Page 12 of Dirty Boss

Charlotte’s future would hang in the balance, and I’d be the deadbeat who ruined it all.

Just like my own dad. The pattern I’d sworn I’d never repeat. I’d watch him gamble our family’s money like a man with his eyes glued to the roulette wheel.

And here I was, repeating his mistakes. Promising my daughter the world and unable to deliver. Letting her nanny take care of her while I spent my evenings locked in my office. Maybe my ex-wife was right about me, after all.

As I reached the lobby doors and flipped the collar of my jacket up against the blast of cold wind, my driver jumped out of the car and moved to open the back door for me. I nodded to him and slipped inside.

The future seemed bleak, apart from three things:

First and most significant would be the sight of my daughter, safe and sleeping, when I got home this evening. That would heal almost everything.

Second, the cutting remarks that Alba would have for me when we next saw each other. I could fling harsh words back at her and watch the gratifying way her eyes would narrow. The perfect pressure release valve.

And third, the anticipation of whatever my snarky cleaning woman would do when she entered my office tonight and saw what I’d left for her.

FIVE

ALBA

The black shoetray gleamed with newness from its spot of honor next to the door. Two pairs of boots—cleaned of any remaining gravel and salt—sat in perfect alignment on top of the plastic tray. And in the corner closest to me, a note leaned against the steel toe of the nearest boot. It was addressed to “Ms. Cleaning Woman.”

I scanned the room. The balled-up note that I’d written was gone. The desk was relatively tidy, with stacks of files lined up and a few square inches of desk showing in the gaps between them. There was a scent in the air—rich male cologne that made me want to inhale deeply—as if someone had only just left the room.

I hesitated on the threshold of the office, knowing I’d already overstepped with the first message I’d left here. I’d gotten carried away by the injustice of my life these days, the difficulty of scraping by.

But he hadn’t demanded that I be fired.

And he’d bought a shoe tray.

Tiptoeing inside, I bent over and picked up the note:

Ms. Clean,

I trust this is a satisfactory solution to our mutual problem. Please refrain from leaving paper debris on my office floor.

Regards,

V.A.

My heart thumped. This was exactly like the hundred-dollar tips that Vaughn insisted on leaving me. A gift wrapped in disdain.

I gritted my teeth and scribbled my own words below his, then left the note in the middle of his desk.

Then I got back to work.

SIX

VAUGHN

There wasa note when I got back to the office. Scrawled under mine, she’d written:

The tray was the least you could do. And I feel the need to remind you that the paper debris was not left on the floor by me.

I huffed a laugh. She had me there.

A few hours later, when I went out for lunch, a tingle of pleasure zipped through me at the sight of golden hair wrapped in a high bun. I unbuttoned my jacket and nodded to the hostess, who brought me to my favorite server’s section.

When Alba saw me sitting at her table, she stopped dead. “Again?” she snapped. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”