Page 31 of My Favorite Boss

She smiled. “Noted.”

And she was gone.

I worked until six, then took a fast shower and changed into my tux. I straightened the bow tie, slipping on my cuff links and tugging my sleeves into place. The dinner was happening at a hotel only a few blocks from the office, and I strolled over, arriving in plenty of time. I picked up a drink from the bar, shook some hands, and spoke with some other colleagues. As I stood with a group of men, one of them whistled under his breath. “Now there’s a stunner.”

I followed his gaze to the bar. A woman had her back to us, but her vivid green dress framed her shoulders and the creamy skin of her upper back. The dress flared out from her waist, showing off shapely legs and a set of dainty ankles, encased in low heels that matched her dress. A tattoo of a flower was on the top of her right shoulder blade, and I squinted to figure out what kind it was.

Then she turned, and I almost dropped my glass.

Magnolia Myers was a vision. Her hair was swept into a stylish knot, tendrils dancing around her face and neck. The cocktail dress crisscrossed her breasts, hanging off her shoulders, showing the rest of the tattoo that was etched into her skin along the front and back side of her shoulder blade. I recognized the flower now, the magnolias stunning on her skin.

She was curves and softness, encased in emerald green. She was exquisite.

Our eyes met and locked. I couldn’t force my gaze from hers as she lifted a glass to her lips and sipped. She was a throwback to another era, her choice of dress as eclectic and stylish as the clothes she wore into the office. She was elegant, beautiful, and classy—and she took my breath away.

“Jesus, I’d do her.”

“She’s taken,” I snarled, surprised by my own words, tearing my gaze from her.

“You know her?”

“Yes. She’s engaged.” Why I was telling him that lie, I didn’t know.

“Oh. Shame. Still, I’d have a go.”

“Grow up,” I snapped and walked away, not caring about the shocked expressions.

I headed across the room, faltering as another staff member, Rylee, joined Magnolia. The two of them hugged, and Myers tugged a shawl over her shoulders before they walked away together. I asked for another scotch, then leaned against the bar, observing the room, my gaze finding Myers time and time again.

She was easily the most captivating woman in the room. She sat down with Rylee, draping the shawl over the back of her chair. I strolled toward my table, choosing a seat that gave me a clear view of her. Despite her smile, she was tense. I could see it in the set of her shoulders, the way the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Rylee said something to her, and she shook her head with a rueful smile and a shrug. I wondered what they were discussing, my thoughts interrupted as my tablemates joined me. I talked with my partners and their wives, grateful the extra seat at our table was being used by Lawson’s mother and not some stranger or one of the staff. Looking over, I watched as other assistants and employees filled our remaining two tables. I stood and got another drink, standing in a shadowed alcove at the back of the room, shamelessly eavesdropping. I found it interesting how people acted outside the office when they thought no one was listening. Often, their true nature showed. Two women stopped close to me, gossiping, bad-mouthing outfits and people. They didn’t notice me, and they became especially nasty, focusing on some woman, disparaging her outfit, calling her names, all while wearing false smiles on their faces. I was admittedly shocked at their venom.

“I hope she’s fired after tonight. What a whore,” one of them muttered.

My eyebrows shot up at that remark. I scanned the room, unable to see who they were discussing.

“I bet the color of her hair isn’t even real,” the other responded.

“Oh, the fake red is definitely from a box. And that outfit. Does she buy all her clothes from a thrift store?”

“I’m sure he is so embarrassed he’ll get rid of her.”

“She acts so high and mighty. I hope the fall back to earth hurts.”

“Does she really think she can get away with wearing that dress? She is way too heavy for it. She looks like a sausage. She thinks the green suits her with that dyed hair? Please.”

An announcement was made for dinner to start, so I slipped away, sliding onto my chair.

Their remarks bothered me. Not only were they tearing apart someone they obviously worked with, I had a feeling their cattiness went far beyond the outfit. I watched as they joined Rylee and Myers, sitting in the two empty chairs by Rylee. I recognized them from the office but couldn’t recall their names. That was confirmed when I asked Lawson, who identified them as being in the assistant pool. “Verity has subbed in for my PA on occasion,” he said. “She’s fine pinch-hitting, but I’m always grateful when Giselle returns.”

His wife crossed her legs. “Not my favorite person,” she murmured, catching my eye. “I’m quite certain a job isn’t all she wants at the company.” She lifted one brow in hidden meaning. She leaned forward. “Catty,” she said quietly. “She’d be nasty when cornered, I think.”

I frowned as I raised my glass to my lips, observing the table where Myers sat. She had gone quiet again, her smile absent. I thought of the remarks I’d heard, and I studied all the women at the three tables. Only one who would pass for having red hair. One who dressed differently. One pretty woman who was wearing green.

And suddenly, I was furious.

The light and sunshine Myers liked to spread dwindled, faded, and was finally burned out before dessert. Every time she spoke, one of the women I had overheard earlier talked over her. Their laughter was louder than anyone else’s when one of them would make a comment. At times, they were the only two laughing. Myers picked at her dinner, barely sipped her wine, and she looked uncomfortable. She had slipped on her shawl before dinner was served, and it seemed to me she grew smaller each passing moment, shrinking into the cover-up as if trying to disappear. I saw the way Rylee tried to act as a buffer. Yet time and again, one of the women would lean over and say something to Myers that slayed her. I was certain she was the “whore” they had been discussing. The urge to stand and take Myers’s hand, leading her to my table, was so strong, I had to curl my hands into fists on my legs to stop myself.

I headed to the bar to get another drink, needing to distance myself. Rylee Jenkins appeared beside me, requesting a fresh glass of wine. I forced myself to smile at her and be calm. “Enjoying yourself?” I asked.