Page 23 of The Boss

I stop, listening intently, and hear silence, so I know he’s done.

Then, I slowly walk in, closing the door behind me while inhaling a deep breath.

Turning towards him, I wring my hands, nervous that this could go very badly.

He walks around the desk and stalks toward me.

His green eyes look down at me. “Juliet, what's wrong?”

“I need to tell you something.”

He looks at me nervously. Gino never looks nervous. Even through all of this, he hasn’t been nervous.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Umm, so I know I just woke you up for this. But someone has sent me other messages too. Probably the same person.”

“What?” he yells. “Juliet, how many messages have they sent?”

“Enough that I’ve lost count. Nothing I couldn’t handle until now. All related to the same thing. Saying to look into more of Lorenzo’s associates or to listen to the demands, which I know you have to an extent, and Lorenzo hasn’t given anything to really negotiate,” I’m rambling now. I know I am.

“Juliet. Jules. It’s okay, but why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to stress you out more than you already are.”

He takes a deep breath. “Juliet, we've had our differences, but your safety is not something I will debate with you.”

He’s closer to me now. He places his hands on my arms. I can feel myself shiver from the touch.

“Jules, you’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m fine.”

I’m not fine; his hands are so warm and feel so good on my skin.

No matter how much he’s your friend, he’s your boss. That’s what I keep telling myself, which I know isn’t true. He’s my boss on paper, and it makes sure we keep our distance from each other when necessary.

“Juliet, when did these messages start?”

“A few days after Mateo was kidnapped.”

“You’re joking?” he replies.

I shake my head.

“Show them to me,” he says, sticking his hand out.

He raises his eyebrows when I don’t hand over my phone right away.

I grab my phone out of my pocket; he takes it from me and types in the password. It’s been the same ever since we met, and it doesn’t surprise me that he remembers it.

He looks over the messages. “We need to send these to Drew.”

“I showed him, and he’s looking into them,” I say quietly.

“I’m going to kick his ass. Why didn’t he tell me?” he asks, pressing his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose.

“Because I told him not to,” I mumble.