Behind the Scenes(6)

Eryk scrolls rapidly through his phone. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Forbes says he made about forty million last year.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “And here I am barely making enough to pay off my student loans.”

“Or even buy Ramen with,” Eryk adds.

“Ha ha,” I dryly say. “I can afford Ramen, thank you very much.” I take another drink of beer and turn for my bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Eryk asks and I hear the clop clop of shoes behind me.

“My room.”

“Have fun masturbating.”

I flip him the bird and keep walking.





CHAPTER TWO


I’m sitting in the corner of the office finishing up the filing from the day before when there’s a buzz from Dana’s desk and Mr. Mulroney’s voice comes over the line.

“Send the new girl in.”

I freeze, my hands glued to the papers in front of me.

“You heard him,” Dana says, not looking up from where she’s busily typing on her computer. She knows nothing about what happened the other day when I walked in on Mr. Mulroney and his, uh, lady friend, and I don’t intend to tell her.

Slowly, I stand up. My right leg is asleep and there’s a massive sore spot in my neck from bending to inspect the tiny type on the papers. Still, I’d rather sit in the corner and sort boring-ass documents for another twelve hours than go into that room, because to do the latter is to walk straight into the lion’s den.

The door creaks ominously as I slowly push it open. He’s standing, facing the window, his back to me, and a tingle — from fear? anticipation? — goes down my back. He knows I’m in the room. He’s got to. He doesn’t turn around though. He keeps facing the window, his hands in his pockets, the same as when I walked in his office for the first time the day before. The view through the glass isn’t any better than the one in the outer office, so I don’t know exactly what he’s looking at. There’s nothing but a wall and a golf cart puttering by.

The whole thing is rather dramatic, but perhaps that’s the point.

I hover by the door, one palm on the handle.

“Come in,” he finally says in a voice that’s smoother and deeper than I remember.

I shut the door but don’t enter the room more than a step. Finally, he turns around. I have to force myself to maintain my balance as he takes me in, his eyes traveling up and down my body much as they did the day before. I shouldn’t allow a man to look at me that way, I know it, especially when that man is my boss. But God, I can’t help but like it. I swear I can literally feel his gaze on my body, his eyes gently grazing my skin as they travel up my waist and across my face.

“What do you think of what you saw yesterday?” he asks, staring straight into my eyes.

I force myself to not glance away. What is he looking for here? Weakness? If that’s the case, he’s not going to find it.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice coming out surprisingly strong. I’ll have to remember to give myself a pat on the back later for maintaining such good composure.

I’ve decided to drop Eryk’s advice to get the most out of having something juicy on my boss, and just play dumb, acting like I saw and heard nothing. Perhaps that tactic will not only preserve my job but a bit of both mine and Mr. Mulroney’s pride.

He lightly smirks. “Did you like it?”

I blink heavily. The room seems to be slightly spinning, and I’m not really sure if I’ve heard him correctly or not.

“Did you like it?” he repeats when I don’t answer.

Good God, he’s flat out hitting on me.

I have to admit; it feels kind of good. I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular in high school, and I had the same boyfriend not only for most of those years but for half of college as well. My style is pretty minimal. I hardly ever wear makeup or do anything to my hair other than run a brush through it. In other words, I’m plain. As the bitch at the front desk made perfectly clear yesterday.

Having the attention of someone as attractive as the man in front of me makes me feel almost… giddy.

The bubble pops a second later when I remember that the man is my boss.

Even though I did like it, no way in hell will I ever admit it. For all I know, he could be baiting me; trying to get me back for almost hitting him with my car. If I fall for his advances, he could accuse me of being inappropriate and have every right to show me the door.

I may be easily distracted by dimples and nice teeth, but I’m not stupid.

“No,” I respond simply.

“You’re lying.”

I want to laugh out loud. Not because this man is reading me fairly well, but because this whole conversation is unbelievably pompous.