Page 61 of Bossman

A vision of the two of us in the fitting room, up against the mirror, flashed in my head. When I didn’t respond, Chase knew—he knew—what I was visualizing. My arm was still extended, holding the shirt. Chase reached out, but instead of taking it, he tugged my hand and pulled me close.

“You’re fired,” he groaned as he buried his face in my hair. “So fucking fired.”

I was one exhale away from giving in when a woman’s voice brought me back to my senses.

She cleared her throat. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

I jumped back, putting space between the two of us. But I was still unable to speak. Chase answered her, speaking into my eyes.

“No, thanks. I think I have everything I need.” Our gaze held until he finally said, “Let me go get dressed.”

“Ummm…yeah…right…okay. I’ll grab you a few T-shirts while you change.”

When he turned to walk away, still shirtless, for the first time I noticed a tattoo on his side. I couldn’t make out what it said, but it looked like a bunch of writing going up his ribs.

Shaking my head as I walked away, still feeling hot and bothered, I thought to myself what an enigma my boss was. A smart CEO with custom-tailored suits, a nipple ring, and tattoo—a man who gets on a plane without luggage and admits he tried to keep away but couldn’t stop himself. The only thing holding all those distinctively different traits together was that they all said the man had passion. I could feel that in the way he looked at me. And as much as it turned me on to no end, it also scared the living crap out of me.

We were quiet for a while after that. Chase reappeared fully clothed, and it took us another half hour in Nordstrom’s to grab T-shirts, boxers, and sneakers. When we were finally done, the sun was beginning to set outside, and I yawned on the walk to the rental car in the parking lot.

“Tired?”

“A little. It’s been a long day.”

Chase opened my car door, waited for me to get in, then tossed his purchases in the backseat.

Before pulling out, he turned to me. “How about dinner at our hotel, then? The website said there’s a steakhouse. We can get you fed and into bed.”

“Into bed?”

“I meant for some rest. But if you’ve got something else in mind…”

Oh, I had something else on my mind all right. And it was getting harder by the moment to think of anything else.

Chapter 19

REESE

The hotel gave us rooms right next to each other. After hanging my dresses in the closet, I stripped out of my clothes, pulled my hair up in a ponytail, and took a quick shower. Letting hot water massage my shoulders, I relaxed and thought about how much I’d loved spending the day with Chase. Working side by side, shopping together, sitting in the car as we drove to our hotel—everything just felt natural. What didn’t feel natural anymore was pushing the man away from me. Instead, it felt like I was depriving myself of something that could possibly be really special.

Bill and Melinda Gates had started out working together. He was her boss even.

Michelle Obama was Barack’s mentor at the law firm where they both worked.

Celine Dion married her manager—who was more than twenty-five years older.

Some things worked. Some things didn’t. There were more consequences when things didn’t last and you worked together, but sometimes the possibilities outweighed the consequences.

Possibilities.

When Chase knocked a little while later, I had just finished getting dressed. My hair was up in a messy bun, and I’d traded my sleek black suit in favor of a simple jersey wrap dress with a lively print of greens and blues. My red heels were now open-toe sandals.

His eyes slid over me. “We could skip dinner…”

I shoved at his chest and exited my room without putting on the necklace I was going to wear because I didn’t trust myself to invite him inside while I finished getting ready. The way Chase looked at me while we waited for the hostess to seat us—his eyes dropping to my cleavage—I don’t think he missed the diamond pendant I hadn’t had a chance to fasten around my neck.

During appetizers, we talked about the focus group and plans for tomorrow before moving on to more intimate conversation. I was mindlessly tracing my finger through the condensation on the base of my wine glass when Chase reached over and traced the scar on my hand.

“It almost looks like a tattoo. Even your scars are beautiful.”