Sleeping With the Boss Read online

  Heather picked up on the first ring, as had been her habit lately. Nothing like potential gossip.

  “I’m stuck here late. Let’s go to dinner when I’m free,” Claire said. “We’re gonna celebrate.”

  Heather’s voice was so loud and shrill she had to hold the phone away from her ear. “Oh, my God! You got laid.”

  If only. Claire stood and looked out the window at the gridlocked traffic in the street below. “No. The money has been transferred and is available now. You know what that means.”

  “Woo! It means you’re rich! Text when you’re done,” Heather said. “Be ready to dish on your date with your hunky man.”

  He wasn’t her hunky man. Sadly, he never would be.

  …

  Will stared at the bank of monitors that fed from security cameras placed strategically throughout the office. He had muted the audio on all but the one in the main lobby. Every now and then, Claire drifted through a screen and a cold, sad wave of regret washed through him.

  He watched her talk to an elderly man inspecting a topaz necklace in one of the auction lots. In her trim suit, she looked professional and businesslike, but every bit a woman, and he knew exactly what that woman looked like under that suit. Even knowing he’d lost her, his body reacted. If only he could go back and do things differently.

  Polly Guidry and her new man arrived. She’d been a client since Will was a boy, and he’d recognize her anywhere. Her complicated and remarkably large hairstyle was…unforgettable. On the top right monitor, Will watched Chance go into action. He strode over to Claire and spoke with her a moment, then he led her toward Polly.

  This was it. Will turned up the volume on the monitor where Polly was visible. Unfortunately, Claire was facing away and the room had a ton of background noise, so he couldn’t hear them talking. It appeared from the visual that casual, introductory pleasantries occurred and then Claire wandered off to meet up with one of her coworkers. Polly continued gabbing with her cronies as if nothing had happened. Chance looked up at the camera and shrugged. Will sat back in his chair satisfied. The girl he’d come to know just didn’t fit the profile, and he’d known that all along.

  The door opened with a click behind him. Chance entered wearing a grin. “Case closed. I called Michael and he’s satisfied ruling her out.”

  “There was never a case. I told you she didn’t do it.”

  “You sure did.” He closed the door. “And now you have to discover who’s really doing it. But that’s not the biggest problem right now,” Chance continued, studying the monitors. The prospective buyers were arriving and filling up the seats. Will scanned the two screens that covered the lobby but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “There,” Chance said, pointing at the screen on the bottom left that focused on the elevators.

  Holy fuck. Will’s stomach dropped to his feet. Beth was there, working the room. He hadn’t seen her since before his last deployment and had hoped never to cross her path again. He lowered himself back down into the chair, unable to pull his eyes away from the woman he hadn’t seen in years. The one who’d rendered him little more than a shell almost a year ago.

  “Wonder what she’s doing here?” Will said, more to himself than his brother. “It’s by invitation only.”

  “Her mom is friends with Polly. And just so you know, she was asking for you. I told you she broke up with her boyfriend and was sniffing around again.” Chance pulled a rolling chair over from the desk in the corner and sat beside his brother at the bank of security monitors. “Grilling every person wearing an Anderson badge. If I were you, I’d stay in here. She’s on the hunt. You’re prime prey.”

  Prey. Will shook his head and watched Beth pretend to be interested in something a middle-aged man was saying while her eyes scanned the room like the predator Chance had described.

  The auctioneer stepped up onto the raised platform and slid behind the lectern. By security standards, everything was running like clockwork. By emotional stability standards, everything was completely fucked up. Beth popped up on another screen as she wended her way around the outside of the room, chatting up every AA employee. And then his heart completely stopped as she approached Claire. Seeing the two of them together made him scoot to the edge of his seat.

  “Holy shit,” Chance said. “Claire’s going to throw down. Look at her body language.”

  Sure enough, tiny Claire was squaring off with Beth, if not consciously, then instinctually. She stood straighter as they spoke and clutched the sides of her skirt in fists. Then she pointed to her left. The two women moved from one screen to the next, as Beth followed Claire into a small conference room between the elevators and Claire’s office. This room was fully visible on the screen.

  “Turn up the volume,” Chance said.

  Will hit the volume console button for screen seven, and both men leaned closer. There was no background noise, so it was easy to make out the conversation.

  “Okay. Why are you asking about Will?” Claire asked in a harsh tone.

  Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “How did you know my name out there?”

  “Newspaper articles,” Claire said, gripping the back of a leather chair pushed under the slick cherrywood table. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  It was a smile Will had seen at least a thousand times—Beth’s preening smile. She loved attention and being singled out as important or special. Most people did, probably, but it was what Beth lived for. “Well, yes, I am a bit of a celebrity in some circles.”

  “Not in mine. What do you want with Will Anderson?”

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

  “You need to leave him alone.”

  “And you are?”

  “Nobody.”

  Beth’s expression darkened to a condescending smirk and she gave Claire a theatrical perusal from head to toe. “That much is obvious.”

  “Look,” Claire said, shoulders back, head held high. “I’m asking you as a friend to step back and leave him alone. You’ve done enough damage.”

