”

“No, she never, ever hints,” I laugh. “You’re just going to have to guess.”

I’d thought that my first time seeing Elliot would be awkward, given the new, strange thing between us. Given the fact that so much time has passed since Miami.

But Monday morning, a full week after our night together, he storms into my office with a frown on his face, bursting through any discomfort and plunging right back into our dynamic from before that night.

“Sophie,” he says, bracing his hands on my desk and staring me down. “I thought we had agreed to work together.”

I stare right back up at him, heart beating double-time, eyes skipping around his too-handsome face.

“We did,” I finally manage.

“Thenwhy,” he asks, slapping a folder down on the table, “are you rejecting every singletrainer my people send over?”

“Oh.” I sit back in my chair, cross my arms, and frown at him. “Because they’re all ridiculous.”

“Care to share why, or are you just being difficult on purpose?”

He’s breathing hard, but there’s no hard edge in his voice. Smiling slowly, I lean forward, tap my finger on the folder, and say, “Because all of these trainers are babies! They’re barely out of school. Get us someone with a little experience.”

“Trainers with experience cost more money,” he throws back. “And, in case you forgot, this place is allergic to making money.”

“Fine.” I shrug. “Then don’t hire more. I said before that I think Molly is enough.”

Now he’s frowning, and in the brief silence, something unexpected happens — his stomach growls, loud enough that the sound of it rises above the grinding of my old air conditioner.