Mister Bossy (Bad Boys in Love Book 4) Page 6

  I glance up at my work schedule where it’s taped to the refrigerator. I really can’t wait for my day off, but with the way the week’s been going, I’m not sure I’ll make it to Friday morning.

  There’s a knock at the backdoor. I startle and upend my coffee cup. “Crapsters!” Liquid caffeine races across the table.

  With shrieking laughter, Callie grabs her coloring book and crayons out of the way as I toss a kitchen towel onto the mess.

  I see Diana standing on the back steps. A familiar face. I barely keep from collapsing into her arms with relief when I open the door.

  “Hello, dear.” With squinted eyes, she observes my haggard expression as she edges through the doorway, overflowing cloth bag in hand. “Are you okay?”

  Before I can answer, Callie abandons her drawing at the table and leaps into her grandmother’s arms. “Nana!”

  “Oh, my baby!” The woman kisses the child. “How is my sweet girl?”

  Although we only left the Kingston’s home just yesterday, the two of them nuzzle each other like they spent half a decade apart.

  While they enjoy their reunion, I busy myself cleaning up the spilt coffee. Callie shows Diana the butterfly drawing she was coloring and the older woman gushes with pride.

  I’m at the kitchen sink rinsing out the soiled towel when Diana comes up and sets down the cloth bag next to me. “We had tons of leftovers from dinner last night and I know how excited you were about the chicken curry,” she says as she starts taking containers out of the bag. “I figured I’d bring you guys some lunch since I wasn’t sure if there was any food over here.”

  “Eli had some groceries delivered,” I say as I refill my coffee and pour Diana a cup.

  “Delivery, huh?” she throws me a glance. “I’m assuming he isn’t too excited about getting out and about in town. People gossip so much around Crescent Harbor. I know that’s going to be hard for him.” Callie comes up and clings to her grandmother, those little arms draped around the woman’s waist.

  I scoff bitterly, thinking about the way he’s treated me so far. “Yeah, he’s not the biggest fan of ‘people’, it looks like.”

  Sighing, Diana leans on the counter and picks up her coffee cup. “He’s really not so bad. He’s just been through a lot,” she tells me as she absently strokes her grandchild’s hair. “He’s actually the sweetest of my boys. The most thoughtful, considerate, principled. And so loyal. That’s why it was such a shock to his father and me when he did the things he did. It was just so…out-of-character for him, y’know?”

  I nod, thinking back to the way he spoke in the letters he wrote to me. I could read between the lines—the crimes he was convicted of did seem out-of-character for the kind of man he appeared to be.

  Diana purses her lips, the weight of the whole world on her shoulders. “But everybody deserves a second chance. I just hope he can forgive himself and he can surround himself with people who are willing to give him a chance.” She watches me meaningfully, silently begging me not to judge her son.

  I don’t want to judge. Jumping to conclusions and making hasty character assessments is out-of-character for me. But it’s kind of hard to keep looking for the best in him when all he’s shown me since the moment we met is a cold, hardened man.

  The approaching sound of footsteps booms from the staircase. My heart thuds so hard.

  All morning, I’ve been awaiting this moment with nervous anticipation. Because after what happened last night—me, flashing my boobs at my employer. (No, I’m still not over it)—I know that seeing him again will be beyond awkward.

  But when I dare to shift my gaze toward the hallway, when I dare to steal a peek at my boss…

  I whimper. Out loud.

  Eli Kingston is in a suit.

  It’s charcoal gray and a little rumpled with a white button-down underneath. He’s missing his necktie and his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar which only adds to his sexy edge. Wide shoulders, strong chest, long legs. Like the photo on Callie’s nightstand come to life. Only sexier. Because his hair is a little messy and his beard is unshaven and he’s wearing a frown like it’s the perfect accessory.

  “Morning.” The word is curt and deep and it fills the air.