  “You are not my friend,” Beth answered.

  “Nor do I want to be.”

  Beth flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and took a step closer to Claire. “That means you think you’re Will’s friend. Is that it? Are you his lover? I heard he had one now. I just never expected him to pick up an office girl.”

  “Uh-oh,” Chance said, eyes glued to the screen.

  Will’s gut churned as he watched his ex take another step closer to his…what exactly was Claire? Whatever she was, she was no match for Beth and he didn’t need intervention on his behalf. He could handle Beth himself. He stood. “I’m going down there.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Chance grabbed his arm and jerked him back. “Let Claire handle it for now. Look.”

  Will turned his attention back to the monitor. Claire had stepped out from behind the chair and was moving closer to Beth. “You listen to me, and listen closely, Bethanne Carmichael. I am not Will’s lover, nor will I ever be. We’re not really even friends, but let me tell you what I am. I’m someone who hates bitches. And while I’m a ‘nothing’ as you say, I’m not a bitch.”

  “How dare you!” Beth sputtered.

  “No. How dare you!” Claire circled to the other side, standing between Beth and the door, which Beth was eyeing. Will held his breath, having no clue what would happen next.

  Beth tried to saunter past her, but failed when Claire stepped sideways to block her.

  Claire was facing away from the camera over the door, but her voice was loud and clear. “You dare to come back here to contact him after you dumped him like that? Really?” The look on Beth’s face was almost comical with her eyes huge and mouth drawn tight. It was probably the first time in her adult life that Beth had been challenged.

  Claire stepped aside and pointed to the door under the camera. “Go home. Go home and leave him alone.”

  Will had expected Beth to bolt out the door when g
iven the opportunity. Instead, she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “You have no idea what it was like. He came home that first time wanting to put me in a tiny house isolated from everything I loved.”

  “What about him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said he was isolating you from everything you loved. You wouldn’t have been isolated from him. Didn’t you love him? Isn’t that why you’re here now, so you can get back together with him? That’s what Mallory said you told her when you made your rounds in the auction area.”

  “I don’t even know who Mallory is,” Beth said, shifting a couple of steps toward the door.

  Claire moved in even closer. “Did you ever love him, or did you only love what his money and power could do for your social life?” She backed Beth into the corner of the conference room. “Did your new guy not get you in the papers enough? Did you miss out on some premieres, or God forbid, have to wait for a table at a restaurant?”

  Chance chuckled. “I hope this is being recorded.”

  Beth’s brow furrowed. “What do you want from me?”

  Again, Claire’s back was to the camera, so Will couldn’t see her face. “I want you to go away and leave Will Anderson alone. He’s one of the nicest, most generous people I’ve ever met, and he deserves better than you. He’s a war hero and you’re…you’re a selfish bitch. Get out before I lose it. Get out now.” Her voice broke on the last word and Beth bolted from the room like a scared rabbit. In the monitor, Will watched her enter an elevator and leave the building. He sat back and took several deep breaths as Claire slumped into a chair, back still to the camera, and covered her face.

  “If you say one fucking word, Chance, I’m going to take out all my anger on you instead of a punching bag at the gym,” Will said. “Because I really want to hit someone right now.”

  “So did Claire,” Chance said, pushing the chair upright and rolling it back to its original position. “I wish she had.”

  “You’ll be taking your teeth home in a bag if you don’t shut up. I’m not kidding.”

  “I’m not either.” Chance put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened between you and Claire that made it where you can’t even talk to her, but if I were you, I’d fix it.”

  When Will looked back up at the conference room monitor, Claire was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heather was already in their favorite booth with a glass of merlot when Claire arrived. “Hard day at the office?” she asked with a grin, dragging out the first word while wagging her eyebrows up and down.

  The clumsy sexual innuendo was not appreciated. The altercation with Beth had shaken her up and left her in a crappy mood. “Today was my last day. I’m not going to finish out my temp time.”

  Heather’s face clouded. “A phone call to me first would’ve been nice, you know. I’m the owner of the agency who placed you. It makes me look bad.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you first. I acted on impulse.” She pitched her purse onto the seat and slid into the booth opposite her friend. “I can’t stay until the end of next week. I need to be packing and other stuff so I can get to Egypt.”

  “That’s not why you quit and we both know it.” Heather picked up her glass of wine. “I never pegged you for a runner.”

  “I’m not running. I’m taking care of business. I don’t need the money anymore.” Which was and wasn’t true. She didn’t need the money, but she sure as hell was running. Just being in the same city with Will hurt, and sharing the same offices was excruciating. When she’d defended him to Beth, she’d spoken the truth—he was one of the nicest, most generous people she’d ever met. And in her heart, she knew he’d been honest with her. He hadn’t used her. He wanted her like she wanted him.

  Heather took a sip and studied her over the rim. “What do you need?”

  William Anderson. “Dinner.”

  Heather flagged down the waitress and they ordered. “Done,” she said. “Now, tell me why you are really bailing early. What did he do?”

  “Nothing. It’s not about him. It’s about me. What I need and want.”

  “And that is?”

