How to Kill Your Boss (2 page)

Girlie-man. It wasn’t natural for a guy to primp the way he did.

“The file is ready. I’ll grab it.”

He looked up with dark, beady eyes. His gaze traveled the length of my body, starting with my red pumps. I’d been visually violated by the time his perusal rested on my breasts. When I inhaled, drawing my clingy white blouse tighter across my chest, his eyes bulged. Was I flirting? Of course not—just breathing, and hopefully torturing him a bit. He’d always acted nervous around me, especially when puberty settled in my chest and grew like a tumor—or two. When I’d hit my teens, Dad stopped bringing Wallace around as much. My father was amazing like that. My great protector.

I turned, regretting my wardrobe choice. The tight gray pencil skirt accentuated my ample derriere. I was sure I heard a moan as I walked away.

Franklin waited for me outside Wallace’s door and followed me back to my office. He wore a cheesy grin that didn’t match the dark shadows lurking behind his glare. When I leaned over my desk to grab the MacKenzie file, he moaned, too, mimicking Wallace.

“Knock it off,” I scolded, unable to stifle a giggle.

“You are so bad.” He pinched the bridge of my glasses, wiggled them up and down, and made a tisk, tisk sound.

“I know. It’s so much fun, and he’s so damned easy,” I whispered.

Franklin turned to leave and I stole a moment, as I often did, to appreciate his spectacular physique. He was average height and solid. I’d never seen him without a suit on, but good gracious, he filled it out so well, I could only imagine what glorious surprises hid underneath. He wore his dark blond hair trim, almost shaved, and carried himself with an air of confidence few men could pull off without coming across as cocky pricks. The man, far too beautiful to be stuck in our boring, average company, didn’t belong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about him didn’t fit.

Before disappearing down the hall, he turned and gripped the doorframe. “Hey, Tate.”

Ooh, that voice. Husky, deep, and exactly what you wanted to hear in the throes of passion. Powerful, commanding,
I’m gonna take you places you’ve never imagined.
My insides warmed in response. Delicious, naughty images swirled in my brain.

“Yeah?” I asked with an embarrassing enthusiasm.

“Have a beer with me after work.”

Well, that was unexpected. He didn’t ask, nor was it a command. The timbre powering his words made it sound more like a sinful temptation dangled in front of my nose.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

“Wallace will be gone an entire week.”

“That’s certainly worth celebrating, isn’t it? Except I can’t. I’ve got plans already.” Yes, it was a date with my television. No, I would not admit that to him. Besides, inter-office dating was strictly prohibited. As much as I would love a date with such a fine male specimen, my spirit couldn’t take a rejection. The man took amazing to a whole new level, and I wasn’t about to set myself up for heartbreak of that magnitude.

His throaty laugh nearly made my clothes fall off in wanton misbehavior. “Tate, have a drink with me. It’s not a date, just friends hanging out. I promise, I’ll have you home in time for your show.”

“How did you know? Are you a secret agent or something?” I asked, half joking. How he knew my plans for curling up on the couch for some quality time with Antony Starr, I’d never know. I might have mentioned it to Franklin once during one of our many conversations. Not that I would remember. My brain matter turned into over cooked oatmeal whenever I was in touching distance of the man.

Could I handle a drink or two with the enigmatic Franklin without my panties self combusting? Probably not. It would be good to bust free of my shell. One drink couldn’t hurt. Besides, he was so far out of my league, any chance of sparks between us fizzled before leaving my vivid imagination. Franklin was spectacular. Office eye candy.

Me? Well, my mother used to say, “That Tatum, she’s short on stature, large on spunk, and amazingly average.” Mom had it right. That was me in a nutshell.

“Sure, why not.” Maybe I’d get to see a different side of the mystery man. Maybe he’d be loose-lipped after a few drinks and spill his deepest, darkest secrets.

* * * *

My cheeks burned hot as Hades. My heart pounded loud and relentless in my ears. I shut down my computer, tucked my cell into my purse and pushed my chair in. Pulled it out, brushed lint off the seat, and pushed it back. Hmm… Maybe I should dust my workspace. Hadn’t done that in over a week. Trash needed to be dumped, floor could use a quick vacuum….

