Page 51 of Dirty Boss

“I can’t afford the apartment they’ve put me in, Vaughn.”

“Your rent isn’t changing, Alba.”

“But—”

“You need somewhere clean and safe to live. Now I need to get back to work.”

“I—”

“Yes?”

I gulped. “Do you do this for all your employees?” My voice was small.

The silence between us stretched, and I wondered if Vaughn would answer at all. Then, finally, he said one word: “No.”

“Oh,” I whispered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, gently.

“Yes.”

I hung up, my head still leaning on my hand on the wall, then slowly straightened. When I stepped through the door of my new apartment once again, I couldn’t help the sardonic huff that blew through my lips. He must’ve known I wouldn’t stay at his place, and he organized this. Strong-armed the landlord, no doubt. Maybe even paid for it.

As I sank into the brand new sofa and stared out the window at the building opposite, I couldn’t help the easing of my muscles.

The next weekand a half passed in a haze of winter and Vaughn. We had late afternoon dance lessons, with the space between our bodies kept at a professional arm’s length, just asI’d requested. The warmth of his hand cupped mine and the press of his fingers tingled at my back.

At night, beyond the windows of my new apartment, snow swirled under the streetlights, and I came to the thought of those hands on my body.

We met for lunch at all my previous favorite restaurants, and I pretended that I didn’t find the dining rooms stuffy and pretentious while I scanned for old enemies. I watched him become more comfortable as I squirmed, the touch of his foot against mine sending sparks dancing through my legs.

He presented his elbow for me to hook my arm through when we entered and exited, and I ignored the way his scent made me want to lean closer. He held my jacket and slid it on over my shoulders, his knuckles brushing the sides of my neck. The perfect gentleman.

I went home, collapsed in bed, and pretended the wetness in my underwear hadn’t been there since the moment I saw him. My clit ached, engorged, throbbing, needy.

I sat on the couch at Mr. Koval’s shop, watching the older man pin the beginnings of a tuxedo on Vaughn’s frame, then went with him to an Italian shoemaker to get his foot measured for a pair of bespoke shoes. He stood close to me, his fingers brushing mine as he took a display boot from my hands, the scent of leather and Vaughn making me dizzy.

He didn’t kiss me. He barely touched me. I felt like I was starving. I was in too deep already.

SEVENTEEN

VAUGHN

Charlotte’s playdatewas entering the ear-piercing shrieks portion of the afternoon. I sat at my desk in my home office, going through emails that I’d neglected during the week. Saturdays should’ve been reserved for my daughter—especially during the weeks that I had custody of her—but the extra time I’d dedicated to my training with Alba meant that some of my work spilled into the weekends.

“Daddy!” I looked up from the computer screen in time to see Charlotte skidding to a stop in the doorway. Blue paint smeared her cheek, and one of her pigtails had lost its tie. She brandished a paper covered with not-quite-dry paint. “I made this for you!”

I pushed my chair back and turned to face my daughter as she circled my desk. Taking the painting in one hand, I curled the other around Charlotte’s shoulder. “I love it,” I said. “Reminds me of Van Gogh.”

“I used blue because it’s your favorite color.”

“Is it?” I asked, smiling faintly.

“Duh. Your new suit is blue.”

“You chose my new suit.”

“Because blue is your favorite,” Charlotte replied, looking at me like I was dense.