Sexy Bad Boss Read online

  The thick material of my cocktail dress swishes loudly as I rush him. Our bodies collide, the hard wall of his torso taking my impact with ease as I clasp his face between my hands and plant my mouth right on his.

  “Myra? What is this?” he asks. Though he doesn’t push me away, he doesn’t kiss me back either. We’re toe to toe, and face to face, and I can feel his pulse under my hands. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I whisper.

  “It looks like you’re trying to kiss me.” He captures one of my hands, then the other, and pulls them both down together.

  My heart feels weighed down like my hands. “It’s all me, isn’t it?”

  “I-I don’t know,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of me. “We’re friends, we’re colleagues. This is—”

  “You had no idea?”

  “None.” He brushes a hand down his face, over those sculpted lips that were touching mine mere seconds ago. At least he didn’t know. It would be so much worse if he had been aware of my feelings all along. “I need time to process this. You’re my admin, not—”

  “A woman?”

  “Right. Exactly.”

  “I can’t believe I stuck by your side for so long.” I shake my head. “You are never going to see me as anything but your employee, are you?”

  “How many martinis did you have tonight?”

  “Clearly not enough.”

  “Look, how about we call it a night. I’ll drop you at home. Perhaps this will all go away when your head is not filled with weddings and soaked in gin.”

  “I think we’re past that.” I yank my hand free of his hold and turn my back on him. My chest heaves while I try to get my emotions under control. There’s no reason to stay, to keep torturing myself, and every reason to go. “I quit, James. I’m resigning.”

  “What?”

  I’ve thought about quitting so many times over the last few days, but I didn’t think I’d actually have the guts to go through with it. “I’m resigning.”

  “You can’t resign,” he argues, grabbing my shoulder and making me face him. “The company needs you. I need you.”

  “It’s not enough anymore.”

  “You’re irreplaceable. You know that. How will I ever find someone to take on your role at Frost Inc.?”

  “I imagine quite easily.”

  “What can I do to change your mind?” he asks, stepping back and reaching into his pocket for his phone. “Anything you need? Is it more money that you want?”

  He still doesn’t get it, and I don’t know if he simply can’t process that I kissed him because I want more than to work for him or if he’s ignoring it because there’s nothing between us. “I’ve been offered a job. At the Royal Cookie Co. In London. It’ll be a step sideways, but I’m going to take it.”

  “But you hate pissing England. Isn’t that what you always say?”

  “Yes.” It’s true. I haven’t been back in almost twenty years, but I gave James five years of my life for nothing, it seems. Giving England a few years while I follow my passion for baking seems like a small price to pay. “It’ll be worth it to learn from the best.”

  “I don’t want you to leave,” he says. “What happened tonight. This thing...” There’s a second where everything seems to be perfectly still. And then, like dominoes falling, James lets out a yelp as he stumbles backward. Losing his balance, he topples against the railing, which isn’t quite high enough for a man of his stature.

  I leap forward, reaching for him, trying to get a hold on his suit jacket, his shirt, his hand, anything. But I’m not quick enough, and with the railing at his lower back, he’s like an upended see-saw, balanced for a split second before falling toward the lawn below.

  My heart is in my mouth, my pulse racing frantically as I take the steps two at a time. Somehow, I don’t break an ankle or my neck in my heels, but can James be so lucky? I pull my phone from my clutch before I reach him, where I fall to my knees. The grass tickles my bare legs.

  “James? James, are you all right?”

  “What? What happened?” he asks, breathing raggedly.

  “Don’t move.” I touch his face. It’s the only part of him I can tell isn’t hurt. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “I’m fine,” he argues. “Let me just sit up.”

  I scan his body. I’m not sure what damage he’s done, but the deck is a fair distance off the ground, and I am not taking any chances. “You fell from the deck. You’re not moving until the EMTs are here.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not negotiable, James.” I focus on the emergency services operator on the phone.

  “Where is everyone?” he asks while we wait for the ambulance. “Where’s Paynter and Chloe?”

  “They all left. We were about to lock up the house. Don’t you remember?”

  He scrunches his brow in concentration and lets out a groan. “I’m not sure. How’d I fall anyway?”

  “Uh, well...” I glance up to where I made a fool of myself and quit my job. I pushed him away—was it my fault he fell over the deck railing?

  “I know that look, Myra. If you’re thinking it was your fault, you’re wrong.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure what happened.”

  Above us Spot sticks her head over the deck and bleats. Almost like she’s laughing at us.

  “It was probably the goat.” James sighs. “I swear my legs got tangled up on something. It makes sense that damn animal would try to kill me.”

  “She didn’t try to kill you.” I shake my head.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she’s only a goat.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good enough excuse.” He groans again and shuts his eyes. “I’m just going to rest until the ambulance gets here.”

  “No, no. You have to stay awake and keep me company.” I hover over him. Can’t let him fall asleep with a possible concussion. Isn’t that what they say? “Just for a little while.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you jog my memory and tell me what we were talking about up there?”

