My Sexy Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Read online

  Then again, I was just as confused by my actions. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. Kelsey had painted such a horrible picture of him, but he didn’t seem that way to me. But then, I wasn’t emotionally involved with him. I was his employee.

  I had to remember that.

  But that was the duality of him. There was clearly a side of him that had a strong asshole streak, the kind that messed Kelsey around and fed her lines before hitting a club to hook up with whoever he could get his hands on. I had seen all of that with my own two eyes, so I knew it was there.

  But then there was this other side, the one that was passionate and intelligent and driven. And it was hard not to be a little attracted to that side of him, because it was so close to what I valued in myself.

  Ugh! I hated this endless cycle. It was like I was on an out-of-control merry-go-round and I wanted to get off, but it never stopped. And I had yet to return Kelsey’s phone call from the day before. I just needed to find another guy to focus on.

  Cory jumped into my head. I was going out with him in a few days and he seemed like a nice guy. That’s what I needed—a nice, safe guy. I’d give Cory a chance.

  Happy that I’d come to a resolution, no matter how tenuous it was, I walked into the building.

  It was dark and dank-smelling, and I shivered beneath my jacket. Up ahead, I saw a glimmer of light seeping from under a closed door and I headed toward it, eager to get started. All through my childhood, my mom had always been quick to drill into me and my siblings the importance of helping other people whenever we had the chance, and that had stayed with me. I’d been involved in volunteering ever since I started junior high. It made me happy to show a needy person that someone cared, even if for a brief moment in that person’s life.

  From behind the door, I heard dishes clattering, and I slowly turned the knob. Light spilled over me and I quickly unwrapped my coat and scarf as I stepped inside a large room filled with tables and chairs. A woman in her early forties with a head of red frizzy curls stood behind a counter.

  “What can I do for you?” Her smile warmed the last vestiges of cold from my fingers.

  “I’m Cierra. I signed up to volunteer.”

  “Welcome. I’m Natalie, the administrator of Mission Street Soup Kitchen. Thank you for volunteering. With the weather, I was afraid you weren’t going to come. Two volunteers already canceled, so it’ll just be the three of us. We’ll be hustling tonight. The bad weather always brings in a big crowd.” She stepped around the counter and gestured for me to come closer. Pointing to a door behind her, she said. “Go on back. The other volunteer is already here and can give you a rundown of everything that needs to be done before we open the doors while I finish setting up.”

  “Will do,” I replied, then headed around the counter and back into a brightly lit, industrial-sized kitchen. There was a guy stirring a large pot at the back end of the room, his back turned to me.

  “Hey,” I greeted him cheerily. “I’m—”

  Then he turned around, and my jaw dropped.

  “Mr. Prescott?” I gasped. Of all the people I’d expected to see in a place like this, my damn boss wasn’t one of them. He dropped the wooden spoon and his eyebrows shot up, though he regained a mask of composure in a fraction of a second.

  “We’re not in the office. You can call me Trace.”

  “I didn’t realize you worked here,” I blurted out. “I mean, volunteered here. I mean—”

  “Yeah, I’ve worked with this place for a long time, although I don’t get in to serve as much as I’d like.”

  “With this place?”

  “I’m a benefactor for the soup kitchen.” He shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal. “Have been for a long time. That’s one of the pluses in having money. A few business colleagues and I built this place from the ground up.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I mumbled, chewing my cuticle as my mind raced. How did I not find this in my research of him? It was probably because all the media cared about was his bad-boy antics. That was what sold. People wanted to read about the awful things the rich did, not the good things. It was easier to demonize them that way.

  “First night?” he asked, heading over to a bench on the other side of the room that was stacked high with sealed plastic packages.

  I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around him being there.

  “How’d you wind up volunteering here?”

  “I’m a volunteer with Lending a Helping Hand.”

  “LHH is a great organization. They help a lot of people from all walks of life. How long have you been with them?”

  “Since I moved here, a little over five years.”

  “You’re not from here?”

  “No. Fresno.”

  “How’d you like growing up in Fresno?”

  “Not so much.”

  He laughed and gave me two of the plastic bags. “You’ll need these.”

  Ripping them open, I found a disposable apron and hair cap inside. I pulled them on quickly, feeling awkward as I attempted to reach behind myself to tie the apron. Trace stood there and watched me for a moment, then stepped behind me and brushed my hands away.

  “Here, let me do it,” he murmured, and I stood stock-still as he deftly tied my apron secure around my waist. His fingers brushed against me through my thin shirt and a tingle raced up my spine. Crap.

  “The way it works is that we plate the food and give it to Natalie, who serves it. A couple of volunteers bailed, but I persuaded a few buddies to come by and help. They’ll be here soon. You and I will work the kitchen. We’ve got goulash, coleslaw, and bread for dinner, and fruit salad for dessert. You can work the coleslaw and bread station and I’ll do the goulash. Once the doors open, it gets hectic in the kitchen, so be prepared. Sound good?”

  “Whatever you think’s best.” My voice sounded a little croaky and odd, even to my ears.