“Tatum, get out of here.” Nan peeked her head around the corner. “You have a hot man waiting to get drunk with you. I can’t believe you’re still hanging around.” Nan Cummings, the office manager, was by far my favorite coworker, aside from uber-sexy Franklin. The woman read me like an open book. Acted more like a beloved aunt than a coworker. Kept the employees in check and the place running smoothly. Basically, she was Wallace’s bitch, did everything for him, and always with a smile on her face.

It was creepy, her knowledge of everybody’s business. Like now, she knew I was meeting Franklin for a drink. I hadn’t said a word to anyone. Franklin wouldn’t have spilled the beans. His lips were tighter than a pair of Spanx. But she knew, and it didn’t bother me. Gossip was not her style.

I smiled. “I’m going, I’m going.” I straightened my skirt and inspected my blouse. “Should I go home and change first?”

“No, my dear. You’re perfect.” Wise eyes scrutinized me. “Why so nervous?”

I sighed and slumped my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s not a date. It’s just, I’ve never hung out with him outside of work. You should come with me. Then it would feel less date-y, you know?”

Her laugh warmed my heart and calmed my nerves. “Sorry sister, you’re on your own tonight. I’ve got plans.” She glanced towards Wallace’s door then back to me. “Now, get going so I can lock up and get on with my evening.”

Nan was the only other person Wallace trusted with a key, which meant she arrived before anyone in the morning and couldn’t leave until each of us cleared out. Never once, in my four years at the firm, did I hear her complain about it.

With an exaggerated sigh, I threw my handbag over my shoulder, blew her a kiss and headed out for my non-date.

I managed to make the short drive, traipse across the gravel parking lot, and through the heavy wooden door of the Malted Maven in my stilettos without breaking a bone. All grace left my person the moment I spied Franklin sitting in the corner, suit jacket open, tie gone, top two buttons of his gray shirt undone. My ankles turned to wet noodles and my legs buckled under me. Thank the good Lord above there was a barstool within reach to steady myself.

He’d chosen a table in the darkest corner of the bar with a half-moon, vinyl booth seat. Legs crossed at the ankles, arms stretched across the top of the chair, GQ model if ever I’d seen one. When his eyes met mine, he wasted no time scooting from his perch to meet me where I stood clinging to the barstool like a crutch.

“There’s my girl. I thought you were blowing me off. What took so long?” With the firmness I expected, he grabbed my elbow and walked me to the table.

Oh, busywork, passing time, trying to build courage to meet the sexiest man alive on this non-date. “Nan caught me on my way out. She needed to talk,” I lied. “Sorry I made you wait.” Not the least bit sorry he waited.

Franklin waited, hands in his pockets, urbane as a well-bred English gentleman, while I scooted into the seat, a feat not easily accomplished with the lack of give in my skirt. He slid in and didn’t stop until his thigh rested against mine. Holy hot tamale, nothing but trouble rolled my way. His body heat melted the tension from mere nanoseconds before. I inhaled slow and deep and let the faint scent of lemon-lime, lavender, and orange fill my nostrils. Fresh and clean. He always smelled so damned good.

“Gendarme?” I asked.

His chuckle made my blood pump harder. “It is. How’d you know?”

“It was the only cologne my father wore. Not because it was his favorite, but because it was the only one that didn’t irritate my mother’s allergies.” Dad was my hero. I loved everything about him, the way he smelled, dressed, every wrinkle that graced his face. He spent his life making Mom and me feel cherished.

Franklin held my gaze just to the point of uncomfortable before blinking away and gesturing to the woman behind the bar. “Dark beer, right?”

Damn. The bastard was good. “Yes. The darker the better.”

The waitress bee-lined it toward our table, never taking her eyes off Franklin. Her shiny black hair bounced behind in a high pony, pulled tight, no doubt to show off her numerous ear piercings. When she reached our table, she studied me with a perplexed curiosity. Her black mascara and smudged eyeliner looked like it’d been applied by a professional, specifically to frame a set of deep jade eyes. With her skull and crossbone belt, she rocked the sexy, tough-bitch vibe.

“Hey Frankie, what’ll it be?” she asked. Her perky voice didn’t come close to matching the biker-chic facade.

Franklin pulled a fifty from his pocket and handed it to her. “We’re going dark tonight, love. Surprise us.”

Love? My cheeks warmed and my vision narrowed. Shit. Was I jealous? The barmaid was long and lean, like a yoga master. Not an ounce of fluff anywhere on her over-toned body. I shot flaming daggers at her ass as she walked away.