  When Eli’s penetrating gaze lands on me, I swallow hard. I squirm in my skin. “Morning.” Reaching for my coffee mug, I take a gulp of the too-hot liquid, wishing I could just sink down inside the cup.

  I can’t make eye contact. Trying to figure out what he thinks of me right now is borderline painful. He probably thinks I’m an incompetent fool and that I don’t belong anywhere near his daughter.

  Thank god for Diana, though. She smiles kindly at her son. “Good morning, dear. I just came by with some lunch. I thought you might like some—”

  “I’ll pick something up on the way to the office,” he states flatly.

  “You’re going to the office?” Both her eyebrows pop upward. After all, she did just say that she pretty much expected him to hide out a bit before facing the townsfolk again.

  There’s the slightest edge of defensiveness in Eli’s voice when he speaks. “Things have got to get back to normal, Ma. So, yes, I’m going to the office.”

  Diana gives a hesitant nod. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Getting back to normal is good.”

  The man crouches down in front of his kid who has sandwiched herself in between Diana and me. “Hey, Cal. Did you sleep okay?”

  “Yes.” She nods timidly.

  “Good.” He gives the smallest smile and touches her cheek before straightening to his full height. His body language says he wants more out of her but he doesn’t want to push it if she’s not ready.

  Diana steps forward and wraps her arms around her son. All her love for him pours out. “Have a lovely day.” She squeezes him and he melts the tiniest bit in her embrace.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  Eli looks at his daughter again. I can see the longing in his face. He wants to hug her too, I can just tell. But she wouldn’t be comfortable with that yet and he respects that.

  On a frustrated exhale, he grabs his keys from the mantle and heads out the door.

  10

  Eli

  I’m still not sure how I feel about heading back to work so soon after getting out of jail. But after what happened in the kitchen with the nanny last night, I couldn’t trust myself to spend the entire day cooped up in that house with her without putting my hands on her.

  So, here I am, in town, ready to face the world after being locked away for years.

  The moment I step into the lobby of the Kingston Realties’ headquarters, a scowl takes up its place on my expression. Jesus. I wasn’t gone that long. Yet somehow, they managed to completely undo everything I once worked so hard to put together. Everything.

  First off, where the hell is the rug I had in the entryway? I remember it took my assistant months to find the right piece. And what idiot decided that gold tin-foil walls were a good idea? There’s this weird light fixture thing casting dizzying geometric shapes all over the floors and ugly digital cityscapes on big-screen monitors looming down from the ceilings. What the hell?

  The whole thing is weird. It’s all cold. So clinical.

  Nothing about the lobby is warm and inviting. Not anymore. I feel like I stepped into downtown Manhattan, instead of small town, Illinois.

  This place screams, “We’re rich and posh and way too good for you.” It’s gross.

  Cannon. This whole place has Cannon written all over it.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a chirpy mannequin-lady with too-shiny hair asks from behind her gleaming chrome desk.

  Is she talking to me? I pause and check over my shoulder for someone who might have followed me inside. “Who? Me?”

  She nods, with a sickeningly enthusiastic smile. Her cast-iron stiff hairstyle doesn’t budge.

  “No. No, you cannot,” I bite out.

  Her face falls. Not my problem.

  I jab at the elevator button and when
the doors slide open, I take a ride up to the top floor.

  The office is bustling when I walk in. Phones ringing. Printers spitting out paper. Busy-looking people swerving around each other like worker ants in the narrow spaces between their cubicles.

  No one stops to spare me a glance so I make my way down the hallway. Everything looks different around here, completely redesigned in that frigid, impersonal style that took over the lobby like a disease.

  I find my brother just where I expected him. Dad’s old office. Can’t say that it doesn’t sting.

  That’s supposed to be my office. Mine.

  I had planned on moving my stuff in there eventually. But I hadn’t swooped in the minute Dad retired. I’d wanted to give him the chance to clear out his thirty-plus years’ worth of belongings. I felt like I owed him that much respect. Now, my brother has overtaken the space. Looks like the corner office is just another one of the many things I lost when my ass landed in jail.