  Trace paused for a moment, then grinned at me.

  “We’re not in the office, you know. You don’t have to agree with everything I say.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I shot back, and his smile broadened. His eyes flicked up and down my body so fast that I wasn’t even certain it had really happened, and then he headed over to the pot on the stove.

  “Come on, help me get this thing over to the serving station,” he said, and together we hefted the enormous steaming pot toward the counter. Natalie was waiting there, and she glanced between us with satisfaction.

  “I see you two are already working well together,” she remarked, and Trace and I exchanged a brief glance. I couldn’t help but smile in his direction.

  “Come on, let’s get everything ready.” She clapped her hands together. “It’s just the three of us on tonight, so I’ll need you both working at full capacity.”

  “Actually, a few friends of mine are lending a hand. They should be here soon. They’ll help you serve,” Trace said to Natalie.

  As if on cue, booming voices bounced off the brick walls as three guys burst through the doors. They came up to Trace and bumped fists. He introduced them to Natalie and me, and I recognized one of them as the guy who’d been with Trace at the Tipsy Cow. All three of them checked me out, and one started chatting me up.

  “Drew, Cierra isn’t interested. Besides, you’re here to help out.” Anger laced Trace’s words and his eyes flashed.

  Wow. Is he jealous?

  I didn’t get a chance to think on it as Natalie opened the doors and people swarmed inside.

  “Nick, Drew, Jeff, take the dishes we put on the counter and serve everyone. Just follow what Natalie tells you to do. You’ll have to get the drinks too. When Cierra and I are done dishing up the food, we’ll help out with the drinks. Let’s get to it, Cierra.”

  For the next two hours, I buttered rolls, scooped coleslaw, poured coffee and tea, and listened to the stories many of the hungry wanted to tell me. There were over two hundred people, and they quickly worked their way through the three giant pots of go
ulash we had steaming on the stove, all the rolls, and the two enormous bowls of coleslaw. I was grateful Trace’s friends had come to help because I honestly don’t know how we would’ve done it. I wondered if I’d called any of my friends if they would’ve given up their night off to help the poor and hungry.

  Before I knew it, Natalie locked the doors. Trace and I cleaned up while I nibbled on the heel ends of some of the bread that had been left over. I’d worked as a waitress to put myself through college and had forgotten just how tiring it was to be on your feet for hours in such a situation.

  “How’d you find it?” Trace asked as we picked up pots and pans and deposited them into the sink.

  “Not as bad as I thought. The time just flew by. It was great to have your friends helping out.”

  “I find it relaxing after a hectic day.” He rinsed off some plates and handed them to me to stack in the dishwasher. “You know, all that time thinking about everything in such intense detail, and then I can come down here and do something that doesn’t require a huge amount of mental energy. It’s a good way to wind down.”

  “So this is your therapy?” I teased.

  He shrugged with a sly smile. “It’s better than going out drinking. Less hangover to deal with the next day.”

  “And you’d know all about hangovers.”

  He turned to me, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean by that?”

  I glanced over at him and wondered if I’d overstepped the line, but then I remembered he’d told me that this place wasn’t the office. What happened in here stayed in here. “I saw those tabloid stories,” I remarked playfully.

  “Which ones?”

  “Precisely.” I shot a look in his direction and saw amusement dancing over his face. Thank goodness.

  “You shouldn’t pay so much attention to them. They’re nothing but bullshit most of the time.”

  “So you’re definitely not heading out to clubs with models every night of the week?”

  He waved his soapy hands around the kitchen. “Obviously not.”

  We both burst out laughing, and he tapped my nose with his fingertip, leaving a glob of foamy bubbles on it. I wiped them off and caught his gaze. It was dark and burning with desire, licking around my curves and making my nipples pebble against my shirt. His eyes lowered and lingered on my breasts, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  I wish my body would stop jumping into overdrive whenever he’s around.

  I folded my arms over my chest and took a few steps back.

  “We’re outta here, dude,” Nick said as he, Drew, and Jeff came into the kitchen.

  Trace cleared his throat and pulled his eyes away from me. “Thanks for helping.”

  They all did the fist-bump thing with Trace and headed out.

  “Your friends are nice,” I said, breaking the awkward silence that descended upon us after they’d left.

  “They come through when it counts. We’ve all been buds since high school.”

  “That’s nice. I didn’t stay in contact with anyone from high school, but then I wasn’t so crazy about it. I just couldn’t wait to graduate so I could move away and be on my own. I loved college. I could be myself and no one judged me. Well, at least not to my face.” I picked up the dishrag and wiped the large pot.

  “High school can be tough. I had a good time, but I went to a private all-boys school.”

  “How did you ever stand it? I mean not having any girls around?”

  “St. Catherine’s was our sister school, so most of us dated the girls from there. What do you think, that I’m a wolf on the hunt all the time?”

  The conversation was going in a direction that could get real dicey. I had to remember he was my boss. “A lot of people do.”

  “I don’t give a damn what a lot of people think. I’m asking if you do.”

