Chapter 11 – Pleasing the Boss

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Ms. Shaw. Aren’t journalists taught to refrain from leading?”

I know I should watch my words with Hadrian, but the inference that I’m doing my job wrong makes me defensive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was a job interview.”

“Everything’s a job interview, Brystin. Everything.”

I had known that in my gut.

With the validation of the fact, I feel like I’ve been given permission to be assertive, and for once, I have a quick comeback. “Then I take back the apology. I’m an opinion reporter with investigative elements. I’ll lead whenever I think it will get me to the honest answer.”

I can practically hear the smirk behind me. “And what answer are you looking for, exactly?”

I can’t turn and face him the way I’d like, but I turn my head toward my shoulder. “What else explains the system? Women statistically don’t get hired for the same jobs men get hired for. They don’t get paid the same. They don’t get elected to office. They don’t receive an equal education, and please don’t try to tell me that men are just better than women. Scientifically, that’s been proven untrue.”

“The system is set up for men, yes. I won’t deny that.”

I nearly let out a sigh of relief. It’s comforting to know my superior isn’t an unreasonable idiot.

Then he goes on. “But I don’t think it’s because of hatred of women.”

“Not a hatred of women? Then what else is it?”

“Self-interest.”

Thunder claps through the sky, closer this time, and Hadrian picks up Knight’s pace to a trot. It’s harder to talk now, but I’m determined to continue the conversation. I need the distraction more than ever now that the horse’s cl*p has Hadrian’s erection bouncing against my ass. “Self-interest? Please explain.”

“Once upon a time, physical strength mattered and men took power. We evolved. Women can care for themselves, better than a lot of men can, but the system was already in place. Working to change it takes energy. We don’t bother because it’s easier for our sex to let things stay the way they are.”

Even though he can’t see my reaction, I scowl. “In other words, you are putting yourself above others. Above an entire sex. I think it still qualifies as prejudice.”

“I don’t hate women.” The evidence of such is thick and hard bet**en us. “There are plenty of things I love about them.”

“b**bs, ass, and l*ps?”

“For your information, it’s a woman’s brain that gets my c**k hard first.”

I’m too surprised, considering our current predicament, to stop myself from asking, “Always?”

His mouth is so close to my ear, I swear he’s about to k**s it. “Always, Brystin.”

Always.

The next crack of thunder splits the sky open, and the drops begin to fall. “Almost there,” he says, though I still can’t see the house. “We’ll run the rest.”

I feel his leg shift as he uses his heel to set Knight into a gallop. It’s two minutes in pouring rain, two minutes with my skin w*t and my shirt clinging so tightly that I’m sure my n**ples are clearly visible. Two minutes of being held by a warm, protective arm. Two minutes of my heart pounding so hard I could have been the one running. Two minutes wondering what he’s doing to me, why he’s doing it, what it means.

Terrified that whatever this is will stop.

It’s the longest two minutes of my life, and they go by in a blink.

I’m sure the horses aren’t usually taken across the pristine back lawn, but Hadrian delivers me directly to the back patio.

He helps me off the horse without getting off himself, my shirt riding up under his grip, and God, I’m wishing it was his fi**gers on my skin instead of his gloves. Wishing there was more to this…whatever it was.

On the ground, I blink up at him, drops sticking to my eyelashes. I know I should say something, thank him for the ride. But all I can do is stare at him, with l*ps parted, heart in my throat.

He stares back for heavy seconds. “I’ll see to Knight.” Hadrian gallops toward the stables.

When I hear the door open behind me, I know it’s Elvis before I turn around. “Get in here, sweet girl. You’re drenched.”

We must have been seen approaching, because Carol has sent for towels, and Elvis wr*ps one around me as soon as I walk in the door. “What were you doing out there?”

He’s not alone in the great room, but I’m glad that there’s not a huge crowd witnessing my arrival. Joe and Jessa and a couple with names I’ve forgotten. “I got lost,” I announce, feeling like I need to make it clear that we hadn’t been out on a ride together. Not on purpose. “He rescued me.”

“I bet he did.” Joe’s comment is under his breath but loud enough for me to hear.

“We should get you changed.” Elvis steers me toward the stairs.

I can feel the judgment of the others, sure they’re putting me in the category of sleeps her way to the top, a category I very much detest, though I’m sure some would argue that my marriage is why I first earned the label.

But it’s not worth trying to say anything. The more I protest, the worse it will look, so I let Elvis direct me until we hit the bottom step. Then it occurs to me that this is his fault. He should have been the one to rescue me. “I texted you.”

“I just got it. But the rain was already pouring. Carol was about to send out someone to search.” It doesn’t feel like enough.

I glance back at the others, laughing in the great room. Laughing about me? “I’m gossip fodder.”

Elvis dismisses the notion. “f**k them. How was the interaction with Hadrian?”

For a second, I think he knows. Knows about Hadrian. Knows we have a secret. I don’t even know what our secret is, but I feel called out.

Then I realize I’m probably being paranoid. “He rescued me,” I say again, because everything else doesn’t feel right to repeat.

“Damsel in distress. That could work. A lot of men are into that.”

It takes me a second to understand that Elvis is talking about our potential show. I was lost in the pouring rain, and his first thought is whether or not my rescue works in his favor?

Suddenly pissed, I start up the stairs, ready to be away from him. I only make it a couple of steps before I turn back toward him. “Why were you first into me, Elvis?”

He hasn’t moved, one foot on the bottom stair, his hand on the rail. “What kind of question is that?”

It’s out-of-the-blue, I know, but I think it’s a valid question. “What made you want to be with me? What first attracted you?”

“Besides the fact that you give the best head known to man?”

I roll my eyes. “What got your pants down in the first place?”

“I don’t know a straight man alive who wouldn’t drop trou for l*ps like yours.”

“Elvis, I’m serious.” I realize he might very well be serious too. He supports my talent and believes I’ll go far, but the beginning was very possibly all about the physical. Aren’t most relationsh*ps?

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