  Cannon is babbling on the phone, ankles crossed on top of the desk, twisting a pen around his fingers like a pro. A pro at taking over my life.

  When my brother’s eyes land on me, his brows shoot up into his hairline. His surprise wears off quickly and he holds up a finger, asking me to wait. But patience is not my friend today. I just keep right on walking, eyes laser-focused on my own office down the hall.

  Within seconds, I hear Cannon bounding after me. Apparently, he cut his call short for me.

  Aww. I’m touched. Whatever.

  I shove open my office door. But instead of finding my old desk collecting dust, I find yet another rearranged room.

  The idiot in my chair jumps and blinks in surprise. He snaps his laptop shut and swallows hard. With the weird look on his face, I’m willing to bet I just walked in on him watching porn on company time. We embark on an awkward stare-off.

  My brother is now right behind me, calling my name. I turn to face him. “Who is this guy, and where the fuck is my stuff?”

  Cannon grimaces and looks almost as uncomfortable as the asshole sitting in my chair. I liked that chair, dammit.

  “Uh. Well, this is Jeff. Jeff is our head of acquisitions. He came highly recommended from—”

  “Where’s my stuff?” I cut him off, already bored of hearing about Jeff.

  Cannon’s face morphs into an oh shit! expression. He yanks his collar away from his throat and his eyes go deer-in-the-headlights wide, like he has no idea how to answer my simple question.

  He calls down the hallway to his secretary. “Sally, would you show Eli to his stuff, please?” His eyes plead with her, hopeful that she knows where my belongings are stashed.

  “Of course…” In the sea of employees, Sally—who worked as Dad’s secretary back in the day—is the only familiar face I’ve seen so far. She jumps up, sends a scrutinizing look my way and starts off down another hallway.

  I shoot a glare at Jeff, then my brother, before following after Sally. The prim and proper older woman leads me. Cannon is still on my tail like a security escort.

  Whispers sweep through the room now. The new employees are beginning to realize who I am—Eli, the criminal son—and they’re watching my every move.

  I may be out of jail, I may be a free man, but my name is forever sullied by the crimes attached to it. That’s my sad reality.

  We stop at a narrow door in a dark corner, and Sally attempts to yank it open. It takes her three hard pulls before the hinges give, and the door flings open. A cloud of dust spills into the hallway just as the jerky movement sends her flying backward. Cannon manages to catch her and set her upright on her own feet.

  Sally covers her mouth with her elbow, while my brother and I cough and choke.

  I bring my attention to the door the secretary just opened. And what the fuck? How long was I even gone? There are rooms in my vacant house that weren’t as dank and dusty as this.

  “Are you fucking serious? A closet?” I hiss at my brother, who’s standing there, seemingly relieved to have found all of my stuff intact. The bastard probably wanted to donate it.

  “Oh come on, man. Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here. That’s not fair. I didn’t know you were getting out of jail early.”

  And that is part of the problem right there. My entire family carried on without me, like I’d be locked up for life, like they never expected me to see the light of day again.

  I don’t plan on arguing with my brother so I grab the floppy cardboard box that contains my picture frames, coffee mugs, my dead aloe plant and the other personal shit that my office collected over my years here. I find a suit jacket—the one I always kept hanging on the back of my office door in case of an unexpected meeting—balled up on the bottom shelf. I hastily grab that, too, and shove it into my mutilated box.

  Seriously? I dedicated all of my working years, the majority of my adult life to this place. And I get one box? And they couldn’t even find one that wasn’t falling apart? They couldn’t even water my aloe plant?

  Fuck this.

  Box in hand, I kick the closet door closed with my boot and storm down the hallway.

  “Dammit, Eli,” Cannon huffs behind me. “Don't be like that. You’re overreacting.”

  My jaw ticks. “I think I’m taking this very well.” I have to force myself not to say more. If he thinks I’m overreacting now, when I’ve barely said two sentences, well, Cannon doesn’t remember me at all.