  “Maybe.” When he sighed and turned back to washing the pans, I wished I could’ve taken the answer back. The truth was I didn’t know what I thought. Based solely on what I’d read about him and Kels’s version of him, I wouldn’t have regretted my response, but he was so much more than that. He was kind, generous, a hard worker, intelligent, and I suspected there was a sweet softness he buried deep inside him.

  Water swooshing, pots clanging, and dishes clattering filled the space between us. I watched his arm muscles flexing each time he scrubbed a pot, and I remembered how those arms felt around me the previous Saturday. Since I’d first met him at Beta, I’d judged him by what others said and thought. I’d been sure they were right, but I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” My voice sounded tinny.

  “Why not? I don’t want you to lie to me.”

  “What I really mean is that I guess I have a lot of preconceived notions about you. From the papers and from… other sources.”

  “You mean Kelsey. We might as well bring it out in the open. She’s been talking shit about me, but I’m not going to do it about her. Just remember you’re only getting one side. But I’m not going to deny that I can be a bastard with women. I guess I’m not good at being in a relationship. Enough said on that.”

  I wanted to ask him to give me his version of the breakup, but I felt like I’d be betraying Kels if I did that, so I said the first thing that came to my mind. “Do you go to Beta Club a lot?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “I haven’t been since that night you chewed my ass out. I’m too damn busy with the business.”

  “Trust me, you’ll find the balance. I know I did.”

  “So you’re a ‘work hard, play hard’ type?” He reached over to put one of the knives away, and for a split second our hands connected. Something seized up in my chest at his touch. He drew his hand away quickly, as though he’d felt it too, and I struggled to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound like garbled nonsense. I wanted to touch him again, but I clenched the dishrag and focused on drying the pots.

  “Mostly play hard, work hungover,” I replied.

  His laugh warmed me and made me smile. “I’ll keep an eye on you Monday mornings. Maybe put a cup of coffee and a bottle of aspirin on your desk.”

  “That would be appreciated.” I traced my teeth across my bottom lip. Right at that moment, I wanted to touch him, to lean across the counter and brush my fingers along the stubble on his jaw, to see if it felt as rough as it looked.

  He glanced up at me and our eyes met once again. I swallowed and took a step toward him as he took one toward me, our gazes never wavering. It was like some unstoppable force of nature drew me closer to him, wasn’t going to let me escape him—

  “How are you guys getting on?” Natalie’s voice broke through our heated haze.

  “Good,” we both replied, and then Trace walked away from the sink.

  I nodded to the diminishing pile of pots and pans. “I just have a couple more to dry.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about drying those. Leave them to air-dry and the people coming in the morning will put them away. It’s late, and you’ve done more than your share. You can head out.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  Trace undid his apron and pulled it off over his head, bringing some of his shirt up with it, exposing his well-defined V and a trail of light brown hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Holy shit. He pulled down his shirt and it hugged his body oh-so-perfectly.

  Dragging my eyes away, I turned around and fumbled with my apron.

  “Here, let me.” His hands suddenly covered mine and, for the second time that night, I felt my skin tingle all over just from his touch. How pathetic! I really need to get laid. With his body so close to mine and the wicked scent of his aftershave swimming around me, it was all I could do to keep from whirling around and collapsing in his arms.

  After he undid the apron strings, he didn’t step away. Instead, he lingered as though he was feeling everything I was. “We make a good team in the kitchen,” he said in a low voice, his warm breath fanning over the
back of my neck. Then his fingers lightly traced the small vine tattoo I had there. “I didn’t think you’d have a tattoo. I like it.” His forefinger stroked the small rosebuds on the vine.

  My head spun and I grabbed the counter to steady myself. I was acting like a fool. He was my boss, had dumped my friend, and was a bastard to women, according to him. So why the hell was I wishing he’d grasp my shoulders, spin me around, and kiss all the breath out of me?

  I picked up a clean cup and squirted some dish soap into it, then began scrubbing it like it had mud caked on it.

  His deep chuckle hit me between the legs. “I don’t think you’re going to get it any cleaner than it is.”

  Feeling silly, I rinsed it and stepped sideways, trying to avoid bumping into him. When I turned around, he was leaning against the island, a bemused smile twitching on his lips. The bastard knows the impact he has on me. As if to dislodge him from my thoughts, I shook my head, then pulled off the hairnet and tossed it into the trash. My hair spilling around my shoulders, I raked my fingers through it and glanced at Trace. Lust laced his eyes and he crossed his arms.

  “Are you trying to get my ass in hot water?” His jaw clenched.

  “What do you mean?” I really had no idea what he was talking about, but by the way he was looking at my hair, I figured the way I was touching it was doing something to him. I guessed he thought I was trying to be seductive, but I was just trying to get the tangles out of my hair.

  For several seconds we stood staring at each other, the sexual tension crackling between us, and then Natalie burst into the room and the intense moment we shared was gone. Heat burned my neck and face, and I knew dark red streaks painted my cheeks. Not wanting Trace to see, I headed for the spot where I’d dumped my jacket and scarf when I came through the door four hours before.