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"Maybe you should ask him," Caitlyn teased Jeff, nudging him playfully with her shoulder.
Just then, the main door to the office opened and a man walked in. He had a confident stride. Even if you had no clue about who he was, you’d know he was in charge just by the way he carried himself.
"There he is," Jeff mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. "He's finally here."
As he got closer, I managed to get a glimpse of what he looked like. I felt myself grow pale and adrenaline shot into my veins immediately. Suddenly, I knew the answer to what my boss was doing this weekend. Because I had been with him.
Dylan—none other than the man I had slept with last night—was my new boss.
Chapter 3
Dylan
Iwoke up to the sound of my alarm blaring. Slowly opening my eyes, I shielded my face from the sun peeking in through the open window in my room.
"What time is it?" I muttered to no one in particular and reached out to grab my phone.
I saw that I had missed all my alarms this morning and was already late for work. My head throbbed as I groggily pulled myself out of bed, serving as an annoying reminder of what I had gotten up to last night.
"Kathy?" I called out as I stepped out of my room in my morning robe. "Are you still here?"
To my surprise, I was met with silence. I strolled around the living room, noticing that her bag wasn't there anymore. A faint disappointment settled over me as I realized that she had likely left before I had woken up.
"Must be an early riser," I mumbled to myself, and went over to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The cool liquid poured down my throat, acting as a remedy for my parched mouth and aching head.
At forty-four, I just couldn't handle a night full of drinking any more as I used to ten years ago. By no means I was in my prime anymore.
As I looked out my window at the city skyline, my mind immediately went back to the night before and how... useful that windowsill had proven to be. Something stirred in my crotch and I felt the remnants of my primal arousal.
I was no stranger to one-night stands. Plenty of women were interested in me. If it was for my good looks and charming personality or the fact that I was a billionaire heading a successful company, I wasn't sure. But I liked to think that it was likely a combination of both.
The chase was exciting. I would find myself courting these gorgeous women, impressing them with my charm, and then ending up sleeping with them. But the next morning, the excitement would wear off. They'd make breakfast for me and try to convince me to start a relationship with them, never succeeding. Without alcohol to dampen my senses, they all seemed boring and the only thing I wanted was to be rid of them.
I found my mind circling back to thoughts of Kathy. Maybe it was the fact that she didn't even try to stick around and get my phone number that made her stand out to me. It was refreshing and it added a sense of mystique.
Did she have more important things to do that she couldn't wait for me? From the way she carried herself, I could tell that she was a woman who meant business. She felt like a challenge.
My phone rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. The caller ID flashed my mother's name. I hesitated for a moment before answering, wondering what she wanted at this hour.
"Dylan!" my mother's excited voice greeted me from the other end of the line.
"Hello, Mom," I tried to sound cheerful.
"How are you doing?" she asked in her usual doting tone. "I waited for you to call me this weekend."
"I'm sorry, I just got busy with work," I replied.
"It’s alwaysworkwith you," she said. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever take any time off."
A mischievous smile formed on my face as I thought back to the night I’d had. But I wiped it away quickly, clearing my throat.
"You know how it is, Mom," I replied. "It's not easy running a multibillion-dollar company."
"I know, and I'm so proud of all of your accomplishments," she replied. "I was just talking about you with your father at breakfast earlier. It's a shame that you haven't come home to visit in a while."
I frowned at the mention of my father. Even the mere mention of him was enough to bring up several unpleasant memories. The two of us had a strained relationship, to say the least. Growing up, he had been an absent father. It wasn't as though he didn't love me, but his love for the bottle came before anything else. All my memories of childhood consisted of him coming home late, drunk and neglecting most of his responsibilities.
“How have you been doing, Mom?” I changed the topic swiftly, bringing the focus to her.