  I head for the fire escape. After the way this visit went, I’m not in an elevator kind of mood.

  “Eli. Wait! Don’t go through there.”

  I throw up my hand to salute my brother, not bothering to turn around as I shove open the emergency exit door. Instantly, the security system kicks off.

  Behind me, the office erupts into shouting and anxious commotion. Everyone startles out of their desks. Idiots. All of them.

  Yeah, it’s spiteful—and petty as hell—but I feel the tiniest twinge of satisfaction at the alarms screaming all around me, at setting Cannon’s perfect little world off-balance.

  I take the stairs down to the ground floor and storm out of the building, into the back parking lot. I’m dropping my sad box of belongings in the back of my car when I hear the fire trucks in the distance.

  Zero. That’s approximately how many fucks I give.

  11

  Jessa

  High school social studies,” I mutter to myself. “Secondary physical education. Assistant principal. Football coach. Head cook.” I groan and wrinkle up my nose at the screen.

  I’m sitting cross-legged on the hard porch bench. I’ve got a dreamy Ariana Grande melody pouring in through my earbuds as I scroll aimlessly through the local teaching job boards.

  I’m on the job hunt again and it’s not going too hot. I knew it would be slim pickings finding a teaching job in Crescent Harbor. I just didn’t expect it to be this hard.

  That’s the problem with teaching in a small town. You have to be crazy flexible, or wait until someone gets wheeled off to the nursing home to finally get the position you want. It’s kind of morbid, but true. That’s how Rainey Harris got the school librarian position she’d been waiting for.

  Expanding my search to the neighboring towns would probably be my best bet but I’ve really come to love this town. My sister, my friends, and Callie are all here. But if my interactions with Eli thus far are any indication, it wouldn’t be farfetched to assume that my new boss could kick me to the curb at any moment. I’ve got to get ahead of that by finding another job.

  Sighing, I lift my gaze away from the screen to give my eyes a break. From here, you can see all the way down to the river. The view is spectacular and with the wall of trees around the house, it’s so peaceful. I feel like I’m a million miles from civilization, instead of ten minutes from town.

  I get back to work, filling out an online application for a fourth grade position—one I’m not really interested in, if I'm being honest. I prefer to work with the younger students. I like shaping young,
innocent minds. By nine or ten, some of those kids are beyond my capabilities.

  Just as I’m finishing up the long-winded questionnaire, a rattling car pulls up the gravel drive. There’s rust on the fenders and the clicking noises seem undeniably unsafe. Still, I can tell the vehicle used to be a sleek, luxury car not that long ago. You don’t see many Audi’s around Crescent Harbor, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t supposed to sound like that.

  My heart pounds when Eli slams the car door and approaches the stairs. Eyes downcast, jaw set, shoulders tight. I can’t look away from him as the large, handsome man bounds toward the house in determined steps. At the mere sight of him, I’ve got a belly full of butterflies. He’s carrying a big box that looks like it might fold in on him at any second. His expression seems disturbed. Bothered. He’s here in the flesh, but his mind is miles away.

  The man has hardly been friendly or welcoming to me, still a part of me hates seeing him so gloomy all the time. He has a gorgeous smile. I’ve seen it in pictures. But I want to see it in person. I want to feel his soulful brown eyes on me and feel his smile warming me like the sun. I want to see him happy. He deserves it. I don’t care what the court papers say. I don’t care what some holier-than-thou judge convicted him of. I want to see Eli smile.

  When he notices me sitting on the porch, his footsteps slow. His scowl softens the slightest bit. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

  Eli’s eyes stay on me as he climbs the stairs. Under his gaze I feel so darn self-conscious. I resist the urge to smooth a hand down the old college hoodie and ratty zebra-patterned leggings I’m wearing. Given yesterday’s abrupt departure from the Kingston’s home, I didn’t have many fashion options after taking my shower this morning. A load of laundry is definitely up next on my to-do list.