I turned to face the man sitting next to me. “Frankie?” No way was he a Frankie.

“Nickname. She gives one to all the regulars.” His words traveled through my ears, yet I barely registered what he said. He inspected me, raking the length of my body with a hungry leer like he couldn’t decide which lump to take a bite out of first.

“Oh, you come here often?” I looked around the room. Everything was dark; the wood of the tables and chairs, the carved ornate bar, wrought iron mirrors, sconces, even the paintings hung sparsely about were dismal in color and theme. I liked the ambiance. Was I out of my element? Without a doubt, but I’d stuck to the safe confines of my daily routine for too long. Change was good. Especially when it involved Franklin. “I have to say, Franklin Reed, you don’t strike me as the type who’d frequent a place like this.”

“Why not, Tatum Wood? Please, do tell.” His smirk begged to be kissed. I licked my lips and wondered what he tasted like. Man-oh-man, I hadn’t even started drinking yet. I could tell it was going to be a long night.

“That’s easy. You’re Mister Armani Suit, suave, professional. Not gloom and doom, emo, goth, whatever the bejeezers this place is.”

Small dimples formed at the corners of his mouth. “I live upstairs, and did you just say bejeezers?”

“I did, Frankie.”

Oh. He lived upstairs. Interesting. A hummingbird hatched, then grew in my belly and jetted around, desperate to be set free.

Miss Dark-and-Dangerous came back with our beers. Bubbly suds spilled over the glasses before she even set them down. Franklin made quick work of mopping up the mess. I got busy giving myself a foam mustache. Damn, that was good brew.

“Hey, wait,” Franklin admonished me. “Toast, first.” Fisting his mug, he raised his drink and tapped mine, halting my attempt at a second swig. “Here’s to a week without the narcissistic asshole.”

“Here’s to a week without having to verbally stroke his cock.” I raised my glass higher before returning it to my lips.

Franklin spit his drink and slammed the glass down. “Oh, my God.”

In response to his smile, mixed with that deep, throaty laugh, my internal temperature spiked, melting the layers of ice that had claimed my unmentionables years ago.

I stared at him a little too long. A new growth of stubble dusted his square jaw and almost hid his understated cleft chin. Holy moly, those eyes. Deep, unnatural blue. An eye color you would see in an anime movie. Even with his playful expression, they glistened with wisdom and sincerity. I had to be careful, or if I peered into those eyes long enough, my loins would burst into flames.

His forehead held a few wrinkles, forged not by age, but the intense gaze he wore most of the time. I often caught him at his desk, lost in deep concentration. God, I hoped he didn’t have a clue how many hours I wasted observing him.

He downed the brewski in three gulps and gestured for two more. “You’re such a funny girl. That’s what I love about you.” His leg bounced incessantly against mine. Was he nervous?

Wait, what? That’s what he loved about me? I was speechless, which was a rare occurrence, and pretended to study a painting on the wall.

Awkward?

Nah.

Before long, it was nine, then nine-thirty. I’d demolished three beers, a plate of fries, two pieces of gum, taken four trips to the little girls’ room, and I didn’t want the night to end.

Franklin Reed proved as mesmerizing to talk to as he was to look at. We made fun of the goofballs in the bar and joked about the losers at work, mostly Wallace. Movies, check. Favorite music, check. There wasn’t a breath of down time. Best part? The whole night, we laughed.

We got along great on the job, but who knew he’d be so easy to hang with outside the nine-to-five? At quarter to ten, “Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked” bellowed from his shirt pocket. Retrieving his phone, he pushed a button, then tucked it away. With a proud smile, he winked at me, grabbed my hand, and led me out the front door.

“Come with me. Here, take your shoes off.” Lowering himself to one knee, he rubbed his hand up the length of my calf and prompted me to lift my leg. Inciting goose bumps from hip to ankles, he slid the torture devices off my aching feet. Holy shit, it was sexy.

He rested his hands on my waist and stood. “I’d give you a piggy-back, but you’d have to hike that damn skirt all the way up your waist.” Something dark and promising flickered in his eyes.

Behind the old brick building, a rickety set of stairs stretched to the third floor. “Where are we going?” I asked. I secretly hoped it wasn’t up, but it was.

It took him a moment to dig his keys from his pocket and get the door open.