  “How much do you remember?” I shift to sit beside him and take his hand. The one that isn’t swelling.

  “I was talking to my parents. Mom was giving me a hard time about my lack of love life. Then you and I…” He screws up his brow and turns silent for several seconds. “What were we talking about again?”

  “Okay.” I hum to myself. At least for tonight I don’t have to face any more awkward conversations about resigning or falling for my boss or why he isn’t impressed with either situation. “Well, we were talking about that big meeting you have on Monday morning, and how you want to push it to Friday.”

  “I wouldn’t have said that,” he says. He sounds exhausted, unlike himself.

  In the distance, I pick up the wee-waa of sirens. “Not much longer. The paramedics should be here any minute.”

  “You’ll change the meeting to Friday? Rearrange the rest of my schedule? I might need a day or two to recuperate.”

  “I’ll have your new schedule ready for you in the morning.”

  “And you’ll make sure the goat is safely locked in its pen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t have it running around loose, taking out old ladies and little kids.”

  “Of course not.” I can’t help chuckle, though it comes out strained and feverish. “And I will call your family.”

  “But not my mother. I don’t need her trying to baby me.”

  “Not until we know what you’ve hurt and how badly.”

  “Good.” He squeezes my hand. “Promise me you’ll never consider running off and leaving me. I don’t know how I’d cope without you.”

  For someone who doesn’t remember our conversation, he cuts right through to the heart of matters. My heart dips. Maybe he’ll remember tomorrow, and I’ll have to face the fact that everything has changed. He’ll look at me differently, but not as a man who wants me.

  The
sirens get louder and then shut off abruptly. I can hear voices from the front of the house, and the woman on the phone tells me the EMTs have arrived. I squeeze James’s hand and then let it go. “I’ll go meet them and bring them around the back.”

  “Okay,” he says. “But don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.” I climb to my feet. “A few minutes more and we’ll get this mess sorted.”

  He tries to nod. Winces. Groans.

  “Hold still. Until they assess the damage,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”

  As if it will be that easy to work out where we stand now. Or to write up my resignation and rehash why I threw myself at my boss. If he remembers that pathetic attempt I made at all. What I wouldn’t give to pretend this never happened. But it did. And now I need to work out how to handle the fall out.

  Starting with rescheduling every bit of James’s life for the next week.

  Chapter Two

  JAMES

  “Where’s Myra?” They’re the first words out of my mouth when I wake in a hospital bed and see my brother stretched out, asleep in a chair that’s way too small for his tall, lanky form.

  The pain that hits me stirs snippets of memories from last night. Paynt and Chloe’s wedding. The lanterns, the lake, Myra, as always, by my side. That dress she wore, the color really complimented her skin tone. Talking with my mother—God, the woman is relentless. Grandkids, grandkids, grandkids.

  Lying in the grass on my back. Everything hurt to some degree, although the pain was focused in my hand, my leg, and the base of my skull. Myra hovering over me, her face a mask of fear and worry as she reassured me everything would be okay.

  It was just last night, right? My finger hovers over the button that will provide temporary relief but will also knock me out cold again. I need to know what the hell’s going on, so I grit my teeth and endure the discomfort while I wait for Garrett to wake enough to answer me.

  “What day is it?”

  With a stretch and a yawn, he rubs his eyes and says, “It’s Sunday, and I assume Myra’s in bed, considering she didn’t leave here until after three this morning.”

  “Alone?” Wouldn’t want her walking out to her car by herself in a poorly lit parking lot.

  Garrett arches one black brow. “Well, when she left the room, she was alone. And last I heard, she’s currently single. But she’s also an attractive woman, so I suppose it isn’t outside the realm of possibility that she might have picked up a hot, young doc on her way out the door.”

  “Shut up.” I lift my right hand to scratch an itch on my temple, but it’s wrapped in several layers of elastic bandage, making it difficult to bend my fingers. Staring at the appendage, I ask, “What happened?”

  “I wasn’t there, but Myra says you tripped over the goat and fell off the deck.”

  “Tripped over…” I shake my head and pain stabs me behind the eyes, but I push past it, trying to remember… “How?”

  Garrett shrugs. “She said you two were on the deck and you started walking backward and Spot must have been directly behind you. You were so close to the railing that you literally did a flip as you went over it and landed on your back in the grass on the other side.”

  My body aches like I played football without any pads. Or a helmet. “I’m going to skewer that damn goat and eat it for dinner.”

  “I’m going to have to advise against that, bro. Your brother, your new sister-in-law, and my daughter would all be devastated. Even Erin has become attached to the thing.”

  I clumsily scratch my temple with my left hand. “Where’s my phone? I want to see if Myra called or texted.”

  Garrett scans the room while asking, “What’s your obsession with Myra?”

  “I’m not obsessed,” I snip. “She’s my admin. And I know for a fact that I have a bunch of meetings this week.” Did she already tell me she’d rearrange my schedule? There’s a chunk of the evening that seems to be missing from my memory stores. And I have the damnedest sensation whatever’s missing is important. Myra will know what happened. though. She’ll be able to tell me.

