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“And it hurt your feelings?”
“Yes, and it made me angry.” She paused, thinking about it. “Furious, actually, because it hurt.”
I felt my hand twitch at my side, but I made myself stay calm. “And then?”
“And then you kicked them out, and I wondered if I’d get fired.”
“Fired for doing nothing but your job?”
That trace of scorn again. “Life isn’t fair, Aidan. If you’d done the deal, Tower would have made a lot of money. So in a way, I cost you millions.”
Money. She thought I gave a fuck about money. Well, maybe she could be excused for thinking that. I certainly made a lot of it. “Okay, you want to talk, I’ll talk,” I said. “No one, and I mean no one, talks about you like that to me. I don’t care who it is. If Steve Jobs comes back from the dead and calls you a piece of ass, I’ll kick him out of this fucking building. Is that clear?”
I heard her slight intake of breath, and she nodded.
I gestured briefly to the door behind her. “If anyone out there gives you any shit, they’re finished. If anyone makes comments about your weight or the way you dress. If any guy asks you out when you don’t want him to. My tolerance is absolute fucking zero. You say you’re used to it, but you aren’t used to it if you work for me.” I made myself say it. “That includes from me. I don’t look at you or talk to you that way, and neither does anyone else.”
She paused for a moment, and then she nodded. She had so much composure, this woman. “Thank you,” she said, her voice calm.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “You can go home for the weekend whenever you want. I’ll see you at the airport on Monday, when we go to Chicago.”
Ten
Samantha
* * *
By Monday, I was a wreck. I tried not to show it; I tried to be calm, professional Samantha Riley. This trip to Chicago should have been routine. After all, I had been on plenty of business trips in my career, sometimes alone, sometimes with my bosses.
None of those men were Aidan Winters.
In the months I’d worked for him we’d only ever been together in the office during business hours, with dozens of people around. We’d never been alone; we’d never even done lunch. Aidan had never suggested it. After the conversation—or was it an argument?—we’d had on Friday, I wondered if that was because he didn’t care to have lunch with me, or because he didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable.
My tolerance is absolute fucking zero. That includes from me.
I’d thought a lot about those words as I went about my weekend. They resonated in my brain as I shopped, cooked, did laundry, went to yoga class. I held Warrior One in the tiny, trendy studio I went to at 40th and Tenth, listening to the instructor talk about oils and heart chakras, and I heard Aidan’s voice in my head, saying those words. I thought about how those words made me feel.
They gave me the shivers. I’d never had a boss who took how I was treated so seriously; the usual attitude was It’s a tough business, so get tough or get out. I don’t have time to listen to your complaining. And I was tough—I could fend for myself at work, and I had no problem speaking up. I didn’t need Aidan to defend me. Still, the fact that he was willing to—that he actually had—made me weak in the knees.
But it was the second emotion I felt at those words that threw me for a loop. Because I was disappointed.
I was all the way to Savasana, staring at the ceiling, when I realized why. It was because he’d said I don’t look at you or talk to you that way.
And deep down, I wanted him to.
Even though Aidan was my boss, even though I worked for him in a job for which I was eminently qualified, part of me wanted him to want me. Sitting in the quiet of the yoga studio, I could admit it, at least silently to myself.
This was very, very bad. I hated that Emma was right. I hated that I finally had a boss who treated me with actual respect, and I didn’t want him to. I hated that I was so hypocritical that I expected Aidan not to stare at my ass, yet I had the urge to stare at his. I hated that I spent my yoga class thinking about his hands and his sexy jawline and the ruthless look in his eyes that turned me on. I hated that the idea of traveling alone with h
im, staying in hotels with him, made my heart skip a beat. I hated that the one man who made me hot was the one man who had set down an inalterable, unbreakable rule that he would never touch me.
I walked home from yoga class in a terrible mood. In my apartment, I tossed down my rolled-up mat, stripped, and had a shower. Then I got into bed naked, slipped my hand between my legs, and pictured Aidan Winters until I came so hard I saw stars.
Afterward I stared at the ceiling, just as frustrated as I was before. Then I got up and made dinner.
Eleven
Samantha
