Page 19 of The Boss

That should not have hit as hard as it did. I take a long sip of wine to cover the fact that my face is burning. But since he's clearly in the mood to be honest, I take a risk and ask something that's been bugging me. "Can I ask you something?"

"You will ask regardless of my answer."

"Yes would have been shorter."

"Your question, Vivian."

The main course arrives, and we go silent for a few minutes. The dry-aged beef melts in my mouth, and I don't know how much Matthew's about to pay, but I do know it's worth it … especially since I'm not footing the bill.

The universe knew better than to make me rich because I'd have this for breakfast, lunch, and dinner until I get sick of it.

I almost forgot I'm about to ask him, so I set the fork down and say, "Why are you a little terrifying at work? I mean, Levi can be a bit demanding too, but his employees don't feel like peeing when he calls them in his office."

Matthew swallows his steak before responding. "Vivian, you have to understand. The Astor Group has around fifteen thousand employees. Their mortgages. Their kids' college tuition. Their retirement funds. They depend on the company for these things and more. I can't fuck it up. I can be tough, sure, but at least everyone can sleep soundly at night, knowing they'll still have jobs in the morning and that the company isn't at risk of going under."

It's not the answer I expected, but it's the one that makes most sense. Because this Matthew and the one at the bar are the real versions of him. "That's a lot of weight."

He shrugs. "Somebody has to carry it."

"For what it's worth," I say slowly, "you're not the worst boss I've had."

"High praise."

"I once worked for a woman who carried a stress ball everywhere, and whenever she got stressed, she’d throw it … at anything."

"At people?"

"At people. Makes you wonder if she misunderstood what a stress ball is actually for. I learned to duck before I learned her middle name. She also didn't use our actual names—just descriptions. I was 'the brunette who's always late.'"

"Were you always late?"

"Once. I was late because my neighbor, Alice, couldn't find her cat, and she was crying. I spent an hour looking for it, only to realize it was lounging on my couch."

Matthew laughs but almost instantly quiets. "Dance with me."

The sudden change in topic almost gives me whiplash."What?"

He nods toward the small section of the restaurant where a couple is swaying to soft jazz piped through invisible speakers. "Dance with me."

"That's not really dancing. That's just swaying. Stylishly, but still just swaying."

"Then sway in style with me."

On the dance floor, we move … barely, just shifting weight from foot to foot in a way that probably looks ridiculous from the outside. See, I have many talents, but dancing is definitely not one of them.

"You're tense," he whispers against my ear.

"I'm always tense. It's part of my charm."

His thumb traces a slow circle against my spine, and the casual intimacy of it sends heat pooling low in my stomach. My pulse starts pounding between my thighs, insistent and impossible to ignore, and I shift slightly—just enough to press closer.

Matthew notices, and his hand tightens on my back, his body going rigid for half a second before he pulls me flush against him.

I lift my gaze towards his face. What I see in his eyes makes my knees tremble and go weak with want.

"I-I need to use the restroom."

I don't wait for his permission. I just slip out of his arms and head toward the back of the restaurant, past the bar and through a hallway lined with black-and-white photographs of people I don't recognize.