  “Freedom.” What she really needed freedom from was the killer ache in her chest.

  Heather held up her glass for a toast. “Well, you got your money. Nothing’s holding you back. Here’s to freedom.”

  Claire clinked the rim of her glass to Heather’s feeling anything but liberated. Part of her was tied here—just a tiny thread of her heart wrapped around William Anderson, and she wasn’t sure it would stretch all the way to Egypt.

  “You can always talk to me, you know,” Heather said, squeezing Claire’s hand.

  “I know. I just…” She was lucky to have a friend like Heather. Still, she was so confused and conflicted about what was going on between her and Will, she wouldn’t know where to begin. No doubt she’d fall apart if she even tried. “I’m still sorting things out.”

  After a long, awkward silence, she decided it was time to change the topic to something emotionally safe—something not about William Anderson or her impending escape to another country. “Anything good going on at your temp agency? New clients or funny stories?”

  Heather shook her head. “Nope. You?”

  Ah. A safe topic, one they both loved: Egyptian artifacts. “We had a new one come through from a past client. The guy didn’t have an appointment, but came in with a really cool private collection of canopic jars. He had all four and the stoppers were beautifully carved.” In addition to loving Egyptian artifacts, Heather was totally into the macabre and these were right up her alley, since they had been used to store vital organs when a body was mummified.

  “Nice.” Heather’s eyes lit up and Claire knew she’d successfully turned the conversation away from her shredded heart.

  “You want to see them?” She turned her phone screen toward Heather and flipped through the photos she’d emailed herself from the client file.

  “Where on earth would someone get canopic jars?” She took Claire’s phone and studied the photos.

  “The client had inherited them from his grandfather, who held mummy unwrappings on his kitchen table in the late eighteen hundreds. He said his grandmother still remembered the parties.”

  Heather handed the phone back. “Enough of mummies and boring office biz. Let’s talk about why you and Will Anderson aren’t lip-locking anymore instead.”

  So much for steering the conversation to safer ground. “Let’s not.”

  The waitress finally delivered their food and the rest of dinner was uneventful. Without any real heartfelt enthusiasm, she talked about her upcoming plans to travel the world—plans that used to make her giddy with excitement.

  After dinner, she hailed a cab to take her back to her lonely apartment, where she was haunted by the memories of her amazing adventure up against the door with Will. Things weren’t so different for her since Sissy’s death after all. She was still plagued by if onlys and might have beens.

  …

  The rumble of Will’s motorcycle dimmed the noise of the city around him, but couldn’t drown out his thoughts. As he drove home after the post-auction cocktail party, all he could think about was how fierce and loyal Claire had been when confronting Beth. If only things had been different. If only he had foreseen the effect of the investigation on her. If only.

  I’m not his lover, nor will I ever be. In her mind, it was over, but he couldn’t seem to let go. He knew she’d be more receptive if he gave her more time too cool off, but she was leaving soon and he didn’t have time.

  The light turned red and he pulled up behind a cab with an ad for a new Broadway musical stretched across a mini-billboard above the trunk. The ad depicted a happy couple with sparkly grins and their arms around each other. And they lived happily ever after was scrawled across the bottom in swirly gold letters.

  The light turned green and the cab inched forward, but a car
stuck in the intersection forced him to endure staring at the 2-D happy embrace a little longer. That’s what he wanted: a fairy-tale ending, even if the happily ever after only meant two weeks.

  Traffic started moving again and the cab switched lanes and turned. He would give anything for another chance—anything, including doing something risky. But hell, what was left for him to lose? Will took a right at the next light and right again, heading back in the opposite direction.

  …

  Claire rolled up another coffee cup in bubble wrap and placed it on top of the others in the box. She’d thought that packing would bring back that anticipation of leaving she craved. Sadly, every item she placed in the box felt more like a nail in the coffin than a step toward adventure.

  Telling Beth off had felt fantastic, but at the same time, it made her sadder for what she was missing—a big, hot, honest, kind man with painfully talented hands. And other talented parts, too.

  Her phone dinged again as Heather left another voicemail. She appreciated her friend’s concern, but right now, she just wanted to be left alone.

  She sighed and wrapped another cup. By Monday, she’d have enough of her stuff boxed up to start moving it to storage. Then she’d leave this big, loud city behind. That’s what she’d always wanted, right?

  No. Not anymore. She wanted Will. More than money or even Egypt, and the realization sucked. And with that miserable thought, she crumbled to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees and cried. She was long overdue for a cry, and damn, it felt good.

  The banging on the door caused her to jump. The doorman hadn’t called to announce a visitor. Maybe it was a neighbor. Something had damned well better be on fire for someone to knock on her door after ten o’clock.

  Barefoot and wearing warm-ups and a T-shirt, she wiped the tears from her face, wandered to the door, and stood on her tiptoes to peer through the peephole. Will was the last person she had expected. She opened the door without hesitation as her heart did a somersault in her chest at the sight of him filling her doorway. The closed look on his face, though, gave her pause.

  “I’m sorry. I had to come. If it’s a bad time, I can go,” he said.