Page 16 of Lying to the Boss

At 1:55, I knock on his door, wait for his call to come in, and then walk in ready for this two o’clock meeting. There’s a smirk on his face that tells me he’s thinking about the email he sent. I responded to tell him it was all set, and I know he thinks he’s got one on me. Maybe he does. But when we go on this trip, I’ll be nothing but professional.

What happened that night was a one-time occurrence. And I really mean that.

I drop my keys on the kitchen counter when I step inside my apartment; the relieving feeling of being home, in my home, is almost overwhelming. Emotion tightens in my chest, and I let out a shaky breath. For years, this was all I wanted. What I dreamed of. Now I’m here. It’s hard to believe, but it’s real. This is all mine.

I go to my bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. When I left Boston, I took only what I needed. The bare necessities. A few outfits, my cell, and my bank card.

Mine. The one in my name only. There wasn’t much in there, but it was enough to start with.

Right now, my apartment has that hollow feeling. Every step echoes too loudly. Each room is a little too cold. Soon enough, though, it’ll be filled with warmth and comfort.

Everything I’ll need is already in my cart, because I’ve stayed up late at night picking things out. Changing my mind a hundred times, not sure which color scheme I wanted to go with. I’ll probably change my mind again, but that’s okay. Because it’s only me here and I can do what I want.

My gaze moves to the makeshift bed in the corner of the room, just a pile of blankets and a pillow. I’m counting down the days until my mattress is delivered, and I can sleep on something other than the carpet. Still, I’d choose the carpet over where I came from any day.

I’m tired of money being a band-aid, of it being the glue that holds people together. There are other things in life that are more important—like emotions and trust, and friendship. Meaningful things that last. Money comes and goes. You can be a good person or a bad person with or without it. It doesn’t make you who you are—you choose to do that yourself. But too many people choose to be assholes when they have money; too many choose to throw it around, specifically in other people’s faces.

Which is why Lane Monroe confuses the hell out of me so much.

He has money—a lot of it. He makes it known. He spends it. Tells me I should be impressed by it and is confused that I’m not. Yet, there is something about the way he does it that isn’t… hurtful. It isn’t offensive, and it doesn’t make my blood boil with rage the way it does with other people. And that… I can’t explain that.

Chapter Seven

Lane

The flight was smooth. The rental car is practical and spacious. The room I’d requested was booked.

Tage did exactly as I asked him to do, and he did it perfectly. I’m no longer surprised by this. Now, I’ve come to expect it. He’s gained my trust when it comes to work. I can depend on this man to do his job. It is impressive, considering it’s only been a few weeks.

As we enter the penthouse suite, he doesn’t look around the way a normal person would. Normal in the sense that they don’t spend time in penthouses. Either he doesn’t want me to call him out on it, or he’s really not moved by all of this stuff. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve never met a person in all my life who isn’t interested in money and what it gets you. But Tage… something is up with him. And I’m going to figure out what it is.

“What are the sleeping arrangements?” he asks, sounding tired.

I shrug. “Didn’t you look at the layout of the room? You tell me.”

With a sigh, he heads deeper inside to scope out the place, walking from room to room until he’s back in front of me.

“I’ll take the room to the right. The bed is bigger in the other one.”

“Do I look like someone who hogs the bed?”

He looks at me pointedly. “Yes.”

I chuckle. “Fine. Dinner plans?”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Anywhere that has good chocolate cake.”

“So we’re basing dinner off dessert?” He’s annoyed again. “Got it.”

“If they can do chocolate cake right, they can do anything right.”

“And how am I going to figure that out?”

“I don’t know. Figure it out.”

I grab my suitcase, and clothing bag from the luggage cart the bellman left just inside the room. I tipped him well, and he went on his way.