Page 49 of Dirty Boss

I didn’t know how to put into words what I wanted to ask. We’d kissed, and now he’d swooped in and brought me here… “Is this… Thank you for this, but I…”

“Just say what you need to say, Alba.”

“I’m worried that you think that because we kissed, I might owe you?—”

“You owe me nothing. I need you fully committed to the job, and you can’t do that if you’re sick with inhaling black mold.”

“Right. Yes.”

“Is that all?”

The distance between us shimmered with all the things I wanted to say to him. That he was the first man I’d wanted in over a year. That he made me believe in hope again. That he terrified me. Instead, what came out was, “I still don’t think we should have kissed.”

His blink was slow, and the curl of his lips a little bit wicked. “Understood. It won’t happen again.”

I straightened, nodding, pretending his words didn’t fill me with disappointment.

“It won’t happen again until you beg me for it. Then I won’t let you go so easily.”

I opened my mouth to shout a retort, but the door snicked shut behind him, and I was alone. Exhaling, I spun in a slow circle. Everywhere I looked, there were incredible views and beautiful items. I ran my fingers over the back of the sofa in the vast living room, then poked my head into all the rooms. It felt familiar and strange at the same time.

Apparently, I’d gotten used to living in squalor. This apartment was just like my clothing: it felt like it no longer fit me. It was so nice that it made me think it would all be snatched away as soon as I took a wrong step. I was afraid to enjoy it.

I jumped at the buzz of the doorbell, then shuffled across the beautiful timber floors to open the door. A tall, thin man gave mea slight nod, his cart laden with enough food for a small army. “Ms. Enders?”

“Yes.”

“For you,” he said, nodding to the cart as I opened the door wider. “The masseuse is running a few minutes late,” he said, rolling the cart inside the apartment. “I’ve given her your phone number.”

“The masseuse?” I asked, staring after him.

“Mr. Avery organized it,” he explained, and started unloading the groceries into the refrigerator.

I made to help him, then stepped back when he gave me a confused frown. It took me a few moments to slip into my old skin, where I was used to other people doing things for me. I drifted over to the sofa and scrolled mindlessly on my phone, then stood when the man told me he was done.

As soon as the door closed, my phone buzzed. Vaughn had messaged.

Vaughn

Have you eaten?

I bit my lip to hold back the smile that tried to break through. It shouldn’t have felt so good to have someone take care of me. Iwantedto be independent. I wanted to stand on my own, to never be as vulnerable as I was before I was disowned.

But maybe, just this once, I could let someone take care of me again. I drifted to the refrigerator, and grabbed one of the pre-prepped meals, snapping a photo of it to send to Vaughn.

Alba

Thank you

The masseuse arrived when I was done with my meal, apologizing profusely for her tardiness—apologies that I wavedaway. By the time she was done with me, my aches had faded to a low background buzz.

That night, I slept like the dead.

I allowed myself three days.Three days of comfort. Of luxury. Of daily massages and beautiful food. Three days of winter views from my perch on top of the world, so my muscles could unknot and I could take a breath.

Then I forced myself to pack my bag and leave Vaughn’s apartment, because it was too much like my old life. If I got used to it, it would hurt just as much as the first time when I got kicked out. I didn’t know how to turn off a broken faucet, but I wasn’t stupid. I’d learned my lesson: I couldn’t rely on other people to be the safety net that I trusted to catch me when I fell.

Vaughn called me before I’d even left the building. “You’re leaving,” he said.