  “It’s always work with you. Why don’t you relax and let yourself heal for a minute? Pretend you’re a real human being for once.”

  “Can’t. Too much going on.” I’m sure my blood pressure is rising as I mentally sort through everything I intended to accomplish this week. “How long will it take for this hand to heal?”

  “Probably less time than the leg.” Garrett nods at the bed. I whip off the thin polyester blanket and stare at my left leg, secured with a splint and wrapped with white, elastic bandages. My exposed toes wiggle and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. At least the extremities all appear to work. I almost cup my balls, just to check, but nothing in that area actually hurts, so I’m pretty sure they managed to come out of last night unscathed.

  Thank Christ. “How the hell did I do this?”

  “Too much champagne?” Garrett suggests.

  I catch myself before I shake my head and jar it further. “No. I had my fair share, but I don’t recall being so wasted that I would have tripped over the goddamn goat. But I can’t remember what I was doing before it happened.”

  “Probably because of the concussion. Doctor said you might have some temporary short-term memory loss.”

  “Will I get it back?” It’s a hell of an uncomfortable feeling to know there’s a gap of time during which something happened, significant or no, that you cannot remember.

  “Don’t know. I’m a golfer, not a doctor.” He chuckles at his own lame joke.

  “But I am a doctor, so I can fill in the blanks for you.” A woman wearing a white lab coat over a pale yellow summer dress strides into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Frost. I’m Dr. Northbridge. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I tripped over a goddamn goat and no one will let me filet it.”

  She furrows her eyebrows and glances at Garrett, then whips her head around for a double take. I bet she’s a golf fan. Either that or she thinks he’s good looking. For some reason, my younger brother attracts women like flies to honey. I don’t get it, personally.

  “Are you…?”

  “Engaged?” Garrett supplies. “Yep.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks redden. “I, um, I thought you were this famous golfer. You look a lot like him. And the last name, Frost…”

  How in the world can my womanizing brother make a doctor sputter and blush like this? Well, I suppose I can’t call him a womanizer anymore. Erin has apparently managed to turn him into an honest man. Or at least a man in love.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” he says.

  “I didn’t realize you were engaged. To the nanny? I like her. Or at least, I like the person the media portrays. She seems…real, you know?”

  “Yes. She is. She’s pretty amazing, actually. And we just got engaged last night, at a private family function, so the media hounds haven’t gotten wind yet.”

  “Oh. Well, congratulations.”

  Garrett’s disembodied voice shouts, “Fore!” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “Uh-oh, here we go. Callum—that’s my manager—wants to know why he had to find out about our engagement on Facebook.” He chuckles as he taps on the screen.

  Rolling my eyes, I point out, “That private function was also where I screwed up my hand and leg and apparently banged my head badly enough that I’m missing a chunk of time from last night.” I’m hungry and in pain and irritated because Myra’s not here. Which I know is ridiculous—Garrett said it’s Sunday and I don’t usually see Myra on weekends, so why would I miss her?—but refer back to hunger and pain. I have every right not to be rational at the moment.

  “So you do have a touch of short-term amnesia,” the doctor says, suddenly all business. Dropping her gaze to the iPad in her hand, she starts tapping the screen, presumably taking notes on my condition.

  “Apparently. So when can I go home?”

  “It’s going to be difficult enough
for him to get around with the sprained wrist and broken ankle,” she says to my brother, like he’s my keeper and has any say over my life whatsoever.

  “My ankle’s broken?” I stare down at the offending appendage, like I’m waiting for it to explain how the hell I’m supposed to run my business with a broken ankle. Or tell me how soon I will be able to get into the office. Or how—

  “Yes,” the doctor says, breaking across my thoughts. “A clean fracture but definitely broken. The tendons are strained as well, which is not uncommon with this sort of injury. But the concussion and short-term memory loss concern me more than anything else. I don’t want to release you without someone agreeing to care for you twenty-four-seven, at least for the next week. Then I want you to see your primary care physician, and I want his or her sign-off before you’re allowed to be on your own.”

  “I’m fine,” I tell her, but she ignores me and looks at Garrett, like she expects him to give her direction. Which is irritating as hell. The only person who’s allowed to control any aspect of my life should be me. And perhaps Myra, since for all intents and purposes, she’s been doing a damn good job of it for years now. At least in a professional sense.

  “Shit,” Garrett says, tugging off his cap so he can rake his hand through his hair. “Paynt and Chloe are in Paris on their honeymoon. I’m not sure where our sister Ronnie is at the moment, but I assume she’s heading back to New York in the next few days. Our parents live in an old, three-story farmhouse, so probably not good for a broken ankle. And, shit, James is supposed to stay at Chloe and Paynt’s house to look after Spot while they’re gone.”

  “The dog?” the doctor asks.

  “Goat, actually. Although my daughter leads her around on a leash like a dog.”

  “Oh.” The young doctor looks as confused as I feel, and I’m part of this damn family, God help me. “Is this the same goat he tripped over?” she asks.